Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 101: One Kingdom down

The grey light of a smog-filled dawn shone down onto the burgeoning industrial sprawl of City Titan; the brutalist concrete walls that protected the factory district and its inhabitants were split down the middle as the canalized River Tyne flowed through the center of the zone.

A large, blocky Governor’s Palace rose above the many brick tenements constructed in the standardized "Worker Housing Type-B" style.

Though Ragnar had plans to move into a more aesthetic steel-and-glass headquarters eventually, at the moment, the concrete bunker in Titan acted as the main corporate office for the Directorate.

Within the Executive Dining Room, Gyda sat at the head of the table.

To her left was the spot reserved for the Director; of course, at the moment, the seat was vacant, occupied only by a stack of unread invoices since Ragnar was currently laying rail in the Midlands.

However, since Ragnar had granted her full Power of Attorney, Gyda ruled the breakfast table with an iron fist.

Today was a rare occasion for the Palace in Titan, for it held a rather tense gathering. Just last night, the "VIP Guests" arrived from Nottingham.

In reality, they were the widow and daughters of the liquidated King Burgred, transported to Titan under the guise of "Protective Custody."

Across from Gyda sat Queen Eadburh of Mercia, looking pale and haggard from the journey in the covered wagons.

Beside her sat her two teenage daughters, Princess Aethelflaed and Princess Elfwynn.

They were dressed in fine Saxon wool, which looked coarse and primitive compared to the smooth, violet Jernheim Velvet that Gyda wore.

The Saxon royals were greatly uncomfortable with the whole situation. Queen Eadburh could not help herself from staring at the room with confusion.

This was not the barbarian longhouse she had expected. There were no skulls on the walls.

There was no rotting straw on the floor. Instead, the floor was tiled with heated ceramic (a radiant heating system Leif had installed), and the walls were lit by hissing gas lamps, even though it was morning.

Eventually, Queen Eadburh had to express her doubts over the nature of her captivity.

"Where... where are the chains?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"And where are the heads of our guards?"

In the past, such a fearful comment would have made a Viking laugh, but Gyda merely sighed, as she recognized that the Saxon mind was not yet calibrated to the concept of "white-collar crime." Instead, she replied to the Queen by asking about her beverage.

"How are you enjoying the ’Black Broth,’ Eadburh? Surely the caffeine content is higher than anything you have ever had in Tamworth."

The Queen looked down at the steaming porcelain cup.

It contained coffee—a trade secret secured from Arab merchants via the Frankish connection.

She took a hesitant sip. Her eyes widened as the bitter, energizing liquid hit her system.

"It is... vigorous," the Queen admitted, her hands shaking slightly less. "I feel my heart racing. Is this a potion?"

Gyda chuckled at her remark and taunted her gently for her inexperience with the global market.

"If you think that is strong, wait until you try the sugar. You will never want to go back to honey again."

As the Queen and Gyda discussed the breakfast spread—which included fluffy white bread made from refined flour and salted pork that hadn’t gone bad due to proper curing—Princess Elfwynn was glaring at Gyda.

She could not believe the arrogance of this pagan woman. It was too dramatic; just what sorcery had the Viking "Director" cast to build a palace of stone in a matter of months?

Eventually, the young Princess interrupted the ongoing conversation and steered it into deep waters; she scowled at the pregnant Prime Minister and scolded her mother for drinking with the enemy.

"Mother! Do not drink their poison! I cannot believe you are breaking bread with the woman whose husband murdered Father! He is a monster who shoots lightning from wooden boxes!"

Elfwynn was roughly sixteen; she had just entered the age of political marriageability and was filled with intense rage every time she thought about the "Torsion Spikes" that had decimated the Mercian nobility.

Gyda put down her coffee cup. The clink against the saucer echoed in the silent room. She glared menacingly at Elfwynn; the girl clearly did not understand how ’Performance Reviews’ worked.

"Your father," Gyda said, her voice dropping a few degrees in temperature, "was not murdered. He was liquidated."

Seeing the Viking woman’s cold, blue eyes.. a cold sweat broke out on Elfwynn’s forehead. She shivered.

Gyda continued, addressing the accusation with the precision of a scalpel.

