Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 160: London Branch Office

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

On the bridge, merchants dropped their baskets. Horses reared and threw their riders. The very timbers of the bridge seemed to vibrate in terror.

"Again," Ragnar ordered. "Longer this time."

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

By the time the Leviathan dropped anchor opposite the Tower of London, the entire city had gathered on the banks.

They stood in stunned silence, staring at the black iron wall floating in their river. They had seen ships.

They had seen fire. But they had never seen a ship that ate fire and breathed smoke.

Ragnar descended the gangplank, his leg brace clanking softly with each step.

He was flanked by General Bjorn and a squad of "Security Contractors" armed with the new Mark II Repeating Crossbows.

Waiting for them on the muddy shore was a delegation of West Saxons.

At their head stood King Aethelwulf, looking tired, mud-stained, and thoroughly depreciated. Beside him stood the captain of the Swiss Mercenaries, a man in flashy slashed silk who looked at the iron ship with professional curiosity.

"You have broken the chain," Aethelwulf said, his voice hoarse.

"You have shelled my batteries. And now you park this... abomination on my doorstep. What do you want, Ragnar?"

Ragnar adjusted his monocle, looking at the King as if he were a line item in a ledger that needed correcting.

"I want a meeting, King Aethelwulf. Regarding the mismanagement of the Midlands assets."

The Swiss Captain stepped forward, hand on his massive zweihänder.

"My contract says I am to stop invaders. You look like an invader."

Ragnar turned his gaze to the mercenary. "And your contract is with a man who is currently borrowing money from the Franks to pay you. I, on the other hand, own the silver mines in Dublin and the coal mines in Scotland. I can pay you not to fight. In cash. Today."

The Swiss Captain paused. He looked at Aethelwulf. He looked at the iron ship. He looked at Ragnar’s confident smirk.

"I am listening," the Captain said.

Aethelwulf’s face turned purple.

"You traitorous—!"

"Efficiency, Your Majesty," Ragnar interrupted, tapping his cane on a loose cobblestone. "Now, shall we discuss this inside? The air out here is bad for my suit."

The negotiation took place in the Great Hall of the Tower. It was a drafty, stone room filled with dusty tapestries... a stark contrast to the heated, gas-lit offices of City Titan.

Ragnar sat at one end of the table, Elfwynn at his right. Aethelwulf sat opposite, fuming.

"This is an act of war," Aethelwulf spat.

"You cannot hold Mercia. You cannot pay your debts. And you cannot stop my ship."

Aethelwulf looked at Elfwynn, who was calmly laying out a map of the Thames on the table. He sneered.

"And since when do Vikings bring their scullery maids to a war council? Have you run out of men?"

The room went silent. General Bjorn’s hand drifted to his axe. Ragnar’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Elfwynn didn’t flinch. She simply looked up from her map, pushed her glasses up her nose, and addressed the King.

"Your Majesty, this ’scullery maid’ designed the engine that just broke your blockade. I also calculated the trajectory of the shell that destroyed your shore battery. If you like, I can calculate the exact amount of powder needed to collapse this tower on top of us. It is... surprisingly little."

Aethelwulf blinked, taken aback by the woman’s cold, analytical tone.

Ragnar smiled.

"She is my Chief Engineer, Aethelwulf. In my Directorate, rank is determined by competence, not by what is between your legs. A concept you would do well to adopt."

Ragnar leaned forward.

"Now. Let us talk about the London Tariff."

"Tariff?" Aethelwulf asked.

"My ship needs coal," Ragnar explained.

"My crew needs food. And my time... my time is expensive. You will lower the toll for all Directorate ships to zero. You will grant us a plot of land here, on the riverbank, to build a Trading Post."

"A trading post?"

"A warehouse," Ragnar corrected. "With a dock. And a wall. And perhaps a small garrison to protect our inventory."

"You want to build a fortress in my capital!?"

"I want to build a Branch Office," Ragnar said smoothly.

"Call it what you will. But look at it this way, Aethelwulf. If you agree, I will tell the Scots to stop raiding your northern border. I will sell you high-grade steel for your knights. And I will even offer you a discount on the glass needed to replace all the windows my whistle just shattered."

Aethelwulf looked at his advisors. They were pale. The Swiss Captain was busy inspecting his fingernails, clearly having mentally resigned from the conflict.

"And if I refuse?" Aethelwulf whispered.

Ragnar gestured to the window, where the smokestacks of the Leviathan were visible, belching black clouds.

"Then I instruct Elfwynn to conduct a ’Stress Test’ on the Tower’s foundations. With the main cannon."

Aethelwulf slumped in his chair.

"Fine," the King grunted. "Take your land. Build your... office."

"Excellent," Ragnar stood up, extending his hand. Aethelwulf hesitated, then shook it. It felt like shaking hands with a machine.

As they walked back to the ship, Elfwynn was practically skipping.

"Did you see his face, Director? When I mentioned the structural integrity?"

"I did," Ragnar chuckled. "You handled the negotiations perfectly. Although, threatening to drop the building on us was a bold strategy."

They reached the gangplank, where the Swiss Captain was waiting.

"Director Ragnar," the mercenary said, tipping his hat. "About that payment..."

"General Bjorn will handle the payroll," Ragnar said, dismissing him. "Welcome to the payroll, Captain."

They boarded the ship, and Ragnar immediately went to the quarterdeck to inspect the "land" he had just acquired.

It was a muddy stretch of bank, filled with rotting fishing boats.

"It’s a dump," Elfwynn noted.

"It’s Prime Real Estate," Ragnar corrected.

"Elfwynn, I want you to draft the blueprints. We need a deep-water pier. A crane. And a warehouse big enough to store five hundred tons of coal."

"And the walls?" she asked.

"Concrete," Ragnar said, his eyes gleaming with the memory of City Titan. "Reinforced with rebar. Just like home."

He looked at the mud.

"We will start by draining the swamp. Then, we drive the piles. London is built on wood and mud, Elfwynn. We are going to build on Iron and Stone."

Suddenly, Elfwynn stepped closer to him. The adrenaline of the negotiation was fading, replaced by a warm sense of victory.

Without thinking, she reached out and brushed a speck of dust from Ragnar’s black tunic.

"You were... impressive back there, Director."

Ragnar froze. It was a small gesture, intimate in its own way. He looked down at her. The grease was still on her cheek.

Her eyes behind the spectacles were bright and intelligent.

"We were impressive, Elfwynn," Ragnar corrected softly. "The Brand is strong."

Elfwynn blushed, realizing she had crossed the professional boundary again. She quickly pulled her hand back.

"I... I should go check the boiler pressure. For the return trip."

"Do that," Ragnar nodded, turning back to the river. "We have a schedule to keep."

As she hurried away, Ragnar tapped his cane on the deck.

The blockade was broken. The branch office was secured. The mercenaries were bought.

And for the first time, Ragnar realized that building an empire was a lot more interesting when you had someone competent to share the blueprints with.

"Bjorn!" Ragnar barked, breaking his own reverie.

The General appeared instantly. "Director?"

"Send a wire to Titan. Tell them to double the production of cement. We’re going to need it."