The air on the plains, littered with tree stumps near the mountain, carried the acrid smell of smoke and the distant sound of hammering from the gunpowder workshops. Among those rustic buildings, a new shed was rising, wider and more airy, a product of Tassi's sweat and skill. It was there that Carlos was headed, his heart pounding with anticipation.

  As he walked, his thoughts churned. When people think of the industrial revolution, the first image is a locomotive vomiting smoke or a giant steam engine. But the textile industry… was also one of the first and main industries. And for our luck, it doesn't require as much iron. Just wood, a bit of metal, and a good climate for cotton. In my world, the US fed English factories with raw cotton, and that insatiable demand strengthened slavery. A bitter irony. Here, it will be the opposite. The loom and the thread will guarantee our freedom.

  He stopped in front of the shed's door, feeling the texture of the clay under his hands. At least, that's what I hope. Starting from scratch is no joke. The textile industry is the least complex, yes, but 'less complex' doesn't mean 'easy'. Good thing I have this book… 'Industrial Revolution: The Revolution That Changed the World'.

  He opened the volume, and the characteristic smell of old paper filled his nostrils. I need a series of machines. The luck is that none of them need steam, for now. They can all be manual. But, to scale up… well, to scale up, I'll need steam engines, and that means iron. A lot of iron. Iron we don't have. That's why this shed is the key. The cotton will turn into money, and the money will secure our independence.

  He took a deep breath, organizing his ideas. The process itself isn't rocket science. First, the 'Cotton Gin', from Eli Whitney, to clean the cotton and remove the seeds. Then, the 'Spinning Jenny', from James Hargreaves, for spinning. Third, the mechanical loom 'Flying Shuttle', from John Kay, to turn the thread into fabric. Fourth, the dyeing… for that, we'll use the traditional method of dipping the fabric in hot water with ashes to create an alkaline solution that removes grease and impurities. Then, just dry it in the sun.

  His face contorted a little. The most annoying part is the sewing. In the industrial revolution, it was still all done by hand. But why limit myself to the 18th century if I can steal an idea from the 19th? Isaac Singer's sewing machine. That one will really speed things up. Unfortunately, it's the most complicated one… it requires steel for the precision parts and for the needle. It can be made from iron, but it will break all the time… He looked at the machine's illustration in the book, and a sudden nostalgia hit him.

  It's strange… my grandmother had one almost identical at home. I never imagined it was so old. The saying is true: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I just hope Nia doesn't get furious at me for dumping more work on her lap.

  On the other side of the shed, Tassi watched Carlos, sitting on a tree stump. She rubbed her head, which hurt from the mana consumption for the construction. Her eyes followed the man who muttered to himself, his facial expression alternating between deep concentration and intense worry as he leafed through that book with yellowed pages. I've already done my part, she thought, with a hint of resignation. Now, it's just him and his mechanical demons. I doubt anyone in this world can keep up with the whirlwind that is that man's mind.

  After a long time, Carlos took a dry corn husk, used it as a bookmark, and closed the book with a dull thud. His eyes scanned the environment until they found Tassi.

  "Let's go, my dear bodyguard," he said, with a half-smile. "We have to go talk to Nia and the carpenter."

  Tassi raised an eyebrow, not liking the teasing tone.

  "Of course, big boss," she replied, her voice sweetly sarcastic.

  Carlos grimaced.

  "Alright, alright, I'll stop. Don't call me boss, please."

  "Yes, boss," she answered, now deepening her voice in a comical imitation.

  "None of this 'boss,' 'little boss,' or 'big boss'!" he protested.

  Tassi couldn't hold back a laugh.

  "Yes, chief."

  Carlos stared at her with a look that tried to be murderous but couldn't hide a spark of amusement. Tassi raised her hands in a peace sign.

  "Fine, I'll stop. But it's just that unfortunately, you're the chief now. In front of the others, I'll have to fake a respect I don't feel. I'll only be able to mock you away from everyone."

  "Don't even think about it!" he retorted, raising his index finger. "If they complain that you don't respect me, tell them to come talk to me. After all, what are they going to do? Demote me? Who's going to take my place? Nobody! So, from now on, certain things are going to be my way."

  Tassi's smile softened, and a flash of genuine respect shone in her eyes.

  "You weren't like this before."

  "Of course I was," he said, his voice low and confidential. "Even when I became a slave, I never lost that. It's that old saying: 'those who can, command; those with sense, obey.'"

  He then took a quick look around, making sure they were alone, and leaned close to Tassi's ear. The warmth of his breath made her shiver slightly.

  "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, the smell of earth and old paper clinging to her. "Even now, the idea of serving a 'king' doesn't sit well with me. I hope he's competent, but I doubt it. A guy with a harem… what king would want to listen to boring political discussions when he can be entertained by his women?"

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Tassi's eyes widened, shocked. Her head instantly swiveled, scanning the plains for eavesdroppers. Seeing no one, she let out an exasperated sigh and pulled Carlos by the collar, bringing him close to her own face.

  "Are you crazy!" she whispered to him with contained fury, her warm breath hitting his face. "I imagine in your world there are no kings, but here things are different, you fool!"

  "Of course, of course, I know," he retreated, raising his hands. "But, back to the subject… if you want to call me something, it doesn't have to be chief. You can call me 'handsome,' 'hot stuff,' 'wonderful,' 'genius'…"

  Tassi's irritation overflowed. Without thinking, she threw a light but firm punch at his arm.

  "Ow! That hurt!" Carlos yelled, clutching the spot with dramatic agony.

