Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 99: Market Analysis

The Queen’s Solar, Winchester (Capital of Wessex)

Princess Judith was currently within her private chambers reading a market report from the North.

Despite the fact that Ragnar was currently liquidating the Kingdom of Mercia, he made sure to send "status updates" to his former business partners.

The young Princess smoothed the fabric of her dress. It was deep purple, made from the finest Jernheim Velvet.

While the rest of the Saxon court wore scratchy wool and prayed for deliverance from the "Northmen Devils," Judith understood that the devil didn’t wear horns; he wore a tailored grey sash and carried a slide rule.

The news she was reading was terrifying to the average mind, but excellent for her portfolio. The Thanes of the Midlands had surrendered to the Directorate. Ragnar hadn’t just conquered them; he had employed them.

Ever since her stepson, Prince Aethelwold, had made a fool out of himself by trying to embargo the North Judith had consolidated her power.

Aside from formal court sessions where she had to listen to Bishops drone on about the apocalypse, she stayed within the confines of her solar, analyzing the economic data.

She wished she was in City Titan to see this "Steam Engine" Ragnar wrote about. But unfortunately, she was stuck in Winchester, managing a Kingdom that was rapidly becoming a subsidiary in denial.

Oddly enough, Judith and Gyda had been corresponding through a series of "invoices" that served as covert diplomatic channels. There was a rivalry between the two, certainly.

Judith admired Ragnar’s vision (and his shoulders), while Gyda owned his assets. Despite this, there was a form of professional courtesy between the two women.

They were the only two people on the island who understood that gold was just a tool to move steel.

After reading Ragnar’s latest "Notice of Acquisition" regarding Nottingham Castle, Judith sighed and voiced her thoughts aloud to the empty room.

"He didn’t just take the castle... he put the King’s family in an orientation program."

She shivered.

Suddenly, she heard a heavy pounding on her door. Judith quickly stashed the report inside a hollowed-out Bible and composed herself.

"Enter."

In the doorway stood Prince Aethelwold. The disgraced former Regent was dressed in a penitent’s robe of roughspun cloth, a desperate attempt to look pious after his disastrous attempt at economic warfare.

There was a frantic, sweaty look on his face. He was twenty years old but carried the aura of a man who had aged fifty years in a week.

Noticing the expression on Aethelwold’s face, Judith instantly became worried. Not for him but for the stability of the Kingdom.

Before Judith could ask what fresh disaster he had concocted, Aethelwold said in a grave, trembling tone.

"Come to the Great Hall, Stepmother. I have news about Father. The courier... he says the sky is falling."

Judith knew something must have gone wrong if Aethelwold was voluntarily speaking to her without a sneer. As such, she quickly put on her velvet slippers and followed him.

When she arrived, she noticed the various expressions on the Ealdormen’s faces.

Terror. Confusion. Awe.

The Bishop of Winchester was clutching his rosary so hard his knuckles were white.

Aethelwold marched to the center of the room. He didn’t sit on the throne but he stood before it, clearing his throat to deliver the catastrophic news.

"King Aethelred is currently stuck at the Thames crossing. He intended to march north to liberate Mercia, but... he has been halted."

"Halted by who?" the Bishop demanded. "By the Viking army?"

Aethelwold shook his head, his eyes wide with superstitious fear.

"No, Your Grace. He was halted by... inflation."

The room murmured in confusion.

"The King reports," Aethelwold continued, his voice cracking, "that he cannot buy grain for the horses. The farmers in the borderlands... they are refusing his silver coins. They demand ’Directorate Scrip.’ They say the Viking money is worth more because it is backed by steel, while our money is clipped and debased."

Aethelwold looked at Judith, his eyes pleading for an explanation he couldn’t grasp.

"Father says his mercenaries deserted this morning. They walked across the lines to Nottingham because Ragnar offers... ’Dental Benefits’ and ’Hazard Pay.’ Father expects to be overrun within the week. He says the Vikings are building a road of iron bars that eats the earth as it grows!"

The court immediately broke out into fits of prayer.

