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On to building! In this chapter, we meet a few more of the cast of characters, and Teobas Franklyn proves himself in more ways than one. Such an exciting life for this pup!

Into the forest we go! Here's the second chapter of An iron road running_, an adventure involving the cheery souls of the Transcontinental Railroad! Thanks to Spudz for fixing the fixed parts of it. Blame me for the rest :3_

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

An iron road running, ** ** by ** Rob Baird**. Chapter 2: "Ain't nothin' but my hammer"

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With little of the proper equipment in place, they could only build slowly. Instead, the New Jarankyld Line of the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad was settling into a rhythm of preparation -- readying for the days to come. They had maps from an abortive effort made some decades before, and he used these to good effect. Measuring carefully, and setting down markers for Stockman's gang, Teo and Allen Grensmann steadily brought the hills to heel.

He finished breakfast one morning to see the tall form of Dale Masseler commanding the attention of a handful of employees, next to a newly appeared mule that munched lazily at its feedbag. Closer investigation revealed that the mule was not the only new creature in camp: a fox had joined them, with gorgeous fur, and a magnificent brush, and clothes that were at least as fine as Teo's own.

Curious, Teobas made his way over to introduce himself. Dale smiled at the dog's arrival, and the stag nodded his head to indicate the newcomer. "This is Carol Titthitch. He's been appointed head of operations for the New Jarankyld Line. He'll be reporting directly to me."

The fox looked, if anything, to be even younger than Teo was, but Teo shook his hand anyway. "Good morning. I'm Teobas Franklyn -- bridger. I work for Dr. Grensmann."

Carol nodded. "A good man. I work for Ciswalth Carregan directly -- then again, his sister is my mother..." Teobas couldn't entirely judge the laugh that followed. Was it self-deprecation? Recognition of the strange illegitimacy of his position? "It was only natural that I learn the trade on a minor project like this."

Ah. So, no, it was merely a lack of awareness. "You're also new, then?"

"Taking a year off from university to learn the trade," Carol said. "And it is an interesting trade! Mr. Masseler, you were saying there's some... difficulties, with the quartermaster?"

"Not with the quartermaster, Carol. With his supplies. We'll need to feed the men. We can't keep shipping our food from Salketh. The supply lines will strangle us." Teo looked at the bustle of the camp, and was a little impressed by how quickly it had all come together -- he didn't know how many people there were, but it was as at least a hundred and maybe twice that.

"It would be so much easier if we could eat coal," Carol sighed.

"Wouldn't it be," the stag chuckled. "I admit, this was a slight failure of planning. I didn't know the rail lines would be in such poor repair to Nattenleigh."

"How poor of repair?" Teo tilted his head. Certainly the ride had seemed rather rough, but at least they hadn't derailed.

"Splits. Broken sleepers. Worn rails. It should be redone at twice the weight -- and we do have the budget for it, now; Walth has already approved. The problem is time: it'll take until midsummer, at least, and until the rails are done we're having to carry half the grain by bloody supply wagon..."

"So then... we just wait?"

"No, Mr. Titthitch. We don't wait. We'll have to live off the land."

The fox blinked. "Hunting?"

"No." Dale pointed towards the south: between their hill and the Dalrath at the horizon rolled the beckoning green of tilled fields. "These farms. Southwest Perashire grows a lot of wheat, and some cabbages and carrots and whatnot besides -- some of the richest farmland in Aernia, they say."

"Everyone says that," Carol countered. "Farmers looking to brag about their ten year old dairy cow..."

"But they put on a good feast at Mirhall," Teo pointed out. "All the western coast is supposed to be quite fertile..."

"It is, my good boy," Dale said. "They'll be able to feed us. Mr. Titthitch, I recommend you send Cravvy south to talk to the farms around here directly -- and see if we can't put together a bakery for fresh bread. They must have spare ovens, or men who can make and man them."

"Cravvy..."

"Yes. Cravern Garmery. He's done more with less, Carol, trust me. There's a lot down here for the taking. I assume the produce is probably destined for Lake Peraford via Silcaster. We'll just offer a higher bid to the lord."

"The lord?" Politics interested Teo almost as little as history did. It was a simple story. The five founding cities of the Iron Kingdom made up the Old Council, led by King Chatherral IV. The borderlands, charged with defending the frontiers of the realm, had been given their own leadership in the Landsmoot as a result of their rebellion, and the Second Concord.

But the great middle stretch of the country -- from the basin of the Great Round river to the Seffish valley, south to the Silver Pale and west to the Caelish itself -- had been settled after the First Concord, but were not part of the Second, and they had no true lords in the ordinary sense. At least, not as Teo understood it -- the midlands was ruled by the King without interference from either the Old Council or the Landsmoot.

This was itself a source of some consternation, for the landed nobility. Even Teo knew that. The midlands were where Aernia was growing. It was the home of wealthy industrialists like the coal miners of Tilladen, and the Carregans, and the Rakenjies who ran the Royal Aernian Telegraph Company. Teobas intended to make his fortune there for just that reason -- but of course not everyone was so inclined.

For the stronger that Carregan Transcontinental grew, the stronger the King grew. And the stronger the King grew, all the weaker was the hold of the Landsmoot or the Old Council. The newer parts of the Iron Kingdom had a startling way of rejecting the old traditions -- Teo thought of them as superstitions -- that bound together the old families.

So it was strange to see something like a feudal system in what he thought of as the King's own territory. "I thought that, outside of the Concord lands, real estate was held freely?"

"True, it's midlands -- kind of -- but most of this land out here is held in the old way," Dale explained. "Serfs and all. Their demesnes are, of course, entirely at the will of the King, but they are still manorial lands. There's a tremendous difference between one held by a smart lord and one held by a dim one. You should see it yourself, actually..."

"Sir?"

"Somebody with proper authority ought to accompany him, anyway. Carol, stay with the camp to get it organized. Mr. Franklyn, we're not surveying at the moment... you'll go with Garmery and keep him out of trouble. You have Carregan's purse in my stead -- we'll need enough food for two hundred people on an ongoing basis. Meat, bread, stew. Under a half-crown per day, per man. See if you can manage that."

Cravern Garmery was a stout brown pointy-eared dog, with a big belly and a missing right canine. "Quartermaster," he confirmed, although it took three tries for Teo to understand his Raghish accent. Carrermestuh. "What's 'e want, Lord Corwyck?" For reasons Teo could not define, Cravern used Dale Masseler's noble title.

"Buy supplies to stock the railhead. Twelve and a half pounds a day in food for the workforce, that's what he's asked."

The other dog -- Teobas saw now he also had a notch bitten out of his left ear -- shrugged. "Can do."

"Really?" The figure seemed impossibly low -- Teo had eaten at restaurants where dinner alone was four or five crowns.

"Sure," Cravern nodded. "Don't want to know what's in the stew, but we can do it."

The quartermaster could've lost three stone without missing it, but he set a steady, quick pace on foot. Teo had to put some effort into keeping up. Unlike Samhal Stockman, though, when he saw the pup struggling Cravern slowed down a little. "Thanks," Teobas muttered.

"Yeah. Ain't like it's so far, anyhow. Be back with somethin' for ol' Lord Corwyck before nightfall tomorrah."

"It seems like he trusts you a great deal."

"Bloody well ought to," the canine said, with a snorting laugh. "'Tween us we musta laid down two thousand mile o'track."

Teo perked his ears and tilted his head. "How long have you worked for the railroad?"

"'Bout a pound for every year," he grinned, and patted his ample belly. "I joined as a camp laborer in '59. First real mainline job was on t'Meteor... that were... '63 or '64, I guess..."

A real old-timer. Teo nodded eagerly. "You served on the Meteor! Ah, wow..." The Lodestone Meteor had been a train of fable and myth, once, but Carregan adopted the name for their mainline service out east, far beyond the Pale. Teo thought of those hundred miles of track, stretching away into the desert wastes to link Aernia to the sandy kingdoms beyond, as one of the greatest accomplishments in history.

From his expression, Cravern understood Teo's admiration. "Eyeh. First real job were helpin' set up the new depots at Karlied," he explained further, using the Aernian name for the fortress city-state of Korlyda. "Well... they were new then, anyhow. Now I guess they're not in much better shape than me."

"But you've seen the SheyIB: " That great river -- kilometers across at its mouth -- divided the continent in half, with the Menapset on its western bank and the fertile floodplains of Tiurishk on the east. "What does it look like?"

"Looks like a river," Cravern chuckled. "Same as the Seffish or the Great Round."

He'd seen the Sheyib only in drawings, and he had a hard time believing it could be so ordinary. Cravern was, of course, being modest -- and Teo would have none of it. "Ah, but even still... you must've gone to Korlyda, seen the Amber Souk, the Temple of the Ancients... the southern borders of Tiurishk..." All the places he'd learned of in books, growing up, and expanded upon in countless daydreams.

"Never went down Tiurishk," the other dog said. "Dominion wouldn't have us then."

"But you've seen them. And -- and the Otonichi, too! What do they look like?"

The mountain craftsmen were felines, of some sort. "Cats," Cravern Garmery said simply. "Look like cats. Spotted cats, like a fuckin' Dhamish temple girl."

"You've been to Dhamishaya?"

Now starting to tire of the pup's insistent questioning, the older man rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Railroad don't run down Dhamishaya. Railroad don't run down t'Otonich mountains neitherway. Ya ken that, pup, don' get yer tail too sparky."

He wasn't exactly familiar with that idiom, particularly not as Cravern pronounced it: don getcher tehl too spahrkeh. So he brushed it off, and settled on the first part. "You mean, the railroad doesn't run to Dhamishaya or the Ishonko mountains yet, Mr. Garmery."

And, seeing that his companion's boundless energy was not to be dampened, the ragged dog surrendered. "So I do."

The farms themselves did not seem terribly well maintained -- stone fences rather than hedgerows, and rutted dirt tracks. But the manor house was in good shape: a stately two-story mansion, likewise made of stone, with smoke rising from a few of the outbuildings.

A man came to greet them, eventually. He wore a vest too formal for rural Perashire, and glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. The vest did not fit well, and it did not complement the color of his fur: Teo thought it had probably been purchased secondhand, as an affectation.

"What brings such... oddly attired travelers to the estate of Hayer Fitch? I hope you have not traveled so far, although by the appearance of your shoes you seem to be the itinerant sort."

Teo couldn't place his species. Perhaps an otter, perhaps a marten, perhaps a weasel, and perhaps none of these. The impression the dog had was of an act, badly carried out. 'Hayer' was a good Aultlands name, but he would've put money that Fitch had been born something South Coastish -- 'Klerk' or 'Pieda' or 'Gertoon.' His accent was Perashire subjected to a bad attempt at suppression -- obvious to the dog's ears, though in Mirhall it probably worked.

Or not: "Yer 'Ayer?" Cravern asked, and by the tone of it he had not been fooled either.

"Yes," the man said flatly. "Can I help you? What are you looking for?"

"Well, we come down farm lookin' for food. Wheat mostly, an' some vegetables, an' ye seem like a good man for it. So --"

"I have no idea what you're saying," Hayer Fitch interrupted.

Teo coughed. "My name is Mr. Teobas Franklyn, and this is Mr. Cravern Garmery. We're employees of the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad, working on the new southern branch from Nattenleigh. Mr. Garmery is the quartermaster of our camp."

The change in accent briefly caught Hayer off guard, but he rallied. "And?"

"And, sir," Teo modulated his voice to undeserved deference. "We've been charged with augmenting our supplies."

"With mine? My crops, you mean."

"Right," Cravern said.