  "Stop faking, you drama queen!" she said, but a smile escaped her lips.

  She then started walking towards the center of the quilombo, and Carlos ran to catch up with her, still rubbing his arm. But it really did hurt, he thought, admiring (and fearing) the strength contained in her. She's crazy strong. Must be the mana… or is she secretly eating whey protein? Hey, wait… she's leaving me behind!

  "What kind of bodyguard walks in front of the boss?" he complained, catching up to her. "You should be 'guarding my body. Get it? 'Guard'. Body."

  "You know," she replied, without slowing her pace, "here, there's no such thing as a 'bodyguard'. And I wonder if anyone in your world would laugh at a lame joke like that."

  Carlos opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. Defeated, he followed her in silence to Nia's workshop.

  As soon as they opened the door, a wave of humid, metallic heat enveloped them. The air was heavy, smelling of hot oil and sweat. The sound was a chaotic symphony: the constant rhythm of hammers striking metal, the rustle of bellows feeding the forges, and the hiss of water when incandescent iron was tempered. At least five people, plus apprentices, worked with a feverish intensity—it was much more than when Carlos had first visited.

  Nia spotted them almost immediately. She left the anvil where she was instructing an apprentice and approached, her face marked by soot and fatigue.

  "Don't tell me you two came to bring more work?" she said, rubbing the back of her neck with a gloved hand. "Isn't it enough that I have to teach all the blacksmiths and apprentices in this entire quilombo? Do you know how many there are? I didn't know until this week! And there are so many! On top of taking care of my own apprentices…"

  She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, she saw the guilty expression on Carlos's face. He, avoiding her gaze, stared at the packed dirt floor.

  "So…" he began, hesitantly, "I need you to make… several different parts. For some new machines…"

  To his surprise, Nia grabbed his arms with her rough, strong hands and forced him to look into her eyes. Their silver color held no fury, but a spark of pure excitement. All the fatigue seemed to have evaporated from her face.

  "So, what fantastic contraption are we making now?" she asked, a wide smile spreading across her face.

  Relieved, Carlos launched into a detailed explanation. Nia listened, absorbed, asking pointed questions about the function of each machine, the movement of the parts, how everything fit together. Her curiosity was insatiable, and Carlos felt his mental energy draining as he tried to feed it. When he finally finished, Nia shook her head, marveling.

  "I think now I understand what you meant by 'machine'. They are fascinating contraptions."

  "Wait, you didn't know what a machi—" Carlos started to say, but the question died on his lips. Of course she doesn't, you idiot! What machine existed before the industrial revolution? Even if the word exists, the concept doesn't. It's strange to think about it… If I took a person from my time back fifty years, they'd already feel lost. But if I took a peasant from now and went back a few centuries, the world wouldn't be that different, there wouldn't be machines that completely changed the world, and their work would be the same.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Nia, who snapped her fingers right in front of his nose.

  "For a second, I thought you had gone back to your world," she said, with a shadow of genuine concern.

  Before he could react, Nia firmly grabbed his arm and pulled him close, lightly pressing him against her torso. The contact was sudden and intimate.

  "But I won't let you," she whispered, her voice quite low. "You'll have to stay in this world and help me make these machines and firearms."

  Carlos was stunned, a warmth rising to his face. He regained his composure almost instantly, because he realized the sound in the workshop had ceased completely. All the men—blacksmiths and apprentices—had stopped their work and were now staring at the two with a heavy, hostile silence. Their gazes were like daggers, and Carlos felt a chill run down his spine. Gently but firmly, he took Nia by the shoulders and pushed her away from him. The air in the workshop seemed to grow even more charged.

  "I'm not going anywhere," he said, in a voice that tried to sound casual but came out shrill in the silence. "Thanks for agreeing to make the machines. Now, I need to talk to the carpenter."

  No sooner had he finished the sentence than the deafening noise of the workshop suddenly returned, as if a sonic faucet had been turned on. Relieved, Carlos turned to leave, but Nia grabbed his arm once more.

  "Wait!" she insisted, her eyes shining with an almost childlike enthusiasm. "I had an idea for an awesome firearm! Listen to this: what if we made a giant firearm, the size of a man, and placed it on the ground? The bullet would be the size of a watermelon and—"

  "Wow! I can't believe you thought of a cannon all by yourself!" Carlos exclaimed, before he could stop himself.

  Again, silence fell over the workshop. This time, however, it was a silence of disbelief. Carlos coughed, embarrassed, and tried to recompose himself.

  "The… the idea is brilliant, Nia. But unfortunately, a cannon would have to be made entirely of iron or steel. It would be extremely heavy and, at the moment, we are critically short of iron."

  The light in Nia's eyes instantly vanished. Her shoulders slumped slightly.

  "So… they already invented this weapon in your world…" she murmured, looking down.

  Seizing the cue, Carlos didn't wait a second longer. He turned on his heel and almost ran out of the workshop without looking back.

  Once they were far enough away for the fresh air to clear their lungs of the oppressive heat, Tassi opened her mouth to speak.

  "Don't even think about saying anything!" he interrupted her, pointing an accusatory finger.

  She couldn't contain herself. An explosive, genuine laugh echoed through the clearing, so free and contagious that for a moment, Carlos forgot his embarrassment. He watched her laugh, the sun lighting up her face, and a thought crossed his mind. It's amazing. She hides the pain, the anger, the hatred… but to laugh at my misfortune, she lets out laughs like that… Well, she actually looks quite pretty when she laughs…

  And, hiding a small smile, he followed his bodyguard to the carpenter.