Which was why Gale even when faced with the setback did not relent to this failure. It was suspected but proved a point to the smith - if you needed something done right, then it needed to be fit for purpose. The Smith returned to the drawing board and took the time to consider their options in the form of crude sketches of charcoal and poor diagrams of chalk upon the wall. They chose steel as their metal of choice, they knew the substance more than they knew themselves - it was consistent in its properties, warming and reshaping beneath the predetermined heat, malleable yet maintaining strength when tempered correctly. They studied the other bicycles of the city, considered the size and weight of the engine that needed to nestle within its chassis and made miniature frames from wire and cork. They smoke and drank to fill their muse, relaxing the mind enough to allow the thoughts and considerations to seep from their soul and into their skull, only to awaken again the next morning to ignore the stale taste upon their lips and begin anew.
They reshaped the fuel tank to be a two-gallon cylinder canister; inputting a drainage cap in its base and fitting a hole ready for the tried and tested ignition system in the top - each featured the telling helical threads around the gaps to allow parts to be screwed in. From the top of the canister, another pipe would run down and parallel to the cylinder, band clamps securing it in place while the steady hand of forge welding sealed the gaps shut. For above the rear mudguard a curved container was fitted to be filled with coolant, the beginning stubs of brass ready for the narrow piping that would lace the engine and circulate the fluids.
The engine was refined and shrunk, composed of parts that required care to be fitted together - a jigsaw of brass and steel, where narrow, thinner pipes served as a jacket to keep the rumbling engine within cool and prevent the steel shell from overheating. The crankshaft was sat in position, the long arm that would rotate around a power the cogs and gears. It would force momentum, stimulating movement and granting acceleration when fed its precious combusted fuel. The other half was a mirror, carefully screwed into position and tightened with bolts, the steel exhaust pipe feeding directly from the rear. Gale listened to the sound of the cog turning as they rotated it with their fingers, the dull grind of metal engaging with each other, the telling rise and falling clack of pistons moving in unison.
It was a far cry from the large industrial engine that loomed within the courtyard - scrapped, stripped and serving nothing more now than an echo of what once was. Gale had slowly carved their way through it, the excess metal broken and melted down into iron for raw materials. Yet as the shapes of steel took structure, the was engine held up without a body and checked that it worked; it was fed kerosene while a mixture of cheap spirits and water flowing through the coolant system. It sat upon the workbench, resting aloft with a single wheel at its rear hooked up to the crankshaft via a single, steel connecting rod. The smith tested it manually again, watching it engage with the drive crank on the wheel, the various ball bearings rotating around with each push - a final test that everything was as it should be - before they manually started the ignition.