"Right now, we're bringing our supplies down from Tilladen. They're quite abundant, and we're happy to continue doing so," Teo half-fibbed. "But it seemed that in the richest farmland in the world, we might find an alternative -- if the price was right, we'd be happy to take your crops, yes. And put your bakery to use, as well. I have Carregan's checkbook -- again, if the price is right."

Teo had the sense, from the way that Hayer's ears twitched and perked, that money was a language the man spoke. "Go on..."

"Two 'undert loaves of bread, eight 'undert eggs, three 'undert onion, 'undert fifty pound carrot, 'undert fifty pound meat..."

"A week?"

"A day," Cravern said.

"We understand that you might not be able to manage all of that, naturally," Teo added.

"Hell I can't. How much?"

"Eight pound," Cravern offered. "Ten if you bake the bread first."

Hayer Fitch bristled, and narrowed his eyes. "Highway robbery. Twenty pounds with the bread baked."

"Yer right," the older dog seemed to consider the proposal. "With bakin' it is a bit o' labor. Twelve. No -- twelve-four, right Mr. Franklyn?" Teo nodded. "'S better'n yer gettin' from sendin' it down Silcaster nor Mirhall neitherway."

The lord of the manor took a deep breath. "Fifteen a day."

"Moved in your wagons?"

A long pause. "Yes. Fine."

This was more than Dale had authorized, and Teo started to protest, but Garmery just grinned. "Right, then. Mr. Franklyn, you'll give 'im t'first week, aye?"

Teobas glanced between Hayer and Cravern. Well -- Dale trusted the man, didn't he? Nodding, the dog pulled out his coin purse, and counted out ten gold ten-pound coins and a silver five-pound one. "Here you are, sir."

"Right." The man took the coins without ceremony, or thanks, and tucked them away in his jacket. "Well, I suppose it's late enough you won't be headed back. You expect me to put you up for the night?"

"Common courtesy," Cravern muttered.

"We'd be honored, of course," Teo added his own translation of his companion's phrasing. "If you might..."

"Fine." Hayer disappeared down the hall, and returned a minute later with a scrawny otter still carrying the duster he'd been using. "Ruovan, show them the guest house."

The 'guest house' was a one-story shack that mostly served to provide the entrance for a cellar that smelled strongly of onions. There were no beds, not even a cot; Ruovan shrugged apologetically when asked about this.

"Outta the wind, at least." Cravern was phlegmatic. "'Alf surprised at that, tell you the truth. Be all the way surprised if we get dinner."

"He did seem to be a bit... er..."

"Bi' of a cunt, is what you mean," Cravern Garmery grinned.

"Well, I... I don't know."

"Just say it, Kitten." The dog took a heavy seat, propping his back against the wall -- there were no chairs, just the bare floor -- and pulled out a wineskin. "Say, 'car'gal'th, Cravvy, bu' tha' man were a bi' of a cunt, weren't 'e?' Ain't so 'ard."

"He was less receptive than I expected." Teo sat, too, and crossed his legs beneath him. The stone was cold, and not especially comfortable. At least Cravern had a tail to serve as a sort-of-cushion. Teo did not.

"Yer no' in Tabisthalia no more," the older dog reminded him. "Might 'ave an easier time sittin' if y'di'n't hae tha' stick up yer arse."

The younger man flattened his ears. "I'm not from Tabisthalia. Arrengate, sir. And I'm not a prude, I just... I try not to curse, that's all."

"Should try it more often. It's fun." Cravern snickered. "Ye want a drink, Kitten, 'r is tha' somethin' else ye jus' try no' t'do?" He tilted the wineskin towards Teo with an eyebrow raised mischievously.

"I'm fine," Teo said, and added a half-hearted: "for now."

The sun was touching the horizon by the time anyone returned to attend to them further. "Oh, hello," Cravern put a surprised, keen emphasis on the greeting.

Teobas looked up to see a figure cut from the same cloth as Hayer Fitch. Younger, and with more defined patterns in her fur, Teo made her for a polecat. "'Allo," she answered him. "My father's put you up here?" Unlike him, she wore no glasses, but a brown pattern on her white face created a similar effect.

"Either yer father or the sheriff," Cravern grinned, patting the wall. "But, strange enough, we've no' been charged wi' no crime..."

"I'm terribly sorry," the polecat sighed. "He doesn't much like guests. I'll find blankets, at least. And would you like some dinner?"

"Do I look like th' kinda bloke who's keen to skip dinner?" The appearance of the younger Fitch seemed to have put him in a cheerier mood, with his tail all... sparky. "Aye, if yer offerin', we'll 'ave some."

"Of course, ya," She nodded her head, and stepped back through the door.

"Who woulda thought, from 'er father? No' a bad one, that..."

Teo nodded. "Seemed nice."

"All of 'er," Cravern agreed. "Though parts more'n others." When Teo didn't answer, Cravern seemed to pick up on some hidden meaning, and rolled his eyes again. "So ye don' drink, ye don' curse, and ye don' look after pretty girls. What do ye do, Kitten?"

When his companion failed to dignify the question with an answer, Cravern settled back down to wait. A few minutes later, Ruovan arrived laden with blankets, and a few minutes after that the polecat returned with two baskets.

The first, when opened, proved to contain a loaf of bread, some cured pork, and half a wheel of pale yellow cheese. It was more of a picnic lunch than proper dinner. "Father said he hadn't ordered enough pheasant prepared for guests," she explained, although from the way she said it she seemed to understand it was not a particularly compelling explanation.

"Well, I'm sure he's a very practical man," Teo sighed. "Economical."

"Stingy," Cravern chortled. "Bu' 'opefully 'e treats 'is tenants better'n 'is guests."

"Yes," his daughter said. "We're just used to... beggars, mostly, ya? My father is a good landowner, just not a good host."

"Is 'e good with namin' 'is childern?" Cravern added what was, for Teo, a new and unique mispronunciation. "Or do we keep callin' ye 'Mr. Fitch's daughter'?"

"Oh! Meydria," she introduced herself. "Or just 'Mey.'"

"Better," the dog said. He was already rummaging through the contents of the basket. "I'm Cravvy Garmery, an' that's..."

"Teobas Franklyn. Or Teo," he added, since she'd done the same. "We're with the Railroad."

"So my father said," Meydria smiled. "You're a long way from Stanlira, aren't you?"

"Aye, an' we'll be longer still ere long if yer father can keep us in bread." Cravern broke off a chunk of the loaf, and chewed it thoughtfully. "But 'e's pretty good bakin' it, at least."

"That's Semmis Daverthy's work, but I'll tell him you approve! Shall I leave you to your meal, or would you two like some company?"

"Some company, oh, I don' know," Cravern mused, and sawed off some ham. "Yer company, now..."

Teo rolled his eyes, but the other dog didn't notice and his target merely giggled, and smiled. Sitting down, she smoothed her pleated skirt back into tameness. "So, have you come all the way from Stanlira?"

"Originally? I'm from Yltragh, an' me fellow 'ere's from Arrengate. We started from out Tilladen were two weeks gone, an' now down Salketh an' Mirhall. Buildin' for the Dalrath." Cravern bit decisively on an ersatz sandwich, chewed twice, and swallowed. "Be in t'wood 'fore month's end."

"Gods above," Mey said, with wide eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"A line to New Jarankyld," Teo explained. "We'll put down rail from Salketh through to the city -- finally connect Jarnshire to the rest of the Iron Kingdom."

"But let's not talk about work," Cravern suggested, around a mouthful of bread. "When there's so much lovely country to discuss. And lovely country folk. You've lived yer 'ole life 'ere?"

Mey pivoted easily with the changing conversation. "Yes, indeed, my whole life. I've been to Salketh a few times, for the market -- and I might go to school one day in Lake Peraford, if father agrees... I think he will. There aren't many families around here that he wants me to associate with."

"Wrong sort of blood?"

"Oh, Kitten, I don' think it's blood 'e's worried about," the other dog laughed. He did not explain further.

The other basket contained a bottle of wine; again Teo abstained, and so did Mey. Cravern, however, declared himself up to the challenge -- with the consequence that, intentionally or not, he was no longer much for talking by the time they were finished with their meal. The cobbler that followed was delectable, and although Mey allowed that she had eaten dinner already she did not reject another helping of the dessert.

"He's... passed out, ya?" she asked; having recused himself from conversation, the old dog had followed up by recusing himself from consciousness on the whole.

"We've had a long walk. The camp is just south of Mirhall, after all."

"Of course," Mey nodded. "Did you get to meet Lord Rulwen? How is he?"

Teo considered his adjectives carefully. "Hearty," he finally said. "But enthusiastic about our plans. It could mean big changes for Mirhall -- for all of Perashire, actually, when you think about it..."

"I've thought that for a long time," the polecat nodded. "The South Coast is... mm, neglected, ya? We only hear about what's going on from the newspapers -- when I was a girl they hadn't even yet put in the telegraph station at Salketh, let alone Silcaster. The northern lands, they're happy to take our grain, ya, but what do they offer in return?"

The dog nodded. "But that could change. Should change," he amended. "That's what a transcontinental railroad is about. Before the Carregan Transcontinental came to Tinenfirth, it was only a few tens of thousands of people. And now..."

"You've been?" Mey asked, with bright eyes. She seemed fascinated -- like he was -- by the prospect.

"No. I hadn't seen the Ostermere before last month. But Tinenfirth -- did you know, it was part of the Pale originally?" The Iron Pale, in the far east, fortified against the predations of the wasteland raiders, had once stretched all the way north to the ocean. "When the railroad came, and all those traders and soldiers started passing through... after a few decades they didn't need the walls anymore. Now it's just civilization, like any city in the Reach."

"Not like out here?" she asked, with a smirk.

"I didn't mean that," he apologized hurriedly. "But just think about how much this land could change with proper railroad service -- not the silly little things they try to run out of Salketh, but a real, professional freight railroad. This is..." The young dog shook his head, and tried to put into words what he felt. "This is our way of making the world... smaller."

"Sort of, ya?" Teo prompted an explanation with a tilt of his head. "Because if I go outside, ya, and look at the hills, then it's as small as it's been ever. You mean your horizons are bigger, I think."

"Maybe," he granted. "I'd say the horizons are our birthright, and we'll do what it takes to get there."

She laughed. "Bold words, ya?"

This Teo had been accused of before. A knock at the door, however, preempted his reply; Ruovan the otter looked in. "Your father wishes you to return now," he said.

"A moment?"

"Certainly." The door closed again, and Teo noticed a look of... disappointment? Something similar, at least, had crossed his companion's face.

Then she took his paws in hers, and squeezed warmly. Her touch was quite soft. "It was nice meeting you, ya? Tarry longer next time, Mr. Teo..."

"I --"

"And stay safe," she added, before releasing his grasp. "Good luck with your railroad."

For the second time he was left to judge with some curiosity the emotions this engendered in him. Like the dancers at Castle Mirhall, it seemed sensible to assume that she was merely celebrating the arrival of the railroad. And after all, he was enthralled by it; why shouldn't others be as well? All the same, he set it aside to ponder, and continued pondering all the walk back towards the railhead.

The smoke rising from the camp was reassuring, for it spoke of warm food waiting. Cravern seemed to agree; he growled, and licked his lips, and stared fondly. "Just over the next two hills," he said. Teobas nodded. It would not be so far.

"Thanks for letting me do this, sir. It's good to get the lay of the land..."

"Aye, aye, sure..."

And it did not set them so far back. To think they'd only been gone two days! He wondered how much progress Sam must've made in that time -- certainly, the railroad would be applying only the best men to such a project. In a few weeks time they could be... he glanced back over his shoulder, at the woods. Was it really true that the trees grew to be a thousand feet? How was that even possible?

