Among the oldest scrolls preserved in the libraries of the Indifferent Realms lies a curious account of a man historians cannot quite agree upon.
Some insist his name was Michael Fagan.
Others are equally convinced it was Master Harnock.
Scholars have argued over this for generations.
The Witch, naturally, claims they are both correct, though never at the same time.
What everyone agrees upon is this:
He lived in an age when executing a machine cost vastly more than understanding it.
The great mechanical engines of those days were magnificent, terrifying things. Preparing one for operation required enormous effort. Coal disappeared by the wagonload. Entire workshops stood still while craftsmen adjusted gears measured not merely in teeth, but in optimism.
A single overlooked mistake could consume weeks of work.
Two could empty a treasury.
Three were considered a strong argument for becoming a shepherd instead.
Master Harnock looked upon this situation and reached a conclusion that nobody has seriously disputed in the centuries since.
“If running the machine is expensive,” he declared, “then reading the plans first is simply good engineering.”
The Witch, who had already been old enough to remember several previous definitions of “modern technology,” nodded approvingly.
“Reading,” she observed, “is considerably cheaper than rebuilding.”
Thus was founded the Guild of Inspectors.
Its purpose was remarkably disciplined.
One craftsman explained the design.
Another read every drawing aloud.
Several others searched only for defects.
No one debated solutions.
No one redesigned the machine.
No one discussed architecture.
The Guild sought evidence only of things likely to fail before anyone dared awaken the engine itself.
The method spread across the realms because it worked.
Wonderfully.
Kingdoms saved fortunes.
Catastrophes were avoided.
Master Harnock’s inspection became legendary.
Apprentices memorised his First Principle.
When execution is expensive, inspection is wisdom.
For many years, nobody found a better idea.
Not even the Witch.
Then the world quietly changed.
Engineers built miniature proving engines.
Mechanisms that tested themselves.
Small experiments before large experiments.
Automatic measuring devices.
Mechanical guardians that refused to proceed when something looked suspicious.
Soon every component could be proven long before it reached the great engine.
Eventually the great engines themselves became surprisingly inexpensive to awaken.
They started every afternoon.
Then every morning.
Eventually several times before lunch.
Running the machine became almost effortless.
Waiting for permission did not.
The Witch noticed immediately.
“The economics,” she murmured, “have changed.”
She visited the Guild.
“Perhaps,” she suggested gently, “Master Harnock’s wisdom should be applied again.”
The Inspectors were delighted.
They admired Master Harnock tremendously.
They therefore organised a committee dedicated to preserving his teachings exactly as he had intended.
It spent several years reviewing previous interpretations of Master Harnock’s intentions.
Its conclusions were unanimously accepted.
Nothing else happened.
Generations passed.
The rituals remained.
The name remained.
Only the assumptions quietly disappeared.
Young craftsmen continued waiting outside the Guild Hall before every machine could be started—even though each mechanism had already proven itself hundreds of times upon smaller engines.
Curiously, the inspections themselves were no longer without value.
Far from it.
Inspectors became familiar with distant workshops.
They learned new techniques.
They recognised elegant craftsmanship.
They spread knowledge.
They welcomed apprentices into unfamiliar parts of the realm.
Without anyone consciously deciding so, inspection had quietly acquired an entirely different purpose.
It no longer answered the question,
“Will this machine work?”
The machines had become remarkably good at answering that themselves.
Instead, it answered another.
“Do we, together, understand this machine?”
It was an excellent question.
Simply not the one the Guild still believed it was asking.
Language, unfortunately, is much slower to evolve than engineering.
The word inspection survived.
Its meaning slowly wandered elsewhere.
And so, with no villains, no conspiracies and certainly no lack of good intentions, the noble Guild of Inspectors, founded upon the genuinely brilliant ideas of Master Harnock—known in some ancient chronicles as Michael Fagan—gradually became known throughout the Indifferent Realms by another name.
The Guild of Deferred Improvements.
Not because its members misunderstood the past.
But because they remembered the method more faithfully than the reason it had been invented.