"Why would you mourn King Burgred’s management style? Since when had your father ever paid the slightest bit of attention to the infrastructure of Mercia? Our auditors found that he was hoarding silver under the floorboards while the bridges rotted. He neglected the economy to pursue his dreams of buying more gold cups. If you ask me, he breached his contract with the people long before my husband arrived."

Though Gyda’s words were harsh, they were also statistically accurate. Ragnar’s audit of the Nottingham treasury had revealed massive embezzlement.

"Ragnar is not a monster," Gyda smoothed her velvet dress over her belly. "He is the only landlord in England who cares about efficiency. Your father died because he bought cheap armor and tried to steal from his suppliers. In the Directorate, we call that a ’bad investment’."

Though Elfwynn wanted to defend her father’s honor, she really could not find the words to argue against the paved roads and the hot running water she had experienced in the guest suite.

Instead, she sat in silence like an intern who had just been reprimanded by the CEO.

There was a rift between the Saxon royals and the Viking administration; this was due to the culture shock of moving from the Dark Ages to the Industrial Revolution in a single wagon ride.

While they sat in awkward silence, the heavy iron door to the dining hall banged open.

Helga the Brewer burst in. She was wearing a heavy leather apron stained with grease and soot. She held a clipboard in one hand and a pair of brass calipers in the other.

"Prime Minister!" Helga shouted, ignoring the terrified royals. "The Canning Project! The tin seals are holding! We preserved a turnip for three weeks, and it is still edible!"

Gyda rubbed her temples. "Helga, we have guests. This is the former Queen of Mercia."

Helga looked at the pale woman in the wool dress, then looked back at Gyda.

"Oh. Hello," Helga said dismissively. "Do they know how to solder? We are short-staffed on the assembly line."

Queen Eadburh blinked. "Solder?"

"To melt metal," Helga explained, making a welding motion. "To seal the cans. So the food doesn’t rot. You know, science?"

The Queen looked at her daughters. "Is... is this how Viking women behave? They work with fire?"

"In Titan," Gyda said, standing up laboriously, "everyone works. Even Queens."

Gyda walked over to the window, looking out at the smokestacks belching black soot into the sky. It was ugly, but it was the smell of money.

"You are here as guests," Gyda told the Saxon women. "But guests must contribute. Princess Elfwynn, you have good eyesight?"

Elfwynn blinked, taken aback. "I... I embroider tapestries."

"Excellent," Gyda nodded. "Detailed work. You will report to the Drafting Department. We need people to copy blueprints for the railway. It pays three silver pennies a day."

"You... you want to pay me?" Elfwynn asked, stunned. "I am a hostage!"

"You are a consultant," Gyda corrected. "Ragnar doesn’t believe in slave labor. It lowers morale. You work, you get paid, you buy things at the company store. It is the circle of life."

The three Saxon women looked at each other. They had expected torture. Instead, they were being offered entry-level positions in a corporation.

"Now," Gyda said, feeling a cramp in her back. "I have bills to sign. But Helga here was just about to inspect the Sanitation Plant. Perhaps you would like a tour? It is where your waste goes."

"Our waste goes... away?" the Queen asked, fascinated despite herself.

"Through pipes!" Helga beamed. "Underground! It’s magnificent! Come, I will show you the filtration tanks!"

As Helga dragged the bewildered royals out of the room to show them the wonders of modern sewage, Gyda slumped back into her chair.

She took another sip of coffee.

"Integration is going well," she muttered to herself.

She picked up a quill and pulled a fresh document from the stack. It was a letter from Princess Judith of Wessex. The offer of a trade deal to save her husband, King Aethelred.

Gyda read it again, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Judith... you clever girl," Gyda whispered. "You want to sell out your husband to save your country’s economy."

She dipped the quill in ink.

To Regent Judith,

Your proposal is accepted. The Directorate values stability. Keep the King on a leash, and we will keep the ’Iron Horse’ on the tracks. However, the tariff on velvet remains 5%. I have a monopoly to protect.

Sincerely,

Prime Minister Gyda.

She sealed the letter.

Outside, the steam whistles of the factory blew for the shift change. The sound was shrill and demanding.

"One Kingdom down," Gyda said, patting her stomach.