CHAPTER 75: HYDROELECTRIC POWER PLANT

Kingdom of Aragon – Upper Ebro Valley

Spring, 1795

Prince Lancelot stood on the wooden scaffolding overlooking the churning gorge, the wind pulling at his navy-blue overcoat. Below, the River Ebro thundered through a natural bottleneck, its waters diverted through newly carved channels that fed into the heart of the Aragonian Hydroelectric Complex—the first of its kind in the kingdom, and perhaps in all of Europe.

The sound was immense, like a thousand furnaces exhaling in unison. Mist sprayed upward, casting soft halos around the brass lanterns suspended from the incomplete iron gantries. Men shouted over the din, moving in rhythm as wheelbarrows, winches, and cranes all danced to the script of industry.

"Your Highness," said Chief Engineer Arturo Liano, adjusting his leather gloves, "we’ve completed the third turbine shaft and begun laying the copper conduit lines toward Calvaria."

Prince Lancelot nodded, his eyes fixed on the waterwheel chamber below. Massive iron turbines—each forged in the royal foundries outside Navarre—spun with liquid force. The rotation powered primitive generators, which buzzed faintly behind glass-lined doors.

"These... they convert mechanical energy into electrical current?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes, Highness," Arturo replied with a touch of pride. "Using Faraday’s principle. As the shaft rotates, it turns coils within magnetic fields. The current is directed through copper lines to the transformer house. From there—"

"Into the arteries of Aragon," Lancelot finished. "Streetlamps. Foundries. Homes."

Arturo smiled. "Exactly."

Behind them, a group of workers in oil-stained overalls paused to salute the Prince as he passed. He returned the gesture with a nod. Some bore the blue crest of the Crown Engineers; others, simple brown tunics marked with provincial badges. This was a national endeavor, pulling hands and minds from every corner of the realm.

The scaffolding creaked underfoot as they walked toward the viewing tower. Lancelot paused beside a ledger where a clerk was scribbling with a steel nib.

"How many kilowatts per day?" he asked.

"Estimated output once all turbines are operational: one hundred kilowatts per hour, Your Highness," the clerk replied quickly. "Enough for the factories in Calvaria and half the lights in the capital."

"Excellent," Lancelot said. "The people need to see this light not as luxury, but as symbol."

Arturo led him into the observation room—a dome of iron beams and frosted glass. Inside, a wide table was littered with architectural blueprints, fuel reports, and draft regulations for future energy distribution.

Waiting at the far end was a foreign visitor: Monsieur Delacour, a French envoy dressed in a sharp forest-green coat.

"Your Highness," Delacour said with a bow. "France is... very curious about this marvel."

"Curious or nervous?" Lancelot replied with a half-smile.

Delacour chuckled. "Perhaps both. Your engineers have outpaced even our republic’s most optimistic philosophers."

"I doubt that," Lancelot said. "But what you see here is not magic, Monsieur. It’s effort. Design. And will."

He turned toward the broad window, overlooking the steel spine of the power house.

"When we first planned this dam," Lancelot began, "the town elders said it was impossible. The river was too wild. The gorge too unstable. The workers too untrained."

He turned back.

"And yet here we are. Not because the land changed, but because we did."

Delacour looked thoughtful. "And now you plan to connect this to a national grid?"

Lancelot nodded. "Yes. By next year, Calvaria will be fully electrified. Then Tarragona. Then the coastal line. Every mile of cable we lay is another bond tying this kingdom together."

Arturo added, "We’ve already tested arc lamps in the port. The night patrol says it’s like daytime. The crime rate has dropped. Productivity increased."

Delacour raised a brow. "And what of the Church?"

Lancelot exhaled slowly. "Still skeptical. But they’re not fools. They know the people can’t eat incense or read sermons in the dark. They’ve begun requesting generators for cathedrals, under the condition that we light the altar first."

Outside, bells rang three times. A scheduled break. The turbines slowed, and a stream of workers emerged from the pump tunnels, many coughing from the wet dust but smiling.

A young boy approached—perhaps ten years old—with soot on his cheeks and a bread basket under his arm. He looked up at the Prince, wide-eyed, and offered him a chunk.

"For the workers," he said softly.

Lancelot crouched and took the piece.

"Thank you," he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. "What’s your name?"

"Mateo, sir."

"And do you go to school?"

"Yes, sir. The one near the brass foundry. Mama says when the lights come, I’ll be able to study at night."

Lancelot smiled. "Then we’ll make sure they come soon."

