They worked together for three weeks.

  Havelock cleared the secondary workbench and declared it Eiran's "project space." Every evening, after the regular work was done and Tommin and Pol had gone home, they bent over sketches and prototypes, refining the design that had come to Eiran in his dream.

  "The glass needs to be uniform," Eiran explained, running his finger along a tube that was almost right. "Any variation in the bore will affect the readings. We need precision."

  "Our supplier doesn't do precision. Not at our price point." Havelock examined the tube, holding it to the light. "We'd have to order from the city."

  "How much would that cost?"

  "More than we have." But Havelock's tone was considering, not dismissive. "Unless we prove the concept first. Build a working prototype with what we have, demonstrate the correlation, then seek investment for the refined version."

  Investment. The word was new to their conversations, but it had been appearing more often. Havelock spoke about the future now, about patents and licensing, about city institutions and the money that could flow from a proven innovation.

  Eiran tried not to think about it too much. The numbers made him dizzy. A successful patent could be worth hundreds of royals. Thousands, over time. Enough to change everything.

  But first, they needed proof.

  "Explain the compensation again," Havelock said. He'd asked this before, multiple times, taking notes each time in his careful hand.

  "Mercury expands when it's warm. The column rises even without a pressure change. So you need to know the temperature when you take the reading, and adjust accordingly." Eiran sketched the relationship on scrap paper. "A bimetallic strip can help automate this. Two metals with different expansion rates, bonded together. As temperature changes, the strip bends. Connect it to the scale, and the adjustment happens mechanically."

  "Where did you learn about bimetallic strips?"

  "I..." Eiran paused. He hadn't learned about them. He'd never even heard the term before the dream. But he knew it anyway, knew how the metals behaved, knew the mathematics of differential expansion. "I just know. From the dream."

  Havelock's pen stopped moving. "The dream gave you this as well? The metallurgy?"

  "It gave me everything. The whole system, all at once. I'm just... unpacking it as we work."

  "Remarkable." Havelock resumed writing, but his eyes stayed on Eiran a moment longer than necessary. "Truly remarkable."

  ---

  The first prototype was ugly.

  The glass tube was uneven, their standard supply and not precision work. The brass fittings were functional but rough. The scale was hand-etched, the calibration marks imprecise. But when they sealed the mercury inside and set it upright, the column stabilized at a consistent height.

  "Now we wait," Eiran said. "Take readings every few hours. Watch for weather changes. Build the correlation record."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "How long until we have enough data?"

  "Weeks. Months, ideally. The more observations, the stronger the proof."

  Havelock frowned. "We don't have months. The patent agent Aldwin will be back at quarter's end. If we can't show him something..."

  "Something?"

  "Something worth investing in. Worth protecting." Havelock turned the prototype gently, watching the mercury shift. "I've been thinking. A paper published in one of the city journals would establish priority. Prove we had the idea first, before anyone else could claim it."

  "A paper? In a real journal?"

  "I have contacts. From my younger days, before I came to Kettleford. People who might be willing to consider an article, if the concept is strong enough."

  Eiran felt something flutter in his chest, hope maybe, or fear. "They would publish our work?"

  "Our work. Yes." Havelock smiled, the expression warm and genuine. "Your insight, my connections. Partnership."

  Partnership. The word sat well in Eiran's ears. He'd been alone for so long, alone with his poverty, his shame, his invisible labor. To be part of something, to share credit with someone who believed in him...

  "What would the paper say?"

  "The theory, first. The weight of the air, the pressure correlation. Then the design, enough to establish the concept but not enough for others to replicate without our guidance. Finally, the applications. Weather prediction for shipping, for agriculture, for any industry dependent on knowing what the sky will do."

  "We don't have enough data yet for strong claims."

  "We have enough for preliminary findings. Promising initial results. That's how scientific papers work. You stake your claim, then build on it later." Havelock set down the prototype. "Trust me. I've seen this process before. The early publications matter more than the final proofs. They establish who had the idea first."

  "And the credit?"

  "Shared. Of course." Havelock's hand found Eiran's shoulder again, that familiar reassuring pressure. "You came to me with this. You trusted me. I won't forget that."

  Eiran nodded. The fluttering in his chest settled into something steadier.

  "What do you need from me?"

  "Your notes. Everything you've written down about the theory, the design, the compensation techniques. I'll draft the paper, handle the correspondence with my contacts. You focus on the prototype, on gathering data, on refining the mechanisms."

  "And when it's published?"

  "Then we'll have something real. Something we can show to patent agents, to investors, to the city institutions. The beginning of something bigger than either of us could build alone."

  Bigger than either of us. The words echoed in Eiran's mind as he gathered his notes that evening, organizing the scattered pages into something coherent. All the fragments of knowledge that had poured out of him since the dream: the theory, the designs, the calibration methods, the applications.

  His knowledge. Coren's knowledge. Somehow both, somehow neither.

  He handed the stack to Havelock before leaving for the night.

  "This is everything?"

  "Everything I've managed to write down. There might be more, details that come back to me while I'm working. I'll add to it as I can."

  "Good. That's good." Havelock tucked the papers into his satchel with the same care he'd shown the original sketches. "Rest tonight. You've been pushing too hard. The circles under your eyes are getting darker."

  "I'm fine."

  "You're not. But you will be." Havelock walked him to the door. "Go home. Eat something. Sleep. Let me handle the paper."

  The night air was cold, autumn fully turned to early winter. Eiran walked home through empty streets, his breath fogging, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  He'd given Havelock everything. Every piece of the truth that had come to him in the dream. The words, the sketches, the numbers, all of it now in the satchel being carried back to Havelock's study.

  This was what trust looked like. This was what partnership meant. You shared what you had, and the other person used their skills to lift you both.

  Havelock had the connections. Havelock understood how journals and patents worked. Eiran was just an apprentice, a foundling with a strange name and a stranger dream. Alone, he'd never get his ideas in front of anyone who mattered.

  Together, they could change that.

  He climbed the stairs to his room, cold and dark and cramped, and lay on his narrow bed without bothering to undress.

  He felt seen. He couldn't remember the last time that had been true.

  He fell asleep with Havelock's words echoing in his mind: The beginning of something bigger than either of us could build alone.

  Something bigger than counting coppers for bread. He didn't know what it was yet.