Better to focus on the present, and the curves of the Perashire countryside. Although... although... here he paused, and tilted his head at the hill before them. And he made a little note in his book -- the book of a proud employee of Carregan Transcontinental, always with his eye on the rails...

Back at camp, he slipped into the wagon to find his maps, and carefully took some measurements. Then he measured again, for he did not want to appear given to rashness. No, it all appeared to point to the same conclusion. He would have to raise the issue to his superiors -- but then, even as he stood up, he caught himself.

What kind of service would he be doing the Railroad if he came with only a problem, instead of a solution? Teo unrolled the map again, grabbed a straight-edge, and stared until the answers started to come to him. It was much like the engineering examinations he'd been given: for a certain cost, and time, and effort, how does one get a twenty-car freight train from one side of the page to the other?

Show your work.

He did. And then, gathering book, plans, and map together, the dog struck out in search of Dale Masseler. He found the Deputy Director in consultation with one of the other junior employees; Dr. Grensmann and Carol Titthitch had a long spreadsheet of materials laid out on a table nearby, and were reviewing it together. When he saw Teo, Dale waved the other employee away.

"You're back, my boy. A successful endeavor?"

"Partially, sir. Cravern helped with the negotiations. He... proposed a price that was somewhat above what we agreed upon, but transportation is included... Fifteen pounds a day, rather than twelve pounds four."

"But with transportation in the lord's wagons?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not bad. I trust Mr. Garmery, anyway -- did you and he get along?"

"Ah, yes sir," Teo nodded.

"Good, good. He's a bit blunt but, to be honest, we can use that."

"Yes, sir," Teo said for the third time. "I, ah. Sir, there may be another problem. Or a complication, at least."

The stag raised an eyebrow. "About the food?"

"No, sir. About the rail line."

"Allen," Dale said, and beckoned the otter over. Carol tagged along at the doctor's heels. "Your apprentice has a problem or complication he'd like to discuss."

Teo nodded, and opened his map. "This route was surveyed twenty years ago, and roughly at that -- as I understand it, we weren't really serious about extending the railroad this far south back then."

"No," Dale agreed. "But the maps were good enough to work from, I thought?"

"Yes, of course. Plus our surveying. We've already agreed that it needs to be regraded, and the rail should be improved, but the curve around this hill... here..." The dog tapped on the paper, indicating the hill that had caught his attention earlier. "It's too steep. It was probably fine for an Imperial Arrow class locomotive and a six-car consist, but at our speeds..."

He took out a page of figures, and turned them so that Allen Grensmann could see. The otter scratched behind his ear, and rumbled a growl that was low and dark, out of proportion to his frame. "I don't know that it's a deal-breaker, but it is a little close for comfort," he finally agreed. "We should re-examine this closely..."

"And then what?" Carol piped up. "The diversion to Mirhall was already Mr. Franklyn's idea, wasn't it?"

"Mr. Titthitch is... perturbed," Dale explained, with a wry grin. "He was expecting us further to the west. He had to come to the railhead by mule. But he raises a good point -- the logistics of this operation are already... complicated... by our distance from the port at Silcaster. What would you and Dr. Grensmann recommend?"

Teo licked his muzzle, and tried not to seem too nervous. "How far has Mr. Stockman advanced from Salketh?"

"Here," Carol pointed, and tapped an immaculate claw on the page. Three miles from Salketh, give or take. "They've made reasonably good progress."

"If they're not yet to Habbeth's Farm, then I would humbly suggest," Teo said, coughing before the word 'humbly' so that it gained an unintended emphasis, "that we consider redirecting the railroad half a mile east of its current planned course, like so. This would also save us nearly two miles of track."

"But we'd have to cross this river, rather than running next to it," Dale Masseler raised the immediate objection. The river was a small thing -- easily forded, but not by a steam locomotive. "We can't really do that."

"We could put a bridge on the path I've drawn. According to the maps, that area's relatively gentle and easy to build on. I haven't done a proper survey, yet, but I saw it myself on the walk back and I think it wouldn't be difficult."

"That's what you get when you hire a bridger, Allen," the stag laughed. "I like the theory. There's only one problem with it in practice, Mr. Franklyn, my boy. I've got every forge in the west running night and day just for the rails... we don't have spare iron for bridge girders."

"I know. That's why I think we should make it out of stone." And he set his plans on the table for inspection. "Everything in Perashire seems to be made of stone. They must have good material, and solid bedrock. I didn't notice any settling or cracks at Castle Mirhall, nor at Mr. Fitch's manor house."

"A stone bridge in the Iron Kingdom," Carol Titthitch mused, tilting his head at the drawings. "He is right, though, sir. There are quarries all along the eastern coast of Lake Peraford. I had plenty of opportunity to see them. A question, Mr. Franklyn: what if you were to make it out of concrete, instead?"

Teo turned his sketches back around so that he could look at them. Concrete was really the domain of the eastern countries. The Dominion of Tiurishk used a great deal of it, as he understood things. "It would be more costly, I think -- stronger, of course. I'd have to review my notes."

"You're plotting something," Dale suggested, with a smile that was rather grandfatherly.

"My uncle owns a concrete firm in the north of Tinenshire," the fox said with a nod. "They're using something called the... the Cliffside Process, I believe. I'm not well-versed in it. Are you?"

When he asked the question, he looked to Dale. Dale looked to Allen; Allen shrugged, and looked to Teo. The dog flicked an ear. "It was invented about thirty years ago in Reth," he said. "It uses a smaller aggregate than traditional Tiurishkan concrete or Ulen Karish skystone. It's slightly stronger and a great deal easier to work with..." Tiurishkan concrete used large stones, and these were properly placed by hand, which was labor intensive. Cliffside concrete could be poured into a mold, and left to set.

"Somethin' tells me it's not quite that simple, is it, laddie?"

"It's new, and fairly expensive, Dr. Grensmann. We don't build with it in the west because the primary sources are all in the east -- Tinenshire, Deyanshire, Cebberside..."

"If only that was the kind of place we had a freight railroad running," Dale Masseler grinned. "And I'm certain Mr... which uncle is it, Carol? Mr. Galtlowe or Mr. Ladsarrel?"

"Carzal Galtlowe, sir."

"Yes, yes. I'm certain he'd be obliging. Galtlowe..." Whenever names were mentioned, it was Teo's habit to try and recall if he knew the families. Galtlowe was an old clan of the Midlands, although they were not landed. Were they? It seemed like some Galtlowe was Viscount Myrbew -- or some similar wretched estate, out closer to the borders. Indeed, Dale furrowed his brow -- "Lord Myrbew, isn't it?" -- and Teo cheered his recall.

"Yes, sir."

Dale looked down at the diagrams, and the map, and in his keen gaze Teo had the sense of the kind of man who knew the country, and took no course of action rashly. The kind of man whose learned intellect ensured that anyone would trust his authority. The kind of man, in short, that the dog hoped to be one day -- staring into a map and seeing it evolve before his eyes and will and judgment. "Allen?"

Dr. Grensmann tapped his sharp claws one against the other. "Would save us a lot of rail."

"You trust your bridger's judgment?"

"It's his first project," Allen Grensmann said. It was neither a vote of confidence nor a denial. "I've not seen his work before, but he came recommended well by the college at Marrahurst. If he thinks it would be better..."

"Do you think it would be better?"

The otter shifted. Finally he took a deep breath. "Sir, I'll be honest, I spend my life close to the ground -- I don't know bridges that well. He's supposed to be our expert. We'll have to rely on the pup down south -- an' ach, Mr. Masseler, if we can't trust him here we sure as Isul's damnation can't trust him in the Dalrath."

"Concrete," Dale murmured, and picked up the sheet of drawings Teobas had done. He felt very self-conscious of the scrawled penwork. "You'll need forms, won't you? Men. This would be a rather... substantial investment."

"Yes," Teo said. He thought it would take three months, perhaps, to have everything done properly. Plans reviewed, forms built and tested, concrete ordered and delivered. "Although with a bridge made of Cliffside instead of stone, you could run two lines of our heaviest trains over it -- from now until the eleventh century."

"And you could make this out of concrete?" He set the paper down, so that it covered the redrawn map. His paw rested on it ominously.

In twenty years, the dog decided, there would be no question. Men like Carol would come to him asking his permission and advice the same way he now came to Masseler and Grensmann. And that meant starting somewhere, even if it wasn't the easiest path -- so he shook his head. "No, sir."

"No?" All three of the others turned to look at him.

"No." He returned their gaze as strongly as he could manage. "If it's to be made of concrete, the plans should be redrawn to take that into account. We don't make steam locomotives with a harness for horses, and we shouldn't make concrete bridges on plans for stone ones. I can do this better -- cheaper. Stronger, too."

In fact, now that he looked at it, the answers were becoming obvious. One arch instead of two -- the pylons anchored in the valley walls to either side of the little river. Perashire stone could not have managed, but with new building materials... and it could be designed so that they would not even need to build a cofferdam.

He quickly pulled the pen from his pocket. And now that Dale had let the paper go, Teo now took this as well, leaning over the table. Sketching briskly even as he talked: "If nothing else, we can simplify the design substantially. Cliffside has a compressive strength of well over twenty plates -- about the same as what they use for their castles around here, though... no. Wait!"

"Eh?"

How had he missed it? Teo scratched out one whole block of numbers. "I gave you the original plans using Marcorring's method, but actually... in this case the bridge more closely approximates an idealized Kassek body, so I should be using Bashaleska's formulas instead." The dog shut his eyes, trying to remember the difference between Til Marcorring's tensor and Bashaleska's. Scribbled faster: "no, it should be nearly three times as strong. I'll have to check to be sure. I can't remember if this constant is 1.2 or 1.5, so I took the lower figure..."

"To be young again," Dale shook his head. "And full of such fire."

"Something like, anyhow," Allen answered.

"Sir -- Dr. Grensmann -- I can do this," Teo said; his voice was soft, and urgent. "It'll take some time, yes, but a few months now will save us a great deal further along."

"Carol, you said there's something with the shovel? A delay?"

"Supervisor Layleigh is held up in Salketh. The rails aren't strong enough. It'll have to go to Marrahurst, Kiathen... then Kennerdum to Lake Peraford, and by barge to the far shore. Six weeks on the near side, maybe eight. From Salketh it'll be quicker going."

"This is an opportunity, then," Dale tapped his finger on the map thoughtfully. "Very well. Mr. Franklyn, you're going to have a bridge over the Amaraan River built for me, and you're going to build it in six weeks."

Teo's muzzle fell open. "I..." It was half the time he'd budgeted.

"If that bridge isn't ready by the time Layleigh's steam shovel gets here, you'll be holding up the whole of the damned railroad, and I won't have that. Get it done. Work with Mr. Titthitch. I don't care what it takes -- if there's no bridge in six weeks, the both of you are carrying the shovel across the river yourself. That'll be all. Dr. Grensmann -- a word?"

The otter winked. "Don't let me down, laddie."

When the pair were alone, Carol looked nearly as forlorn as Teo had. He looked at the mostly finished drawings, with his well-groomed ears slowly wilting. "You know what you're talking about, right?"

"Yes," Teo said. "Let me draw up a new sketch, and I'll tell you how much concrete we'll need. If your uncle can send a crew down, we should also have some men with experience pouring it to help out. I know concrete theoretically, but..."

The diagraming took most of the night -- working by the waning evening light and then by torch, in the wagon that served as his office. He didn't sleep: took coffee with the work crew in the morning, around their campfire, and then slipped back to the wagon to double check his figures.

