Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Galahad was no longer surprised. Though his heart also burned with excitement, having spent so long by his lord’s side and recalling the oath from which his strength had come, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Enough of that. Galahad, what has Castel been up to recently?”

“They cast a batch of coins.”

“Coins? Are they planning to build a factory and begin minting currency?” This caught The Prince off guard. In this era, money was still metallic currency. Minting coins was often a losing business—there was hardly any necessity for it.

“Mm, not exactly. Those coins seem to serve some special purpose. They aren’t meant for circulation. The symbols on them are extremely strange. I even think they look somewhat like a coat of arms.”

As he spoke, Galahad took a coin from his pocket. “They gave us a few as well. This is it.”

The Prince lowered his head to look. The coin was slightly larger than ordinary currency. Its surface was covered in letters and symbols, exquisitely crafted. Galahad was right—it did resemble a coat of arms, or perhaps the Church’s Sacred Emblem.

(Like this, except the letters above were not English, but Imperial Language.)

The Imperial Language was written with letters; different letters formed words, and words formed sentences, constructing speech.

This coin listed every letter of the Imperial Language, on both the front and the back.

On one side, each letter was followed by a pattern composed of varying numbers of dots and dashes. On the other side was a beautiful tree diagram, with different branches pointing to different letters.

After turning it over in his hand for a moment, The Prince raised it and pointed at the coin. “It marks the letters, and it marks dots and dashes. Each letter corresponds to a different pattern. This should be some kind of comparison table. These dots and dashes must form a distinct script.”

He then frowned.

“A writing system formed using only two symbols—such a script would certainly be extremely long. Why would they—”

Galahad had also grasped the idea. Excited, he pointed at the tree-diagram side of the coin. “Your Highness, I understand now. The asterisk in the center is the starting point. By following the lines and adding the dots or dashes along the path, you can spell out every letter!”

The Prince nodded. “Did they say what this is?”

“They did. Mm… this is an instruction manual!”

Galahad took out a small booklet. On it was written a single line—

Hughes Code.

The three of them flipped through it with great interest. Johan, who had been standing at the side, hesitated for a moment before stepping closer.

He suddenly felt curious. What exactly was the “power of knowledge” his young master had spoken of—what kind of thing was it, that it could inspire such admiration?

After studying the “Hughes Code” for a while, each of the three wore a thoughtful expression.

“This thing…”

Galahad’s expression turned strange as he looked at The Prince. “This resembles the coding system the Empress invented for the signal towers…”

The Prince’s eyelids twitched.

The Empire was vast and constantly at war. How to transmit news from the frontiers to Rhine had always been a major problem.

Generally, the Royal Family would attempt to cooperate with the Church. The Candlelight Emblem used a method of transmitting information through the Sea of Unawareness. Though the cost was high and reliability was not perfect, it could indeed convey messages across vast distances.

Naturally, the Empress was unwilling to let even intelligence transmission be constrained by the Church. She devised an information transmission system relying on signal towers.

“Signal towers” sounded impressive, but in practice they were similar to beacon towers. A beacon tower could only convey two states—“lit” or “unlit.” A signal tower, however, could transmit much more.

A signal tower was a tall structure with several wooden poles erected at the top. Different arrangements of the poles represented different meanings.

Somewhat like maritime flag signals.

Each pair of signal towers stood far apart, equipped with fixed telescopes aimed at the next tower.

Different arrangements of the poles corresponded to different letters—yes, much like the “Hughes Code” on the coin.

In this way, messages could be transmitted.

( Many civilizations had similar systems. The one shown here was used by France during the Napoleonic Wars. )

This method was not cheap; enough signal towers had to be constructed, and there were many limitations. At the very least, it could not be used at night—one simply could not see the arrangements in the dark.

Yet it was effective. Tower after tower relayed news from the western battlefield swiftly to Rhine, and transmitted the Empress’s orders back to the front.

Thus this colossal Empire gained the ability to control its own body and the foundation to continue its expansion.

The Prince took a deep breath, his eyes shining with excitement. “He must have had a similar idea. The transmission symbols are only dots and dashes, which means this likely isn’t meant for visual transmission. If it were visual, there would be no need to limit the basic symbols to just two. If it isn’t visual… then sound?”

Subconsciously, The Prince looked toward the distant bell tower. Josh and Zoe had first witnessed the immense body of the Compassionate Mother there. Since its destruction last time, it had not yet been rebuilt.

If the great bell atop the tower were rung, the entire Blood Harbor could hear it. If it were used to transmit messages—

“No, probably not. It should be something more portable.”

The Prince felt as though ants were crawling over his body. He wished he could immediately rush to Hughes and demand an explanation.

After all, when she had designed the signal tower system, she had expended enormous effort—so much so that handfuls of hair had fallen out. Now, seeing a similar concept, her curiosity could hardly be suppressed.

“Prepare the horses! I’m going to ask him right now!” Ignoring the fact that evening had already fallen, The Prince made his decision at once.

He walked to the window, preparing to leave—then suddenly froze.

Not just The Prince—everyone in Blood Harbor stopped what they were doing at the same moment and turned their heads toward the outside.

The Literacy Class had just ended. Students heading home were chatting animatedly along the streets, many of them holding a coin and examining it.

Out at sea, Nini, who had been playing while chasing a shark, lifted her head from the water and tilted her ear.

A melodious steam whistle echoed across Blood Harbor.

First came one long blast, then a sequence of long and short sounds, following a curious rhythm—like a chorus of steel beneath the setting sun.

The Prince rushed to the desk, seized a sheet of paper, and began recording at once. Galahad and Johan pulled out their coins, their faces flushed with excitement as they deciphered the patterns according to The Prince’s notes.

Their coordination was clumsy and frantic, hands fumbling in haste. But the whistle was unhurried.

After a while, when the steam whistle finally fell silent, several words appeared on the white paper.

“Good night. Blood Harbor.”