"It is the End Times!" the Bishop wailed. "A road of iron? It is the path to Hell!"

" dental benefits?" an Ealdorman whispered, confused. "Is that a pagan ritual?"

The only person in the room who was not paralyzed by religious terror was Judith. This was because she was aware of the logistics.

She realized that King Aethelred wasn’t facing a military defeat; he was facing a corporate buyout.

War was a dangerous business, but business was a dangerous war. And Aethelred was bringing a sword to a spreadsheet fight.

Judith stood up. The rustle of her Jernheim velvet silenced the room.

"Enough!" she commanded, her voice sharp. "The King is not fighting demons. He is fighting a monopoly. And praying will not fix the exchange rate."

She looked at Aethelwold.

"If the mercenaries left for better pay, then we must offer better terms. But we are bankrupt. So, we must negotiate."

"Negotiate?" The Bishop sputtered. "With the Antichrist?"

"With the Director," Judith corrected.

After dismissing the panicked court, Judith realized she had the ability to aid her husband—not by sending troops, which would only defect, but by leveraging her connection to the "Home Office."

She returned to her room. She pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill.

She wasn’t going to write to Ragnar. He was in the field, likely measuring the Thames for a bridge. No, she needed to talk to the person who actually managed the logistics.

She wrote a letter to Prime Minister Gyda.

Judith knew that Wessex was in no position to fight. However, she also knew that Ragnar’s expansion required stability. He didn’t want to burn Wessex; he wanted to sell to it.

To the Prime Minister of the Directorate,

I trust the ’Asset’ is growing well. I am writing to you regarding a logistical bottleneck at the Thames. My husband, King Aethelred, acts out of tradition, not logic. He intends to throw his remaining forces against your Director’s ’Iron Road.’

This will result in a total liquidation of the Wessex leadership. I assume you calculate that this would create a power vacuum, leading to localized rebellions that would delay your railway project by months. That is inefficient.

I propose a merger. If you halt the ’Can-Openers’ and allow my husband to return to Winchester with his dignity intact, I will ensure that Wessex adopts the Jernheim Weights and Measures Standard. We will lower the tariffs on velvet and steel to 0%.

Consider this a pre-emptive settlement to avoid a hostile takeover.

Sincerely,

Regent Judith.

Judith stared at the letter. It was treason, technically. She was asking the enemy to spare her husband by promising economic submission. But Judith knew that in this new world Ragnar was building, sovereignty was just a word. The market was the reality.

She sealed the letter with purple wax.

"Boy!" she called out.

A terrified page ran in.

"Take this to the North. Do not stop for the King. Do not stop for the Bishops. Ride straight to City Titan. Hand this only to the pregnant woman in the purple dress."

"The... the Witch Queen?" the boy stammered.

"The Prime Minister," Judith corrected with a small, ambitious smile. "Now go. Before the stock market crashes completely."

Hopefully, Gyda would receive the proposal and calculate that a compliant Wessex was more profitable than a dead one. Judith walked to the window, looking north. She could almost hear the steam whistles screaming in the distance.

....

Meanwhile, on the Road to Winchester

Ragnar stood in the mud, holding a blueprint. He was surrounded by a thousand Saxon peasants who were currently digging a trench, supervised by the "Interns."

General Bjorn rode up, looking at the massive pile of iron rails.

"Director," Bjorn asked. "The scouts say King Aethelred is ten miles south. He has no food, no mercenaries, and he looks very angry."

Ragnar checked his watch.

"He is angry because he is hungry, Bjorn. Low blood sugar leads to poor decision-making."

"Should we deploy the Torsion Spikes?"

"No," Ragnar smiled, rolling up the blueprint. "Deploy the Mobile Catering Unit."

"The... what?"

"Send a wagon of Nutrient Bricks and hot coffee to his camp," Ragnar ordered. "First sample is free. Once they taste the caffeine... they belong to us."

Ragnar turned back to the railway trench.

"We aren’t conquering Wessex, Bjorn. We are acquiring a customer base. Now, tell Leif to hurry up with the locomotive. I want to ride into Winchester in style."