into Theria. Which he tried to do once a week. A noble had to keep up appearances after all, and that meant dressing according to one’s station and being seen where one should be seen.
Of course it was easier for him to make the trip. He was the only one here who travelled as he did. He was the only one who had a horseless carriage, complete with plush leather seating. Everyone else either walked or rode or took a wagon. Expensive clothes did not last long when you travelled like that. That was why those who could afford expensive clothes also travelled in proper carriages with a driver.
Outside of Breakwater not many travelled as he did either. Even in Theria there was only one other horseless carriage and he had helped build it. Still, there were days he dreamed of there being more of them. Especially when he had to weave his way between wagons and riders, while trying to keep the wheels out of the endless piles of manure that the horses left all over the street.
Once they were through the town it was only a short way to his home. Three or four hundred more yards up the hill on the same road to the top of the hill where Breakwater Holding stood proudly overlooking them all. His home.
A few moments later they arrived there, and he was immediately faced with a new set of questions from the handmaidens. The first of them of course was why he lived in an old fort overlooking the small farming town. It seemed like an odd choice for someone who could afford better.
He could have told them that it was because of its size. That it was comfortable and spacious as befitted someone of noble lineage. That it had a huge basement downstairs which he had converted into a workshop where he tinkered away on his devices. Or even that it was a good location – close enough to the city so that he could travel there easily when he wanted to, but distant enough that city life didn't intrude. But the truth was that it was none of those things that had drawn him to the building. He had bought it because he liked it. He had from the moment he'd first seen the fort as a younger man.
He wasn't completely sure why. The stone walls surrounding the old fort were impressive enough standing twelve feet high and having crenelations, not to mention full battlements behind them, but they weren't particularly pretty. They also weren't that functional. Modern forts had walls at least half as tall again. And as for the iron gate, it was big and heavy and not even half as pretty as a regular portcullis. He left it open most of the time because the effort to close it even with the aid of the geared wheels was too much bother. The heavy wooden front door was defence enough. As for the emplacements, not a single one of them housed a cannon any longer. The serviceable ones had been taken when the fort had been abandoned centuries before and the others were stockpiled in his basement.
The fort itself standing inside the walls, was also fairly uninspiring aesthetically, being simply an oversized square building. It was two stories tall and probably not that much larger than many manor houses. Architecturally it was boring, the closest thing it had to an elegant arch or ornate columns were the crenelations on the roof, and they were there purely for defensive purposes. But then it was a fort not a house and even the windows had iron bars on them. It wasn't meant to be pretty. For pretty he had the lawns and gardens inside the wall and they softened the appearance of the stone a little. But only a little. Until the willow trees had finally grown to their full height they simply couldn't hide the massive dark grey walls, and that was still years away.
In fact the only thing that stood out about the fort was the tower. Rising out of the very centre of the fort like a gigantic chimney, it stood at least fifty feet high and was topped by a roofed platform on which archers or musketeers could stand and rain down fire on approaching
Of course it was easier for him to make the trip. He was the only one here who travelled as he did. He was the only one who had a horseless carriage, complete with plush leather seating. Everyone else either walked or rode or took a wagon. Expensive clothes did not last long when you travelled like that. That was why those who could afford expensive clothes also travelled in proper carriages with a driver.
Outside of Breakwater not many travelled as he did either. Even in Theria there was only one other horseless carriage and he had helped build it. Still, there were days he dreamed of there being more of them. Especially when he had to weave his way between wagons and riders, while trying to keep the wheels out of the endless piles of manure that the horses left all over the street.
Once they were through the town it was only a short way to his home. Three or four hundred more yards up the hill on the same road to the top of the hill where Breakwater Holding stood proudly overlooking them all. His home.
A few moments later they arrived there, and he was immediately faced with a new set of questions from the handmaidens. The first of them of course was why he lived in an old fort overlooking the small farming town. It seemed like an odd choice for someone who could afford better.
He could have told them that it was because of its size. That it was comfortable and spacious as befitted someone of noble lineage. That it had a huge basement downstairs which he had converted into a workshop where he tinkered away on his devices. Or even that it was a good location – close enough to the city so that he could travel there easily when he wanted to, but distant enough that city life didn't intrude. But the truth was that it was none of those things that had drawn him to the building. He had bought it because he liked it. He had from the moment he'd first seen the fort as a younger man.
He wasn't completely sure why. The stone walls surrounding the old fort were impressive enough standing twelve feet high and having crenelations, not to mention full battlements behind them, but they weren't particularly pretty. They also weren't that functional. Modern forts had walls at least half as tall again. And as for the iron gate, it was big and heavy and not even half as pretty as a regular portcullis. He left it open most of the time because the effort to close it even with the aid of the geared wheels was too much bother. The heavy wooden front door was defence enough. As for the emplacements, not a single one of them housed a cannon any longer. The serviceable ones had been taken when the fort had been abandoned centuries before and the others were stockpiled in his basement.
The fort itself standing inside the walls, was also fairly uninspiring aesthetically, being simply an oversized square building. It was two stories tall and probably not that much larger than many manor houses. Architecturally it was boring, the closest thing it had to an elegant arch or ornate columns were the crenelations on the roof, and they were there purely for defensive purposes. But then it was a fort not a house and even the windows had iron bars on them. It wasn't meant to be pretty. For pretty he had the lawns and gardens inside the wall and they softened the appearance of the stone a little. But only a little. Until the willow trees had finally grown to their full height they simply couldn't hide the massive dark grey walls, and that was still years away.
In fact the only thing that stood out about the fort was the tower. Rising out of the very centre of the fort like a gigantic chimney, it stood at least fifty feet high and was topped by a roofed platform on which archers or musketeers could stand and rain down fire on approaching
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