He allowed himself to settle into the carriage, noticing immediately the stark differences in the train's performance and comfort. The wooden seats, despite their leather upholstery, had a rigidity that conveyed every minor tremor and shift of the train as it rolled over the tracks. Each bump jolted through the car, a reminder of the limitations in suspension design that Matthew couldn't help but mentally dissect.
He noted the stiffness in the springs—likely a leaf spring configuration, which was standard for the time but far from refined. The lack of shock absorption was apparent, leaving every vibration from the tracks to travel through the seats and into the carriage's walls. It was effective enough to keep the train in motion, but inefficient for passenger comfort and stability.
The rumbling, too, was more pronounced than he'd anticipated. The metal wheels ground against the rails, creating a clattering sound that reverberated through the compartment, accompanied by the consistent, rhythmic pulse of the pistons. Steam-powered locomotives, he knew, had an elegance in their simplicity, yet the intensity of the engine's thumping reminded him of the energy inefficiency it held. The train's fuel consumption had to be immense, he realized, as he watched thick plumes of steam shoot out from the engine's stack at regular intervals, a sure sign of how hard the engine was working.
As they continued, Matthew shifted slightly, feeling the slight sway of the car at higher speeds. The lack of precision in the connection between cars made every curve a challenge, with the couplings allowing too much lateral movement. This created a constant, low-grade wobble, an oversight that could be easily addressed with a more centralized stabilizing mechanism.
Hargrave seemed to notice Matthew's eyes wandering around.
"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone half-curious, half-amused.
Matthew snapped his gaze back to Hargrave, catching himself before any hint of his thoughts slipped through.
"Nothing, sir. It's just that this is my first time riding a train, that's all."
"Really? But you work for Railmaster Stone. I'm sure you have boarded a train before to know its operation."
"Well, my work was pretty much around managing things in the station, or the office, not actually traveling on trains," Matthew reminded.
"The way your eyes wander around, it seems that you are observing. What are you observing?"
"Well…as much as I admit that the invention of steam locomotives allowed us to travel long distances, I am thinking that it can be improved in terms of comfortability for passengers."
Hargrave raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "The best, you say? Enlighten me, then. What exactly do you think could be improved?"
Matthew took a breath, choosing his words carefully. "Well, for one, the suspension could be adjusted to soften the ride. The leaf springs are durable but… rigid. Each tremor and jolt from the tracks transfers directly through the seat, making longer journeys rather uncomfortable."
Hargrave listened, his expression unreadable. Encouraged, Matthew continued.
"Additionally, the noise is… significant. The clattering of the wheels on the rails and the intensity of the pistons' thumping can wear on passengers. Dampening that sound could make for a far more pleasant experience."
"Noise dampening?" Hargrave repeated, a trace of amusement in his tone. "This is a steam locomotive, Hesh, not a luxury parlor."
"Understood, sir," Matthew replied, unfazed. "But I believe there's an opportunity here, especially for passenger trains. Improving the suspension and sound insulation would not only increase comfort but also open new avenues for longer, more profitable routes. And the connections between the cars," he added, "are somewhat loose. If stabilized, there would be less sway on curves, adding to the safety."
Hargrave's lips quirked in a half-smile. "You have an eye for mechanics. And here I thought you were just a boy with ideas about brakes. Just who are you really?"
"I told you my name, sir. That's who I am."
Hargrave chuckled. "Ever heard of the Amerathian dream?"
"What is it?"
"The Amerathian Dream," he began, his gaze drifting out the window for a moment. "It's the idea that, through hard work, innovation, and perhaps a bit of grit, anyone can rise above their circumstances. The freedom to pursue one's ambitions, to make a name for oneself—even if one starts with nothing."
Matthew listened intently, intrigued by the concept, which seemed to mirror what he'd always heard about his own world's ideals of opportunity and success.
"It's what drives men to build railways through mountains, to raise cities out of barren land, to construct machines that defy nature itself. The dream of something better, of success on one's own terms, is a powerful motivator, Hesh," Hargrave continued, his eyes settling back on Matthew. "And those who pursue it often find they have little room for error. It requires vision and an unrelenting dedication to improve."
"The Amerathian Dream has no sympathy for those who fall behind," Hargrave added. "Only those with the courage to push forward, to innovate, and to adapt, find their way to the top."
"So, you believe there's no limit to how far someone can go?"
"I don't only believe it, I proved it," Hargrave said. "And you might have a chance of achieving that dream with your knowledge."
Matthew smiled. "I think I can."
***
Twelve hours later.
Matthew caught sight of the sprawling Grand Station of Amsterdam. The platform was bustling with people, each in a rush to catch their next train or to welcome travelers arriving from across the Republic.
As they disembarked, Matthew was momentarily taken aback by the sheer number of people weaving through the station. It was a scene far more vibrant and crowded than anything he'd experienced in Sylvania, where the pace was far slower. Stone buildings stretched upward on either side of the streets, with shops and businesses occupying nearly every corner.
Stepping outside the station, however, Matthew was hit by an entirely different aspect of city life. The unmistakable stench of horse manure struck him almost instantly, and he struggled to keep his composure. Flies buzzed incessantly over piles left behind by passing carriages, and the streets were muddy and uneven from countless hooves and wheels churning up the road. He swallowed hard, forcing back a surge of nausea as he sidestepped a particularly large pile on the edge of the walkway.
Hargrave, noticing Matthew's reaction, chuckled. "Welcome to the heart of progress, Hesh."
"You call this the heart of progress?" Matthew gagged.
"Even the finest cities can't quite escape their… earthy realities," Hargrave said.
"I think I'm going to puke," Matthew stammered, clutching his stomach as he tried to breathe through his mouth. The odor was unrelenting, filling his lungs with each inhale, and his eyes watered as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Hargrave chuckled, seemingly unfazed. "You'll get used to it soon enough. This is the reality of city life. People come here with dreams, and they bring with them the mess of progress."
Matthew nodded, though he couldn't entirely hide his discomfort.