A City Without Reins Part 1

Ernest Teucher realized something fundamental had shifted in Helmarte when nobody bothered to look at his car.

He noticed it on a drizzly Wednesday morning. Not inside a busy factory, not in the quiet luxury of the Teucher Motor Company boardroom, and not while wading through Arthur's increasingly ridiculous sales charts.

He noticed it while stuck in dead-stop traffic.

Ernest rested both forearms against the wooden rim of his dark green Model One's steering wheel, staring blankly through the glass windscreen.

Ahead of him, a heavy dray wagon stood loaded with beer barrels, its massive draft horses snorting steam. Right behind the wagon was an electric tram. Wedged along the tram's flank were two open buggies. And flanking those—three purring motorcars.

Ernest checked his rearview mirror.

Another Model One sat inches from his bumper. Directly behind that was a squat, unfamiliar automobile painted gray.

He frowned. "Eleanor."

"Hm?"