Sometimes, he loved the size of the Iron Kingdom. The expansive borders seemed to promise frontiers yet untamed, and opportunities around every curve of every river. Big horizons, as Mey had said. But Mirhall was not on a telegraph line, and that meant that orders to Carzal Galtlowe's concrete firm had to go all the way to Salketh to be transmitted. In the interim, he drew up detailed plans for the falsework -- the wooden forms that would shape the concrete as it was poured, and support it while it cured.

"Do these look... correct?" he asked Dr. Grensmann.

The otter stuck his tongue into his cheek and, with this absurd expression on his face, looked at the blueprints for a good long while. "Beats the hell out of me, laddie," he finally said. "But I hope to the gods it is."

That made two of them. At Mirhall, Lord Rulwen said that he didn't have the manpower available at his mill for the lumber. Teo was asked to wait outside; he heard Dale Masseler's voice, and Rulwen's increasingly loud replies. Then they suddenly grew silent. A minute later the lion stalked out. Dale Masseler shook his head, rolled his eyes, and promised: "Mr. Franklyn, my good man, you'll have your forms if the Lord Rulwen has to chop his furniture up for them."

At its deepest, the Amaraan River was perhaps two feet, and slow-moving. Had he been inclined to the countryside, a young Teobas might've sat at its banks and trailed his fingers through the warm water. As it was, he eyed it judgmentally, and carefully paced the outlines for the bridge foundations. It would be a close-run task, to finish on time; they had not yet heard back from Galtlowe. Twice he heard the roar of a greatcat, from somewhere in the hills beyond -- the second time he shouted back, as loudly and angrily as he could, and after that he heard nothing else.

Carol Titthitch, as head of operations, pulled Stockman's crew from laying rail and set them to excavating the foundations instead. When this was done, Teobas and Samhal examined the work and came to the same conclusion: the underlying Perashire rock would hold the weight of any bridge men could strain it with. Suitably buoyed, Teobas agreed that Sam could start on the falsework, too, with a borrowed carpenter from Castle Mirhall helping to lead Stockman's crew. For all his gruffness, the bear led his men with orderly precision. Day by day the scaffolding grew, into the wooden shell of a bridge eighty feet long, rising twenty-five feet over the languid waters of the river beneath.

The first wagons arrived three weeks in, just as Teo thought he might perish from the stress. With them came one of Galtlowe's best men, a hare with one ear perpetually at the bend and a strong eastern accent. He hopped down from the wagon, looked around, and pointed to the scaffold. "Who designed this?"

"I did. Sir," Teo added as an afterthought. More than a month since a proper bath, and his clothes were dirty from the mud of the riverbank. He looked closer to Sam than he did Dale Masseler, he knew, so he put some effort into his accent. "I have detailed blueprints, if you'd like to review them."

"Of course," the hare said.

Teo fetched his satchel, and carefully unfolded the drawings. "I'm Teobas Franklyn," he introduced himself, since no introduction had come from the other man. "The bridger for this project."

"Who's your master?"

"I'm not actually... apprenticing, sir. I'm the only one. I work with Dr. Allen Grensmann, on the general drafting of the railroad, though."

"Hm." He flipped through the drawings slowly. "Well, I'm Dr. Yddan Witish, Mr. Franklyn. I suppose we'll be working quite closely. You know, concrete has quite different properties than you're probably used to. This looks like it was designed with Til Marcorring's theories of material stress."

"Actually, I used Bashaleska's tensor in estimating the requirements," Teo said. "He's from the college of Izkadi, in western --"

Yddan gave him a strange look. "I know who he is. You studied Darig Bashaleska?"

"Yes, sir."

"What in Æmer's name are you planning on putting on this bridge, then?"

"Freight rail, Dr. Witish. We're laying down sixty-pound rail from here to New Jarankyld."

"Car'gal'th," Yddan swore, and Teo couldn't tell if the man was impressed or irritated. "You Carregans are mad. But it'll do that, sure."

Yddan Witish clearly wished that he and his men had built the falseworks, because he scrutinized every inch. The dog couldn't really blame him; they were new at concrete, which was one of the most fantastic inventions of recent history. Dr. Witish suggested half a dozen changes, but restrained himself further, and Teobas went over every correction with Sam as carefully as the pair could.

When the revisions were finished, Yddan took command of Stockman's gang, and they mixed the Cliffside concrete with water from the much put-upon Amaraan. Teo took a deep breath as they made the first pour... but the structure held. Mounted slowly, for despite the bulk of the bridge Dr. Witish demanded a patient approach to its construction. Twice he himself clambered up the scaffold, jumping deftly from beam to beam, so that he could inspect the joins. The second time, Teo accompanied him, and afterwards asked for notes on what he'd been looking for.

It was a very simple design; they did not have the time for anything more complex than the brute force of an arch. Arches were naturally strong; so long as a constant weight was laid upon them, the pressure on the arch itself made the structure stronger still. This bridge carried, at minimum, the two thousand tons of concrete that made up its upper part. When the last of this was poured, and beginning to set, Teo used a stick to sign his name, tucked away in a corner.

"It should cure for at least a week," Yddan said, looking at the finished product from the hill above. The grey Cliffside was almost unnaturally smooth and all at odds with the greenery of the Perashire countryside. But of course, that was its right: they were, after all, defying what nature had intended. Nature had meant for the river to serve as a barrier, and the Railroad had disagreed. Teo had disagreed.

Now the bridge stood in earnest argument for their endeavors. "Happy with it, Kitten?" Samhal asked.

"Yes." Yddan was gone. Carol was gone, too, trying to round up coal for the steam shovels that had arrived in Salketh and were beginning their steady advance down the rail that had already been laid. "I am." It wasn't much to look at, but it was his doing. "What about you? Your men helped build it, too."

"They did. Never seen a bridge go up that fast, either. But you know what, it's also two miles of digging ditches you've saved us, so I reckon we made out pretty well in the end, Kitten. See what Layleigh says, though, havin' to drive the shovel over it."

"I've not seen one of our new steam shovels, actually... the only ones I've seen were in scrapyards. I imagine they're quite impressive, up close and in person."

"Hell with 'em," Stockman grunted. "We built the whole of the Meteor's main line with nothing but these." He held up his hands, gnarled and with matted fur. "Our fuckin' muscles have done more for this railroad than any damned machine, I'll tell you that much. Built your fuckin' bridge, too, Kitten. Give me a crew and a hundred good picks and I'll put you through that bloody forest in a month."

Teo couldn't help but grin at the boast. "They'll be testing that."

"Let 'em."

A runner brought word that Carol was expecting them. It was not so far to the railhead now. Teo could see the shovel before he could see anything else -- a huge machine, twice the size of the largest locomotive. It only became more imposing when he drew nearer, until he was up alongside it, peering at wheels that were not much less than his own height. Carol Titthitch grinned at his expression: it had taken nearly as much work to get the shovel in place as it had to build the new bridge.

"Not bad, is it Mr. Franklyn?" the fox asked.

"No," Teo returned the grin with his own, boyish and utterly appreciative. "It looks marvelous!"

The shovel was a special machine designed for Carregan Transcontinental. At its front was a huge scoop, capable of tearing into the earth against nearly any obstacle. Further behind that was a glass-windowed cockpit, rather like the bridge of one of the new steamships -- and indeed, as Carol explained, a railbuilding machine was at least as complicated as a steamship, only less watertight.

It even had "ballast," he joked, although in this case the term referred to the crushed stone that formed the railbed. A supply of such ballast, and of ties, and of rail -- carefully measured by the machine itself -- meant that one shovel could replace a whole crew of workmen. "It's very nearly automatic," the fox exclaimed, with a hint of pride that Teo shared. Still, the dog had to wonder what Samhal Stockman would think of such a suggestion -- he guessed the man would be quite skeptical. "Probably," Carol agreed. "But we'll find out soon."

"Soon?"

"If the bridge is ready, it's time to move. We need to get from here to that span. Mr. Masseler suggested that we meet in the middle -- the shovel will start from here, and Mr. Stockman's crew from the bridge. No sense in wasting any more time... and I doubt the ditch-diggers are keen to do any more laying about -- good as they are at it." He chuckled, and patted the iron side of the shovel. "We'll have them get a good night's sleep, and be on our way..."

"Meet in the middle, eh?"

"I think," Carol rubbed his paws together, and his eyes swept again over the machine's iron sides. "I think we should, perhaps, have a bit of a competition. Don't you?"

"Between man and machine?" The sort of stuff, in other words, that legends were born from. The dog's ears were perked. "Do you think Stockman would agree to it?"

He did, and then some: Teobas gathered that the eagerness was fueled by the resentment the bear felt towards the new technology. Carol suggested that one of the two young men go with Supervisor Layleigh, and the other with the foreman; though the powerful lines of the railbuilder thrilled him, Teo volunteered to stick with Samhal.

The bear, for his faults, had the love of his men, and Teo was interested in seeing him work. They'd performed superlatively on the bridge, after all, and Carol Titthitch was right: the crew was stir-crazy. Teo got an early night's rest, and woke before the dawn with Stockman, checking the route one last time -- it wouldn't do to get near the end and find that the two teams were doomed to miss their rendezvous.

Sam jogged the last half-mile back to camp, forcing Teo to trot along with him. The sunrise was still an unfulfilled hope on the eastern horizon, and the work crew was huddled around the fire, working idly at coffee and bacon. Stockman, with his blood up, put the energy of the run into his bellowing voice: "Get up. All of you. Up! And gather 'round!"

Grumbling, restless, their breath coming with little puffs like steam locomotives in the chill of the early morning, they obeyed. Teo did, too, standing a little off to the side.

"Now they've got this idea. Brought one of their shovels up. We'll be using it from here on out. They'll dig the ditches; we'll set the ballast and put the rails down. Everybody can be friends. But first, first, they've got this idea they could do it all by themselves. That's right, Kitten?"

"Yes, that's right. The shoveler they've brought over is one of the newest models from R.M. Keering's foundry. An automated system. Digs the trench, fills it, aligns the rails -- very nifty contraption, actually." It was, after all. The Iron Kingdom did not always invent the most advanced technologies but, like the steam engine or Cliffside concrete, they did invent the most practical.

"You hear? So we're going to start from here, and they're going to start from there, and we're going to meet in the middle. That's the plan, city boy?" Teo nodded. "They'll do it their way; we'll do it ours. Now, these coal-eaters, they think they know the future. Well, I'm not a registered bloody scryer -- but I'll be damned if the future is giving up to a crew of fuckin' firemen and their mechanical fuckin' god. We are going to meet that iron bastard more than halfway. We are going to prove to them that when we start on the railroad for real, we are more than equals. Do you understand me?"

A few muttered curse words came in answer.

This did not rise to the level of Sam's satisfaction. "Not bloody good enough. For either you or me. Alright! You hear me, you sons of gutter trash. If we beat that damned thing, it's three crowns for each of you to spend on whores or send back home to mother -- if there's a difference."

"Double that," Teo said quietly to him.

"Eh?"

"I'll match you. I'm good for it." He hadn't really spent any money since leaving the university.

"Ha!" Sam grinned, and raised his voice again. "You hear that? Kitten here doesn't think you can do it either! Six crowns if you lazy bastards can figure out which way the shovel goes in!"

They were going to have to do the work regardless, so the gang grunted their acquiescence, downed the last of their morning coffee, and got ready. Teo looked them over -- dozens of hard-edged men with dirt permanently stamped into their fur. And yet, in years of experience from one side of the Empire to another, they knew what to do.

