The Admiralty summons arrived three days after the memorial mass.

It did not come by courier or messenger on horseback. It came by ship.

A small naval cutter moored at the Shropshire river dock just after dawn, bearing the blue ensign and a sealed order for Lord Phillip Wellington. When Henry found Phillip in the foundry yard—supervising another set of coils being wound—he looked slightly pale.

"They want you in London," Henry said. "Immediately."

Phillip wiped metal dust from his hands. "Admiralty or Parliament?"

"Admiralty," Henry replied. "Signed by the First Sea Lord."

Phillip didn't speak further. He removed his apron, took his coat, and left instructions for the telegraph crews before boarding the carriage waiting by the gate.

The Duke of Wellington joined him halfway down the road.

"I received the same summons," the Duke said. "They're moving faster than expected."

Phillip glanced at him. "Is this about the crash?"

"No," the Duke said. "This is about what you built because of it."

Admiralty House – London

The Admiralty had convened in a smaller chamber than the one used for the Ironclad Initiative—a room lined with old naval charts, oil portraits of admirals long dead, and two large windows that looked out toward the Thames. A long table sat in the center, surrounded by uniformed officers and civil officials.

Admiral Harrington Grant stood near the head of the table, holding a folded letter.

When Phillip entered, the room quieted.

Grant nodded to him. "Lord Wellington. Your timing is fortunate. We were just discussing you."

Phillip took his place beside his father. Henry remained near the back wall, allowed inside only because Grant had personally approved the attendance of Phillip's assistant.

Grant unfurled the letter. "A report from Commander Vale reached us yesterday. It contains something… unexpected."

Phillip said nothing.

Grant continued. "It details the successful trial of an electrical signalling device. A telegraph."

Murmurs rippled through the room.

The Minister of the Navy leaned forward. "This device allows instant communication between distant points? Without semaphore, without runners, without signal flags?"

Phillip nodded. "Yes, sir. Provided the two points are connected by wire."

Grant paced once along the table. "Vale's letter claims the message was sent and received instantly across two miles."

"It was," Phillip confirmed. "We plan to extend the line further north this week."

"And you believe this technology can scale?" the Navy Minister asked. "To span greater distances?"

Phillip folded his hands behind his back. "With sufficient copper, insulators, and proper battery arrangement, yes. There is no theoretical distance limit for the signal. Only practical ones."

A rear admiral raised a skeptical brow. "Telegraphs work inland. But the Navy does not march on roads. We sail. Your telegraph lines cannot cross the sea."

Phillip met his gaze evenly. "They do not need to."

The room went still.

Phillip stepped forward to the table, where a layered chart of Britain's coastline lay open. He placed two fingers at Portsmouth and dragged them slowly to Plymouth.

"Ships spend more time in harbor than at sea. A ship in port could receive orders instantly from London."

He moved his hand toward Dover. "Coastal forts could warn naval bases of hostile movement before a single sail appears on the horizon."

Grant nodded slowly. "And telegraph lines can run along the coast."

"Not only along it," Phillip said. "Across the country. Linking every naval yard, every fortification, every strategic point. A network. Information moving faster than horse, faster than semaphore, faster than wind."

A younger officer asked, quietly, "And at sea?"

Phillip paused.

"Ships at sea cannot receive wired messages," he said. "But—ships at sea must eventually come within sight of shore. If the Admiralty can instruct a ship minutes before it departs… it changes how fleets deploy."

Grant tapped the letter on the table. "Commander Vale believes the telegraph is as revolutionary as your ironclad engines. Perhaps more."

Some officers stiffened at the comparison.

Phillip didn't deny it.

"War is decided by who acts first," Phillip said. "Who knows first. Telegraphy collapses delay. It erases uncertainty."

The Duke of Wellington added quietly, "Battles are no longer won by the fastest cavalry. They will be won by the fastest message."

Grant nodded. "And that is why you are here, Lord Wellington. We want to know how to adapt your invention for naval use."

Henry, from the back, gave Phillip a quick look that said: We worked on the railways, not the Navy. How many fires do you plan to start at once?

Phillip ignored it.

The First Naval Proposal

Phillip stepped toward the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk, drawing rapidly—coastline, naval bases, straight lines of copper wire.

"We begin with major naval installations," he said. "Portsmouth. Plymouth. Chatham. Liverpool. Dundee."

He connected them. A crude web formed.

"Within months, the Admiralty will be able to communicate across all of Britain in seconds."

Seconds.

Not hours. Not days.

An older admiral leaned back in his chair, stunned. "This would allow the Admiralty to recall ships, reroute convoys, warn of storms, issue mobilization orders…"

Phillip added another line—from Portsmouth to the Royal Dockyard where HMS Vanguard was still rising.

"And shipyards," he said. "A telegraph line to Portsmouth would allow real-time coordination with the Ironclad Initiative. No more couriers. No more days of delay."

Grant's expression hardened—not with doubt, but with calculation.

"And what would you need from us?"

Phillip didn't hesitate.

"Labor. Timber. Copper. Men capable of climbing poles without falling." A faint flicker of humor touched the room. "And Admiralty approval to construct lines along the coast, crossing military land."

The Navy Minister exchanged a glance with the First Sea Lord. "You shall have approval. But one question remains."

He tapped the chalkboard.

"How soon?"

Phillip took a breath. "If materials arrive without delay, and the telegraph crews continue at current pace…"

He looked at the map again.

"…the first naval telegraph line—from Portsmouth to London—could be complete in six weeks."

Silence.

Then Grant spoke, voice low with awe and certainty.

"Do it."

After the Meeting

When Phillip stepped out into the courtyard of Admiralty House, the crisp London air felt strangely light.

Henry hurried up beside him. "You've just given the Navy a new nervous system."

Phillip adjusted his coat. "The Navy already had a spine. They only lacked the nerves to carry messages fast enough."

"And now they want you to build those nerves."

Phillip nodded. "Yes."

The Duke of Wellington joined them, cane tapping against the stones. "This will spread beyond the railways, beyond the Admiralty. The government will take interest soon. The Crown, eventually."

Phillip didn't smile. "As long as it prevents what we saw at the crash site, I don't care who uses it."

The Duke rested a hand briefly on his son's shoulder. "Then Britain will change with you."

Phillip looked past the Admiralty gates, toward the distant horizon where Vanguard waited in her dry dock, where telegraph poles were rising mile by mile, where a nation built on centuries of tradition was being dragged—sometimes willingly, sometimes not—into a new age.

"History doesn't wait for anyone," Phillip said quietly.

He started walking.

"So neither will we."

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