Mateo grinned and ran off.

Back in the tower, Arturo returned to the blueprint table. "If Your Highness would care to see, we’ve also begun designing a second dam along the Jucar River. Smaller, but strategically important."

"Good," Lancelot said. "We must never allow this project to stand alone. If it fails, or falls, it must not paralyze us."

Delacour leaned in. "There’s talk in Vienna that Aragon is trying to outdo the British textile boom with energy-driven factories. Is that true?"

Lancelot gave a small laugh. "Not outdo. Surpass. Britain has coal. We have rivers."

He gestured toward the turbines.

"And water doesn’t burn cities when it’s stored."

The sky dimmed outside, as clouds drifted over the sun. Rain began to patter lightly against the glass panes.

Below, the lamplighters had already lit the new gas-electric hybrids along the work platforms. They flickered into life with a soft click.

"Would you like to see the generator room?" Arturo asked.

Lancelot nodded. "Lead on."

—

Generator Room – Ten Minutes Later

The heart of the facility was loud, warm, and smelled of ozone. The rotating shafts turned massive copper coils, generating humming arcs of energy that snapped through glass insulators and crackled into converter panels.

Apprentices with gloves and ear coverings stood at attention as Lancelot passed, adjusting levers and monitoring dials. A heavy brass plaque above the main generator read:

The People’s Engine — By Will, By Water, By Work

Lancelot traced the inscription with his eyes.

"What will this mean for laborers?" Delacour asked, walking beside him. "Surely, machines replacing hands will displace many."

Lancelot didn’t answer immediately. He watched as two young women hauled a crate of graphite cores toward the maintenance pit.

"Machines will replace toil," he said at last. "But not purpose. The kingdom must train minds as it once trained arms. This is why we build schools next to factories. Power is nothing without preparation."

A bell rang again—signaling the turbine restart.

Lancelot placed a hand on one of the railings and looked down as the wheels began to spin again, slowly at first, then with roaring force.

This—this was what the Kareya Doctrine looked like in the homeland. Not paper reforms, not speeches. But power. Tangible and blinding.

"Send a copy of the generator schematic to the Academy," Lancelot told Arturo. "And the surveyors. We’ll begin mapping for a third dam this summer."

He turned to Delacour. "Tell your republic we don’t fear their printing presses or salons. What we build here is meant to endure."

—

Calvaria – One Week Later

In the industrial outskirts of the city, electric streetlamps blinked to life for the first time. Crowds gathered, gasped, and applauded. Children danced in the newly lit square. Bakeries stayed open two hours longer. And in one small home, a boy named Mateo sat at a wooden desk, writing his name in a workbook under the glow of a copper-filament bulb.

He didn’t know the science.

But he knew this: the night no longer scared him.

And far up the valley, a prince in navy blue rode home beneath the rain, the sound of rushing water forever behind him.

Calvaria – Outskirts, That Same Night

The newly lit square glowed like a sanctuary in the mist. The smell of fresh bread and machine oil mixed in the air. Vendors extended their hours, selling candied almonds, boiled chestnuts, and simple toys under the golden hue of the arc lamps.

In a small textile workshop near the canal, two elderly weavers sat in stunned silence beside a whirring spindle, now running on electricity for the first time. The machine hissed and turned with perfect cadence—no coal, no fire, just current. One of them finally whispered, "The Prince did this?"

His companion nodded. "He said we’d have light. And here it is."

Even in the poorer districts, candles were replaced by crude lamps wired to wall-mounted converters—barely tested, but functioning. Children read aloud from school primers. A seamstress sang softly as she worked her final blouse of the night.

In a small chapel off the southern avenue, the priest hesitated before flipping a switch. When he did, a gentle white glow poured over the altar. The statues of saints gleamed. The pews, long worn by candle soot, shimmered like fresh oak.

The priest fell to his knees.

—

Upper Ebro Valley – The Next Morning

At dawn, a lone rider emerged onto the ridge above the hydroelectric complex. Lancelot, now dressed in a simpler brown riding coat, stopped and gazed down. The turbines still turned. Steam rose. The mist caught the morning light and cast tiny rainbows over the dam.

Beside him, Arturo had joined quietly on his own horse.

"We’ve done it," the engineer said.

Lancelot didn’t respond immediately. He was staring at the distance—toward the next river, the next town.

"No," he said quietly. "We’ve started it."

He turned his horse south.

Below, the People’s Engine roared.

And in every home it touched, a new age had begun.