Break the earth, with pickaxes if they had to. Shovel it out. Put down the bed of gravel and tamp it down for the sleepers. Fix the sleepers. Lay the rail. Drive the spikes that bound them together. "Simple," Samhal Stockman laughed, and indeed it was simple -- but hard work.

The steam shovel blew a loud whistle, and they could see smoke rising from its stack. Sam ordered his gang into their teams, and Teo watched as the coarse, loud, ill-smelling men became as well-disciplined and orderly as any general might've hoped to review. Just like a drilling army, they moved to a clear beat. Teo stood back, padding along with the mules and supply wagons; charting their steady progress.

He had always loved watching people who were good at what they did. A potter in Cotting Chase, skillfully working the stiffening clay. The women at the Arrengate textile mill, methodically turning out the great bolts of cloth. His superiors at the university, with the easy way their pencils skimmed a page growing ever denser with plans and formulae.

This was no different. He could have no doubt, seeing them, that they were the best in the world at this. Better even, perhaps, than the steam engine. They could hear the pounding of its machinery now, when they stopped for a break and some scanty food at eleven in the morning. Teo tried to figure out how far the opposing sides had gotten, but hadn't come to any conclusions before the men were getting back to work.

"How does it go?" Teo asked Samhal Stockman. The bear was dispensing with a final cup of fresh water; it dribbled down his blunt muzzle and smeared the dirt of his overalls into long, obscene tracks.

"Well enough. Not as quick as I'd like, maybe."

Teo took a deep breath and set his jaw: "What can I do?"

"What?"

He felt particularly soft, and particularly unqualified, but he swallowed and said it again. "What can I do? To help?"

At first Stockman looked incredulous. Then he decided either that the dog wasn't joking, or that he couldn't afford to waste the time. He pointed back to the equipment wagons, perched near where men were excavating the ditches -- kicking up gouts of dirt like cannon shells were striking the cool Perashire soil. "Grab a shovel," Sam grunted.

And so Teo did.

It felt awkward, in his soft pawpads; the wood smooth from stronger hands that had grasped it over the years. At least the job was simple, and no one protested having another hand to help. For the first few minutes, he threw himself into the effort with all he had.

His muscles were starting to protest, and he realized that everyone around him was also pacing themselves. He switched to their cadence -- and then, soon enough, to something like half their cadence. There was so much of it, so much raw earth beneath their feet, and as he drove the shovel home it seemed that they would never be able to make any progress.

But then, they hadn't built the line from Stanlira to Tilladen with a steam engine. Nor the line to Tabisthalia. Nor the iron rails of the Lodestone Meteor, flying fleet down the coastline and the broad river to Korlyda. Men had done that, men like Sam Stockman and his ilk. Strong muscles and strong will. The longer he distracted himself, the less time he had to focus on the impossibility of every new shovelful.

Behind him, he heard the idle baying of mules and the creak of wagon wheels and the clatter of gravel. The rhythmic clang of a sledgehammer striking iron. The call and response of a song from the gang putting down the ballast and rails.

Ahead of him, they were breaking the earth ahead of the shovelers. Stockman was at work, too; his strong body arched and then his arms brought the pickaxe down with a dull thud -- and again. And again. As steady, as relentless as any machine. Teo would have to be like that. Just like he'd risen to the occasion of the bridge...

When Stockman called them in for the midday meal, they'd been working for another four hours. Without the dog's noticing, the cooks had managed to get a fire set, and smoke was rising from whatever it was they were preparing. Teo straggled over. Sam was already there, and still shouting -- "be quick with it. That bloody machine ain't takin' no lunch break" -- but when he saw the dog, he grinned. "'Ey, Kitten. Hungry?"

"I --" No, he thought at first. But as soon as he thought about it, he was ravenous. "Yes."

At the fire, someone pressed a chunk of brown bread into his paw, and a hunk of what seemed to be Hallenby cheese the size of the dog's fist. At least, it looked that way; Teo found that his paws didn't work well enough to form fists. He clasped the bread and cheese weakly, and some of the strips of salt pork they were cooking -- blackened on one side, raw on the other.

Sam was seated, his bulk sprawled into the grass, and Teo elected to join him. As soon as he was seated, the dog decided he was never standing up again. Perhaps never moving again, although with some effort he tore into the most delicious bread he had ever eaten, and a truly masterful Hallenby.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Teo swallowed, thought about answering, and then took another bite. The Hallenby's mild, subtle taste was only enhanced by the spots of mold he was pointedly choosing to ignore. "Yes," he said, with a deliberateness that would've been more convincing had it not been so weak.

"It's not every man who would choose to do that."

"It... might have been a mistake," Teo admitted. The pads of his paw were tender, and raw, and when his muscles decided he was paying attention to them again they began to scream immediately. But he wanted to prove himself badly, almost as badly as he didn't want Sam to know that this was why he had volunteered.

"It'll get better," the bear chuckled. "Drink."

With the most substantial effort in the world, he got to his feet and staggered back to the fire. Took a cup of water, downed it in one pull, and then took another. And a third. The third was enough to wash down the rest of the bread, which did seem to be partly sawdust, and he made his way back to Sam just as the bear was getting up.

"Back to it, Kitten. Unless you're tired already?" Teo managed to shake his head, and Sam patted the dog's shoulder affectionately. Then he raised his voice to a roar as he started giving orders once again.

The only thing that heartened Teobas was the glance he allowed himself back towards the bridge. It was well in the distance, now -- still clearly visible, but they'd come a long way in the intervening hours. Fresh rail gleamed on the slate grey of the ballast stones. It was a goodly amount of work.

Gritting his teeth, the dog set himself to the labor yet to come. Fixed his vision only on the shining, rock-scoured point of his shovel as he drove it into the soft earth. Step by step. Watching the men around him; copying their movements as best he could for the greatest efficiency -- he was an engineer at heart, still, was he not? Learning from observation. Adapting. Growling at the weakness of his own frail body.

The banging of the steam shovel came as a quickening clatter and it served to motivate them as certainly as an army's drummer. Now every time he glanced up he could see it -- closer. Closer. He tried to ignore every twinge in his muscles -- the jolt of pain thudding up his arms when the shovel bit in. Just a little more. Just a few more minutes -- and the light was already beginning to fade, with the late afternoon cool easing his soreness, though he was still panting heavily...

A whistle bellowed. He looked up: the shovel loomed, with the great bucket of its excavator perched high above them. He couldn't understand what was being said -- Sam shouted, and a few seconds later one of the other men passed down word that the shovel was halting, so that Stockman's crew could finish the rest of the work.

When that was done -- not much for Teobas to do -- the dog hobbled away, and looked from horizon to horizon. At one, he could just barely make out his bridge beyond the green hills. They'd been there just that morning! To the other, twin bands of iron rail pointed their way north, to Mirhall and Salketh and everything that had come before...

Every part of the dog's body ached, and there was a cut in the pad of his right paw that had only recently stopped bleeding. He took a bowl of stew that was offered, and found that he lacked the dexterity to work the wooden spoon. Instead he lapped, like a wild animal, at the salty broth and greasy meat.

"You're not so bad, Kitten," Sam told him, before dropping his huge body to rest opposite the dog. "Maybe not destined to be a tracklayer by trade, but it was a good thought..."

"Wanted to see what it was like..."

"And?"

"Car gal'th," he muttered, and ignored his ordinary habit of eschewing curses. "I really don't know how you do it..."

"Practice," the bear replied. "Not all of us were born to money like you were."

Teo didn't think of himself as especially privileged, despite his education. On the other hand, he also lacked the energy to continue the debate. He tipped the stew back and devoured it sloppily -- banishing from memory Cravern Garmery's warning: don't want to know what's in it. No, that he did not. He licked bits of onion and stock from the corners of his mouth.

Gods, but he was tired. Tired enough almost to ignore the approach of Carol Titthitch. The fox lifted an eyebrow at Teo's appearance, and then laughed. "You look a mess, Teobas Franklyn," he said; his own garments were immaculate. Then he lifted his voice -- not quite shouting, because that would've been very undignified, but enough to command attention. "Final distances are tallied. The railbuilder Adara and her crew have managed four thousand, two hundred and nine feet of rail laid."

Four thousand feet! Teo shook his head -- such fantastic efficiency! With disinterest so calculated it was plainly an act, Sam looked up from his mug of water. "And my men?"

"Foreman Stockman, his men and, of course, Teobas Franklyn " -- said with a little bit of a grin -- "have managed..." He looked at his notebook, and squinted as if unable to properly divine the figures. The silence stretched. "Hm..."

"Out with it, you bloody fool," Sam snapped.

"Five thousand, nine hundred seventy feet. Congratulations to -- Teo?"

But the dog was already passed out, and not even Sam's rough paws shaking him could rouse the pup from slumber.

Teo did not dream often, and he did not dream vividly. This time was different. This time, he saw the black iron sides of the Adara towering; a knight on horseback -- saw its shovel extended like a lance, challenging the barbarian hordes. Saw the smoke that spilled from its stack stretched backwards, forming an inky banner...

He awoke to find that he'd been positioned by the campfire, which had burned to embers. Back in the wagon that served for an office, Allen Grensmann was still fast asleep; he slipped quietly past the otter and fetched his notebook. Opening it, he put pen to paper and scrawled down all that he had sensed in his slumber. The way the forest had parted before them; the sound like rumbling hoofbeats of iron wheels on the crossties. Ten, twenty, thirty years later -- the Dalrath leveled, put to the plow; rolling fields of wheat, and stately orchards, and the rails binding it all together like an iron skeleton. That was what they had meant. That was why they were the Iron Kingdom.

Now the rays of the morning sun cast ribbons of bright red beyond the hilltops. On the far horizon, one of the moons was still visible -- just -- and between the two was a broad expanse of deepening blue. Outside the cities, without the haze, he could still catch the last of the stars. Taking a deep breath, he forced his arms to work, grabbing the handhold and pulling himself up the stairs to the shovel's bridge. Two uniformed Carregan workers stood at the controls; their backs were to him.

"Good morning," he said. "Mr. Masseler told me to come aboard for the first crossing." Like Carol, Dale had been amused by Teo's decision to volunteer at the railroad gang. But he'd been very good natured about it, speaking to Teo over breakfast, and pointed out that the next step was getting across the river. See what it looks like from the engine, he said...

"Did they, then?" One of the two turned around, paw still resting on one of the control levers. A tabby cat, with hair cut a little too short for decency and very masculine clothing. She looked him over, and Teo realized how battered he truly must've appeared. He had not had the chance to retire to his wagon to change; his clothes were streaked with dirt. "Which Carregan's boy are you?"

"I'm not. I work for Dr. Grensmann."

She snorted, and nodded her head towards an empty chair. "Well, sit if you'd like. Or stand; same to me. Welcome aboard the Adara. That there's Bran Harblack; I'm Lara Layleigh, and this is my shovel you'll be riding on. Kindly remember that."

So he decided to stand; took two steps forward, so that he could look out the polished glass windows. "Teobas Franklyn," he answered in kind. "That's my bridge you'll be riding on. Kindly remember that."

Supervisor Layleigh took his response in stride. "You're a bridger?"

"Yes," he said, though a second or two later he clarified: "Newly so. That's my first project for Carregan Transcontinental."

"Well." Lara pulled one of the levers down a notch, and he felt the machine shift beneath them, starting to move. "Guess we'd best hope you're good at it."

By his estimations, the bridge could take two hundred tons, at least; he was not worried about his strength so long as the concrete held. Dr. Witish would not be around to watch. Yet he trusted the hare's judgment, and he supposed that he had to trust his own. The bridge came closer, and they picked up speed. Not too much, for only a few hundred feet of rail had been laid at the far side. Just enough to get across -- and before he knew it, the sound of the track beneath them smoothed, and he saw the river valley to either side.

He was four dozen feet above the river, on twenty-five feet of his bridge and twenty feet of Carregan machinery, and it was the best feeling he had ever experienced. Despite the pain, despite the uncertainty, Teo grinned like a madman, and when the valley was behind them and they were slowing to a stop Lara Layleigh grinned, too. Razor-sharp feline teeth showed -- but she seemed to understand what he felt.

"One hurdle cleared, I guess. Not bad for your first time, Dr. Franklyn."

He didn't bother to correct her; once she'd brought the shovel to a complete halt again he jumped down, and walked back to where Dale Masseler, Allen Grensmann and a few others were inspecting the bridge. He did the same, but there was no sign of any distress -- no cracking, no shifting of the dirt, no bending of the rail. "I'm glad we took the chance," Masseler said. He was looking at the bridge, but speaking to Teobas.

"Yes, sir," the dog said, and wagged a phantom tail.

"Bit of a new opportunity, here."

"Sir?"

"I'd like to survey straight on as the crow flies from here, rather than using the logging road. Save us some time, and some track to boot. Dr. Grensmann!"

"Yes?" The otter was standing on the bridge, looking down at the lazy river winding below them.

"I'm going to send Mr. Franklyn south again, I believe. Can we bring someone down from Stanlira? What's Kaen Wulyth doing?"

"Wulyth?" Allen Grensmann kicked a stone off the bridge, and watched it fall. The otter turned. "Lassie's working on the Cebberside spur since not eight months back," he said. "But it's all but mapped, now..."

"I want a good surveyor. Would Kaen come down if you were here?"

"Me? After..." he took a deep breath. "Ach. Probably, aye, sir. You'd have to ask."

"Right then. I'm asking for a detachment of the Corps, and we'll have her down on the same train if we can. Mr. Franklyn, by my maps we could put this line down right along the eastern edge of Laasl Fitch's lands. We'd just need a little strip to work with. You'll get that if you can, yes?"

"Laasl Fitch, sir?"

They went to Masseler's wagon and he pulled down their maps of the county. As Teo had suspected, Hayer Fitch had not been born a Hayer -- actually, if the old royal surveys were to be trusted, he had not been born a Fitch, either. Arn-Laasl Fysch -- Teo rolled his eyes, although Masseler was too preoccupied to notice. "He'll ask for a hundred and fifty an acre. Don't offer more than one twenty -- and I'm serious this time, my boy. Mr. Garmery knows the value of a turnip, but he's no expert on real estate."

"Of course, sir."

"All the same... take him with you, and see if we can't get a stockpile laid in, too -- I suppose he'll be busy today, but you'll head down first thing tomorrow..."

This time around it took barely half a day to cover the roads down to Fitch's manor, although Teo walked slowly. Partly this was because his body was still rebelling against the work he'd put it through; partly, it was because he wanted to climb every subtle hill, and get a feel for the lands around them. He didn't know who Kaen Wulyth was, but if Grensmann and Masseler knew her by name then she must've been quite the authority, and he intended to make a positive impression.

"Stocky said ye worked the rail with 'is gang t'other day, ey?" Garmery asked.

"That's right." Teo had changed clothes since, and looked more or less as clean as he'd ever been since leaving the running water of Salketh. "The second two shifts, I helped them clear the ditches before they put the ballast in."

"Odd lad," the other dog grunted. "Doin' that when it weren't asked of ye. Be like that in t'woods, too?"

"Have to know what I'm asking them to do, don't I?" From the hill they had summited, they could see Fitch's house and the rail line practically all at once. Lara Layleigh's shovel was smoking, and if he listened carefully he thought he could hear the clang of driven spikes. "We're all in this together." It was a line from the old folk song, 'The Ballad of the Lodestone Meteor,' and though he didn't generally care for that sort of music he'd always been partial to songs of the railroad men.

"Gonna start helpin' with the stew?"

"Maybe," Teo laughed. In the hills to their east, a greatcat bellowed, and the young dog looked towards that horizon. That was where Masseler wanted the rail. Scrubby, unfarmed. Wild. Waiting for them to tame it... but why hadn't the lord of the manor? What was he waiting for? He took a drink from his canteen, scanning the horizon -- and then it hit him, and he grinned. But there was optimism in the realization: Teo and the Railroad could take the opportunity to succeed where the polecat had failed.

"Is there a problem?" Hayer Fitch asked. He was wearing the same vest as before. "Can I help you?"

"No problem, my lord," Teobas Franklyn answered, and bowed a little. "The food has been of superlative quality. We've made quite good progress, you know -- just bridged the Amaraan River, and we're putting down two miles a day even through these hills."

"Good..."

"Better than," Cravern added. "That's what good men can do with a full belly. Do owe ye, mate. Be 'eaded down wood next week, like as not."

"Now that does raise a question," Teo said. And he opened his jacket, and pulled out a map. "Might we talk?"

"Perhaps." As soon as the map had come out, the polecat's ears twitched. "Ruovan, bring some wine, please. The fat one at least looks like he could use it..." Fitch's servant nodded and slunk off; by the time he returned, the map was spread on a nice hardwood table, polished from centuries of use. Both Fitch and Franklyn ignored the haste with which Garmery downed his glass.

"Lord Rulwen has given us the use of his easement on the logging roads," Teo explained, and his finger walked along the edges of that road. When he looked at the polecat's claws, he could see that Fitch had not bothered to clean them -- gods, what strange men the South Coasters were. An ill-fitting vest and unpolished claws! It bordered on being scandalous.

"But that's not good enough for you."

"You can see what I mean," Teo smiled. The logging road curved, and worked its way to a thick stand of trees that was almost, but not quite, Dalrath. It was not a straight track, and it did not exactly go in the direction they wanted. "There would be other ways to do this..."

"You mean, through my property. You're asking to buy transit rights."

"The land itself," the dog corrected. He thought of just such land -- overgrown, disused. Fitch had known what they were after from the moment the map had come out, and he clearly had no attachment. "Along the whole of your property line to the edge of the Dalrath." When he said the word -- and he'd needed to work himself up to it -- he managed the practiced indifference not of a quailing town boy, but of a Railroader ready to tear it up by the roots.

"How much?"

"Oughta be payin' us," Garmery grinned sloppily, and poured himself another glass.

Fitch snapped an acid look towards the dog. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You Railroad men think you're gods straight from the Coral Valley, don't you? Well you're not. Send me a drunk and a schoolboy to talk about buying my land and -- as if I'm to take you seriously! As if I'm --"

"My colleague is..." Teo ignored Garmery's expression. "Distracted by our work. But I have Carregan's checkbook, sir, and in any case we speak the same language; you know what we're after. We'd like to buy your land -- everything outlined in pen on this map, as you can see. How much would you like for it?"

"For that area? Prime South Coast farmland? I couldn't part with it for less than... a hundred and fifty an acre. And I should ask more." He was eyeing Cravern Garmery with a scornful expression -- which, in fairness, Garmery deserved. But Teo could see in it what he was really thinking, which was that he was a landowner, a master of his own domain. That he was better than these northeastern upstarts with their steam engines and their fancy machinery. That he was going to put them in their place -- and when Fitch sneered at Garmery, and opened his mouth to speak again, Teo cut him off.

"Come now," he said, with a voice that spoke with authority decades beyond his years. "You know it's not worth more than a hundred on a good day. Rather, let me tell you why you will part with it, and why you're about to take fifty pounds even. Per acre."

"You're out of your mind," Fitch gasped, with the older dog forgotten. "I'll do no such thing!"

"You will. For two reasons, sir. I shan't give you the one -- that Lord Corwyck is friends with Lord Rulwen, and that Tokeli Carregan has the ear of King Chatherral, at whose pleasure your ownership persists. Consider the other, instead. That land is worthless to you. Your eastern acreage is half fallow and half untouched. You don't want for good soil or good labor -- I know you'd put up orchards on the west slope if you could. But you haven't. The land we're asking for hasn't been touched by a plow for centuries -- maybe since the World Before."

"It's still mine, pup."

"Of course," Teo soothed him. "Have you seen a steam locomotive, sir? Do you know what they feed on?"

"Coal. Wood. Insolent children."

"Coal and wood, yes," Teobas nodded. "And water. Now, I said we've bridged the Amaraan. We could put a watering station there -- build a dam, and a retaining pond, and the pumps and all. But the Amaraan flows into the Silver Run not a mile north of here, does it not? Eight times as wide and four times as deep. Clean, fresh water... and it would make so much more sense to put a stop here, don't you think? Closer to productive farmland, and not a twisting valley. We'd have to dig a short canal, naturally, and, well... well, there's no way we could consume as much water as the canal would provide."

The polecat looked from Teo to the map, and the gears in his head were spinning as surely as Otonichi clockwork. "You're saying..."

"I'm saying if we had reason to build a canal, it would be simple enough to add a gate or two. What might you do on the western slope if you could irrigate it without having to maintain and dredge your own ditches?"

"But..."

"Let me be clear. The trade I'm offering you is that we'll pay fifty pounds an acre for land you're not using, and in exchange we'll sell you Silver water at cost that you can use for the rest of your domain. Orchards, fields, mines -- whatever you desire."

"That's... for seventy-five, perhaps..."

Teo shook his head. "I was not negotiating, sir. That is the offer. It's final."

For land that he was not using, though, it was a coup for him -- a coup for the both of them. That was how the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad worked! Everyone profited; everyone benefited. Teo had not clarified what a stop would be -- watering or a proper station -- but Fitch was clearly thinking about the opportunities afforded by a farm placed against the newest artery opening between the beating heart of the Empire and its outward limbs. He was thinking that it was an opportunity he could not pass up.

"Done," he said.

Teo drew up a check written on the Carregan Bank in Stanlira, and Arn-Laasl Hayer Fitch asked no questions.

By the time Ruovan showed them back to the little guest house Cravern had put the rest of the bottle of wine away and Teobas was not entirely certain how cognizant he was of the world around him. It did not bode well for the depot that he'd been negotiating; Teo would have to check that in the morning. Ruovan and the dog guided him to an awkward seated position in the corner, and then the servant scampered off. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Bloody more than," Cravern snorted. "Where'd the wine go?"

"Back in the house, sir."

"Damn." Cravern pawed at one of the sacks of vegetables hopefully. "What about 'is daughter? Where'd she go?"

They had not seen Meydrian. "I'm not... certain," the younger dog admitted. "Presumably back in the house."

"You know," he drawled, "wha' t'best part o'country girls is?"

"No," Teobas sighed. "But I presume you are about to tell --"

"The 'cunt' part," Cravern finished; his comedic timing was more awkwardly syncopated than timed, properly, and his slurring made it more difficult than usual to understand the man's Raghish. "See, I meant 'cause like, if ye say country than..."

They -- or at least Teo -- were saved by the opening of the door; Mey poked her head in, and then the rest of the slender polecat's body followed. "Hello, you two! Father said you'd come back! You've been making a lot of progress, ya? Everyone's talking about it..."

Teo set his jaw and spoke before Cravern could say something vulgar and foolish. "Yes, miss," he agreed. "All the way from Salketh to Mirhall now, and from Mirhall down to the river and across. We'll be at your property line within the week..."

"And then the woods?"

"An' then. Allus lookin' f'r company if ye fancy'n avventur'," Cravern Garmery said. "Reckon us could use'n, bloody well better'n left nor right paw neitherway."

They both blinked, Teo and Mey, and she looked to him. "What did he say?"

"I think," Teo offered -- since he did not know whether she was expressing disbelief or genuine lack of comprehension -- "that he was speaking Raghish." The older dog grunted an answer that was no more easy to understand, and then pitched to the side with a heavy thud.

Mey shook her head and, with a sweet smile, she padded closer and took one of Cravern's thick arms. "Come on, we'll get him to bed, ya?"

Between the two of them, they were able to drag him onto the blanket that had been provided as an ersatz sort of cot. Cravern weighed as much as Teo and Mey put together, and it was not easy. And, when they rolled the canine onto his side, Teo's vest caught a splinter in the wood frame of the building -- snagged sharply. "Oh, ellad! Er -- sorry, miss."

The polecat only laughed, and leaned over to help him unhook himself. "For what?"

"My language," he said.

"You think I mind that?"

It was a very mild oath, to be fair. A schoolboy's oath. "You know what it means, though. 'Yrrdal's blood'?" Yrrdal, god of the trees, was fond of trapping unfortunates in his sticky sap. But an unfortunate end for ants and spiders was still nothing to take in vain -- especially not when they were nearing the great, walking tree's domain. "I don't like cursing." And he frowned, for his vest was now slightly torn, and he was not going to be able to mend it to the standards of the Arrengate tailor who had crafted the thing.

"At least that's one of you," she grinned. "Let's leave your friend be, ya?"

"Where to?"

Mey nudged open the door to the cellar, and turned up the gaslight that cast a pale glow on the sacks and boxes of produce below. "Wait --" and the polecat skipped off, before returning a few minutes later with another set of blankets, and a stuffed pillow besides. "Not right that a couple of hard workers like you and your friend shouldn't have a good bed, ya, and we can spare these. My father sometimes!"

When they'd cleared a space for the blankets, he waited -- but Meydrian Fitch did not depart, and he was given cause to tilt his head. "Er, then..."

"Then?" she asked him. Soft bronze fur around her bright eyes gave her the appearance of oversized glasses, and they put in keen relief the lines of her short muzzle, and triangular ears that just barely perked through her thick mane of hair. "Then what? Do you want me to go?"

"Well..." Well, he had expected. That was all.

"I don't have to, you know. Father's in bed already."

"And..."

For being a South Coaster, she could roll her eyes very nearly as well as Teo himself could. She sat down on a box of apples, and patted the box next to her. Carefully, thoughtfully, Teo sat as well. "Silly pup," she snickered. "Come on, tell me about the railroad."

"What do you want to know?"

"Well! It's hard work, I bet?"

Teobas nodded. "The other day, the track laborers and I held a race against one of our new steam shovels to see who could put down rail the fastest. This shovel -- ah, you should see it, though I suppose you will when it comes by. It's one of the most advanced machines we've ever built. It's got its own engine, and this... uh... this sort of motor that..." he struggled to explain some of the technology he didn't quite understand himself -- the way the engine used pressurized water to drive the big arms of the excavator, for example, or the pulley systems.

"But you raced it? Who won?"

"We did," Teo was becoming more comfortable; secure enough to grin, and turn his paw -- the cut was still raw. "Hard work, but we did it. The better part of two miles, all by hand!"

Mey reached out and took his wrist; her paws folded over his thoughtfully. The polecat's touch was very warm. "Looks like it was very difficult, ya." She didn't bother to hide her accent the way her father did; it was lilting and every sentence ended on an inviting, rising pitch.

"It has been," he admitted. "We built a bridge over the Amaraan River, too, in only six weeks!"

"Six weeks!" Mey's eyes widened -- in the lamplight they glowed, too, and she moved closer to listen. "Also with your paws?"

"Paws and a lot of Cliffside concrete!" She hadn't let him go and, for reasons that he could not quite define, the dog didn't try to pull away. "Concrete is really marvelous. They talk about Otonichi clockwork or even our steam engines but that concrete -- we put the shovel on it and it didn't budge an inch! That bridge will last for -- for forever!"

"If you have anything to say about it," Meydrian Fitch grinned, and winked. "Right?"

"Right."

"And you'll bring the railroad here, right?"

"Right," he said again.

One of her paws left his, and her soft fingers slid up his arm, pushing the fur the wrong way. He glanced down, and saw that her claws at least were well kept and neatly trimmed. "I can't wait. So exciting. You've come so far -- aren't you from Tabis?"

"From Arrenshire," he corrected. Her finger drew a wandering circle on his inner elbow.

"All the way from Arrenshire, then," she nodded. "I've never even met anyone from the Reach. Nor a Railroad man. Nor a canine..." Her voice had softened, so that he had to lean in to hear it, and perk his ears all he could. "All you northerners never really come down these parts..."

The way she'd shifted, the polecat's leg was pressed up to his, and her neatly patterned skirt had ridden up slightly so that bare fur flattened against his trousers. It was exceptionally warm. Teo swallowed. "Well, the... the Railroad will, uh -- will bring some more, I think..."

"You and your Railroad," Mey teased. Smirking, she leaned up and into him, her body heat inescapable. "Come on, ya, tell me -- is it true what they say about dogs?"

"What they say about -- what?" Teo asked, and there was a rising tone on the last word because she'd let his paw go completely now, and he felt her fingers on his thigh. He jolted, and at the same time he heard her laugh he felt the warmth of her breath on his nose... "I'm not certain --"

Is what he said.

What he meant was that he was quite certain that, at least, there was something improper to how close Mey Fitch was to him, and there was definitely something improper about the way the polecat's fingers were now plucking insistently at the buttons that fastened his trousers. Nice trousers. Had them tailored at the shop on Nerrish Street -- near the university -- across the way from the Galith Temple -- pleasant day that had been, warm day in spring and he had --

Now it was no longer possible to distract himself. Teo let out a sharp gasp, because Mey's paw had slipped into his pants and those immaculate claws were stroking his soft fur slowly. That was not supposed to happen -- his father had made that abundantly clear -- except that... that it felt exceedingly good, and a pleasant, soothing warmth radiating through his lower body with every new touch. "Not certain about what?" the farmgirl was asking him and with a start he realized it had been a matter of... seconds, only...

"I, ah... I don't know. I've never, ah..."

"Really?" Mey's fingers grasped him firmly and he found that she was squeezing against a rapidly growing stiffness. "Never?"

"No," he stammered. Teo badly wanted to be the same dog who had argued for building a bridge across the Amaraan -- who had picked up a shovel and set to work at the railhead -- who had stood up for himself before Hayer Fitch -- but the sensations that were threatening to overwhelm him completely made it impossible to think and all he managed was a halfhearted gibbering that Mey interrupted by putting a finger to his muzzle.

Her paw encircled him and she stroked him steadily as his breathing shortened. Mey was grinning at the power she suddenly exerted over him -- power rooted in the throbbing, hard flesh that poked from between the parted fabric of his trousers. Intensely pleasurable and very novel, this sensation; in cobwebbed corners of his brain he recalled that it was supposed to be shameful and he knew that, except that he also knew that was the stupidest thing he had ever. Possibly. Heard.

His hips bucked, jerking up into her paw -- he hadn't meant to and he tried to explain himself but she just squeezed harder, and the pumping of her fingers grew swifter. Another buck -- his thighs were starting to tremble and he shuddered into a groan as a rising pressure built and begged for release that he couldn't even see his way to describing. But he needed it, whatever it was -- like his whole body was building to a shout of -- of what? He sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth and Mey giggled and pressed herself closer, her eyes glinting playfully.

Another strong squeeze of the polecat's fingers and Teo gasped and let out a not terribly dignified growl as deep, thudding pleasure took hold of the dog right where she held him. It shot through him in pounding jolts like the steady beat of a blacksmith's hammer -- throbbing waves as he jolted and twitched in her firm grip. She didn't let go, not until he was panting weakly with his tongue lolling and his unfocused gaze trying to make sense of the lamplit walls.

"Well," Mey laughed; she had a pleasant laugh, though her teeth were quite sharp. "That was quick."

Dazed, he shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds to gather his thoughts. Sparks still danced in the blackness. "What was... what was that?" he asked. And felt something wet in his fur; he opened his eyes again and glanced downward to find he'd somehow made a mess of his clothes -- streaks of thick, pearly white and it seemed quite improbable that it had come from him even if it clearly had...

"What are we ever going to do with you? City boy, ya, don't know how this all works. Go on," Mey urged him. "Take your vest off, and your shirt." He wanted to ask why, but it wasn't like she'd steered him wrong. He slipped out of his vest and shirt, as ordered, and the polecat giggled at the sight, before running her fingers through the abundant fluff of his chest. "City boy, indeed... out here somebody would've taught you by now..."

"Taught me..." he trailed off. No. Beyond the rather garish lesson that Sam Stockman had provided.

Once again, the polecat rolled her eyes. She took his wrist, and pulled it against her belly, pushing his fingers into the lacing of her bodice. "Figure it out, puppy." She was more interested in what was going on with his own thick belt, stroking it wonderingly. Nobody had ever done that before...

Mey was dressed conventionally, he judged. A nice, plaid-patterned skirt and a pale blue blouse that ruffled about her shoulders. A dark bodice clung to her slim body and shaped it further -- let the eyes slide her firm hips, and the curve of the farmgirl's ample chest. It was bound tightly, the bodice, but when he tugged at the lacing it fell away easily and he could loosen the garment bit by bit -- opening the polecat girl like a present...

By the time he was undoing the last of the intricate bindings there was a certain... eagerness in his movements that the dog found difficult to explain. The bodice fell away though, and then she pulled at the billows of her soft blouse until it vanished up, and over her head... Teo had never really seen a woman naked before -- Sam's badger hadn't really counted, as the dog had been very distracted indeed then.

Her mahogany fur was short and soft, and she cooed encouragingly to the dog at the attention he paid to her. She was so warm under his fingers. Without the bodice her young breasts swelled invitingly before him and when he cupped the heated flesh he could see her grin shift from something mischievous into something more... longing? And when his fingers stroked her, the polecat grunted, and a moment later he felt her paw between his ears. Pushing his muzzle down, into her bosom.

Teo inhaled -- caught the pleasant, spicy scent thick in her fur as he nuzzled into her. "Go on," she whispered, and she was halfway into continuing with some explanation when he tumbled to it and his tongue found the soft bare warmth of her nipple. It was so very easy to lap at it, to push his muzzle close so that he could suckle on her gently and Mey's grateful sigh swept over the folded fuzz of the dog's ears. First one and then, as if it might've gotten lonely, the other -- stiff to the inquisitive exploration of his tongue. Claws danced and shivered on his ears and threaded into his hair.

Rustling. The polecat rose, and he heard the sound of something hitting the blankets. Curious, his paws swept down her arching back and he discovered that the skirt was gone. Mey squirmed, lifting herself off the apple box a second time, and the dog pushed with his fingers to feel her petticoat sliding down her thighs with his touch. Now there was no barrier at all to his fingers -- and as he surveyed, as thoroughly as any dedicated railroad man, he found more silky fur, and the soft twitching length of her short tail.

His petting worked a muffled mewling from her. He lifted his lips from her chest but before he could ask what it meant, why she was doing it, she was tugging forcefully at his trousers. And it was the last of his modesty, the last of his reservation -- and he learned by her touch that his manhood was already hard again, throbbing to the touch...

So he could've protested or raised some question but he seemed without understanding it to know what she wanted and he half-stood, so that she could pull the trousers off his downy-furred legs. Mey's arms encircled him now, and when he tried to sit down she toppled backwards off the apple box instead, into the nest of blankets she'd made, and he fell atop her heavily.

"Wh -- sorry," he told her. He would've gotten up, except that her arms were still snugly embracing him. And then her legs were, too. She was pulling Teo down and onto her -- strong, country-girl thighs locking him close. Nestling him snug in plush, living heat. Wrapping the dog up...

"Hush," Mey purred to him. He arched his body to get his knees back beneath him at least and then they both gasped as the tapered tip of his canine length nudged against something smoother than her fur -- silky soft, and moist. He abandoned the effort at once. Mey's eyes darkened. She wriggled her hips and it happened again, and with a deliberate slow push she worked her body up into his and --

And then wet, slick warmth engulfed the pointed head of his shaft. He entered her smoothly -- just an inch or so -- and before he could help himself he pushed into her all the way, with a throaty groan as he sank into her tight body. "Mey," he whispered to her breathlessly. Beneath him the polecat's eyes were half-lidded and the telling, feral grin on her muzzle told him everything he needed to know about what he had been missing. "Mey -- car gal'th, Mey..."

"Do it again," she ordered in a giddy murmur. Hesitantly -- because her legs were intertwined behind his and it wasn't so easy to move -- he worked his hips back. The wet, textured velvet of her inner walls grasped longingly at his length when he pulled it from her... then he felt them opening up again before him as he slowly pushed his way back inside. She was so warm, so deliciously, deliriously perfect around him and when his resolve failed and he ended the fluid thrust in a firmer, swifter buck she cried out -- and it was his name, except that the way that she said it made it sound like she was begging.

She didn't have to beg.

As smoothly as he could, as patiently, he began to thrust -- the mechanics of it were simple enough, at least; he'd watched Samhal Stockman anyway. He clenched his teeth and tried to keep his breathing steady as he pumped his hips in fluid strokes that let him relish the lingering ecstasy of their bodies joining. She took the whole of his shaft into her gratefully -- squeezing around his manhood, caressing Teo when he filled her up. Moaned for the dog as, long and lean and lithe, the polecat squirmed and arched and moved with him in a heated, rhythmic dance.

Teo's patience though, and his resolve, cracked quickly. Even as he tried to pace himself he could feel the cadence slipping, his thrusts growing faster and less restrained. Mey was panting heavily, bright eyes glinting in that cute mask of hers every time he was sheathed all the way back inside her again, every time the dog's building pace drove the young couple's frantic bodies together as he bucked between her spread thighs.

Everything was growing fast and hot. He needed her -- needed to be buried deep inside, to be surrounded in the warm, wet vise of her eager body as she spasmed around his slick, hot shaft and her gusty cries filled his furry ears. Teo's hips bucked powerfully, and even while he rutted her like a wild thing he felt the growing need for release swelling larger.

Ancient commands sparked in his nerves. Every thrust was shorter now -- harder, pushing inside her with quivering urgency. She seemed to be squeezing tighter on his sensitive length -- like at every quicker, pounding lunge she let his length go with a greater hesitation. But it was harder to make his way back inside, too -- Teo had to work at it, to shove against resistance before the polecat... yielded, squelching wetly around him as he sank back inside her soft folds.

Only then he tried to pull back and -- couldn't. Growled -- jerked his hips firmly. Her hips lifted with him but they were locked, bolted together and he would've worried except that it felt so... appropriate, so right, and except that Mey was moaning beneath him, and the moan shifted in pitch every time his hips rocked, like he was conducting her. There was nothing but delight in that singsong call of carnal pleasure. One of her arms still hugged him; the other was pinned to the floor, grasping at the fabric of the blanket, and her discarded skirt, and his vest like she was trying to brace herself.

He pushed again and the tiny triangles of her ears pinned. Again and he felt her tighten up, her muscles locking, her back arching. She coiled like a spring -- he heard fabric surrender to her sharp claws. Again, a deep, straining thrust that ground their bodies together, and then she bucked under him -- kicked and flexed and squirmed as her pleading cries gave way to a series of hoarse grunts and groans. Her hips bumped into his in jerking thrusts and she clamped down on his trapped shaft, her rippling walls clutching at him, grasping him --

Clinging to the base of his length... oddly but it felt so -- so impossibly good, like she was claiming the dog, trying to pull Teo deeper inside. He shuddered and wanted to start thrusting again, needed to but he only managed two more short, plunging strokes that didn't amount to anything but nudging him deeper inside and then the pleasure was spilling through him again in crashing shouts of raw, animal bliss.

And now she was squeezing him so tightly that he could feel the jerking twitches of his manhood as something molten and slick raced up his shaft and jetted into her -- strong, hot spurts that came in long pulses, every one of them sending giddy waves of delight through the young dog's body. His growl was unbidden and helpless as he humped into her greedily, his urgent thrusts forcing the sticky warmth deeper inside.

It had all looked so undignified when it was Sam Stockman's body pumping rhythmically into his stocky badger lover but now, but now it felt perfect and Teo was still tense with pleasure when he fell forward and into the polecat's heaving chest, gasping hotly for breath that wouldn't come. Mey squeezed his upper back. He arched again, reflexively, and the polecat shivered and moaned. "Teo -- oh, Teo..."

Aftershocks twitched his body. Most of the urgency was gone but he was still steadily filling her -- weak spurts that accompanied a gentle push of his hips. The pushing was easy. It was trying to pull out again that proved to be difficult. "I think I'm... stuck..."

Mey took a deep breath, and sighed. She hugged him with both arms, now. "Mm," she breathed. "So it is true, about dogs..."

"How are we supposed to... you know..."

"Shh," the polecat smiled. "Later. Stay with me for now, Teo." Another hug; then she let him go. He saw her claws, shiny in the light of the gas lamp. A bit of thread was snagged in one. It was grey -- the only thing grey was his vest, and the realization that her passion had finished what the cellar splinter started was strangely... not troubling at all.

Stay with me. Well. "Of course," he nodded. The strange, feral need he had felt had burned away into a warm glow in his veins, a glow that sapped his strength and bid him cuddle close to the soft-furred girl. He stroked her flank, caressed the velvet of her pelt, and sighed. "I wish I'd, ah... known..."

"Must be learning a lot of things..."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Still..." Mey ran her finger over the edge of his ear. Flicked it gently upwards, and giggled as gravity pulled it back down. "Not bad, for your first time." She toyed with his ear again, and he shivered. "I really can't believe you've not done this before..."

Come to think of it, the dog had a hard time explaining it himself. "Just a mistake," he said. "Won't make it again."

"I hope not!" She kissed his cold nose with a playful lightness. "What will you do, when your railroad is finished?"

"On to the next one, I... I suppose."

"Will you ever settle down?"

He was too young to have really considered the question. Settling down was something that his less motivated relations did: farmers who would be on the farm forever; sons who already knew they would inherit the family business, and chased after a bride instead. Teobas would not inherit his father's warehouse. His older brother Hælech would do that; Teo was not jealous. "I don't know," he admitted. There was a soft line, where the bronze of her mask met the white of her cheek, and he stroked the silky fur as he mused. "I think it's nice to... to not have your life planned out..."

"So you can get into little adventures," she suggested. "Like this one." And she twisted a little, to get more comfortable; the twisting put a novel, unexpected pressure on the dog's shaft still buried inside her and he swallowed thickly. "You won't forget me?"

"No."

"Good..." He took a deep breath, and when Mey snuggled into his chest, and quieted, he started to piece together what had happened to him. He thought of himself as an observant man, and it was strange to think that he had missed so many signs. There was so little to have worried about, though. What had his father been trying to warn him about? Thynrald Franklyn was a wise man...

Distraction? Mey grunted happily when he hugged her, though she was clearly drowsy. The calm in his body, too, had the same warmth as a soft bed on a cold winter morning -- keeping him fixed in place while his mind wandered. But he had earned that distraction, hadn't he? There was no reason to be such a... well. Such a prude about it.

And car gal'th but it had felt so damnably good -- as good as crossing the Amaraan had felt, in a completely different way. Surely the gods had not given them such feelings for them to be shunned, or ignored, or suppressed.

He should've enjoyed the dancing, too.

He awoke with the polecat curled into him. When he stirred, so did she; she smiled at him sleepily. "I should probably get back to the house," she said, "before father notices. Otherwise we could've... well..."

"Next time?" Teo asked.

The hopeful tone in his voice fetched a laugh, and though she had started to pull her clothes back on she paused, and winked to the dog. "Of course... you still do have other things to learn, after all..."

They left early; Garmery did not seem to be any the worse for wear, and with no surveying to be done they made much better time. The railhead had moved another mile southwards by the time they met it -- Layleigh's shovel loomed, smoke spilling from its stack, while in its shadow the men of the work crew lounged at a mid-morning lunch.

"Oh, you bloody missed it, Sam," Cravern laughed. He had been ribbing Teo for the past several hours, and by now the dog was familiar with the routine. "You really bloody missed it."

The bear looked up from his lunch. "Missed what?"

"Our Kitten. 'E's got a fuckin' tiger in 'im, I tell you that much. Gimme some o' that," the dog held out a paw for Sam's flask, and when it was offered he took a long, gurgling pull. "Mm. So they tell us to go down farm, aye? An' we go down farm, an' this boy say: 'hey, the Railroad wants to buy yer lan'. 'Ow much ye wan' f'r 'er?' An' this bloke -- ruddy stupid farmer, ye know 'ow they is. He goes, 'hundred and fifty an acre.'"

"Not a bad price, out here," Sam grunted.

"Aye! Right, it ain't! Bu' this pup, Kitten, 'e goes: 'well, it ain't worth not 'undert, an' let me tell ye why yer about t'take fifty'! Fifty bloody pound!"

"And did he take it?"

"Damn well right 'e did!" Cravern grinned, took another drink, and tossed the stoppered flask back to Samhal. "Pretty sure 'e fucked t'farmer's daughter, too, come think o'it. I were a bit passed out."

"'Passed' or 'pissed,' Cravvy?" one of the workmen asked, and they all roared.

"Little o' both," Cravern admitted, when the laughter had died down. "But it's true, aye? They define'ly went down bed together, 'cause they come up together."

Sam seemed less than convinced, though his grin was sly: "Don't think Kitten has it in him. Do you?"

Teo, who no longer minded the tear in his vest, shrugged gamely. "It does get boring on a farm."

"Borin' on a farm!" Cravern echoed, although he slurred the first three words together and pronounced 'boring' and 'farm' with the same syllable -- berringenna fehrm! "Give me that flask back, you great oaf." He took a long drink, and then pushed the body-warm metal into Teo's paw. "Drink. Drink, damn ye," he repeated, when Teo hesitated.

So he unscrewed the cap and tipped it back into his muzzle. The whiskey was far coarser than the Wauklausian brynt that Dale Masseler enjoyed, and it burned the whole of his tongue -- but he managed not to spit it out, and seeing Sam's raised eyebrow he handed the flask back over. "Boring on a farm," he repeated. "Like at a castle, I suppose."

The bear snorted, although the joke was not one Cravern Garmery was in on. Instead the mutt settled on general merriment. "What I tell ye, Sam? Go' a tiger in 'im somewhere. 'Bend over an' let me tell you why yer about t'take the railroad up yer fuckin' country arse.' Ha! 'E's not so bad, this Kitten."

"No," Sam agreed. "Not so bad."

"Think 'e'll serve us right in t'Dally, Stockman?"

"Ain't sure yet."

"Ken't soon, aye?"

"Be there end of the week, or sooner," Stockman nodded. "What do you say, Kitten? Think you can handle the woods?"

Teo turned until he could see the horizon -- and, as Mey said, it was close indeed. They would be working in trees within two days, and out of sunlight by week's end. A challenge, to be sure. The dog turned back. "Hell with the damn woods. Bring 'em on."