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Chapter 363: New Trading Route

“Setting out from the Western Region?” Margaret asked, curiosity edging into her voice. “I didn’t know there was a harbor that leads to the sea here.”

“There isn’t yet. But we can build one.”

Her eyes widened. “Your Highness, are you serious?”

“Of course.” Roland smiled. “By next spring, we should be able to begin construction.”

Cold pressed in at the hall’s tall windows — the grey stone letting winter announce itself regardless of the fire. He’d grown accustomed to this. Border Town’s cold was a constant, less a discomfort than a baseline against which warmth measured itself.

In this era, harbors were, without exception, gifts of geography. Man-made harbors — projects that required remaking the land itself — were practically impossible. But now that he had Tilly’s full support, he needed only to wait for the housing construction on Sleeping Island to finish, for Lotus to return to the Western Region, and for the demon-beast crisis to have subsided. Spring would arrive. The harbor would follow.

He rose and pointed to the map hung behind him. “In the south of Border Town there’s a shoreline where the depth is ideal and the surface area more than sufficient — room enough for every facility a working harbor requires. A few modifications, the coastal ridges flattened, and I can run goods from the inland Western Region straight to the water.”

“Modifying the shore and flattening the ridges.” Margaret tilted her head. “Why is it that when you speak of these astonishing plans, I always get the impression they’re not difficult at all?” She smiled. “But do you have a merchant fleet? Sea ships and inland river ships are very different animals.”

“At the moment, no.” Roland spread his hands. “Which is one reason I hope you’ll participate.”

“I’d provide the ships?”

“And manage shipping and sales,” he added. “The Western Region supplies the goods. You handle everything else.”

Exclusive dealership rights in the Fjord region. A merchant of Margaret’s experience could smell the shape of those profits from across the room. If Roland built his own fleet and sold direct, the margin would be higher — but he had no interest in bleeding manpower and attention into maritime trade. What he wanted was capital, quickly, to sustain the territory’s pace. Primitive accumulation first; credit could wait.

As expected, she blinked, and the excitement was already in her eyes. “You’re entrusting it all to me?”

“If the price is reasonable.” Roland nodded. “If you’re willing to manage Western Region’s overseas trade, we can discuss details now. Sales territory is limited to the Fjords, and prices must not fall below what the Crescent-Moon-Bay Caravan currently pays.”

“That’s a given.” She spoke with a merchant’s absolute assurance. “The steam-powered boat alone — a vessel that doesn’t rely on wind — is already worth a bidding war among maritime trading teams. Selling directly into the Fjord Islands, I’m confident we double the price.”

“We share the excess profits.” Roland laughed. “And there’s a second major product besides the steam engine.” He clapped once. A guard stepped in from the hall bearing a plate with four or five gleaming crystal bottles, each no larger than a thumb.

“This is…”

“Open it and smell.”

Curious, Margaret pulled the cork and sniffed. Her eyes lit. “My gosh — perfume. You actually created perfume.”

“How does it compare with what the Alchemist Workshop in King’s City produces?”

She raised the bottle and turned it in the light, clearly charmed. “Stronger fragrance, I think. Was this made by the Alchemist Workshop here in Border Town?”

“More or less.” Roland took a bottle for himself and turned it gently. At his instruction, the bottles had been blown from crystal of excellent clarity, each ground to the same hexagonal-prism shape. Under direct light, the liquid inside shifted through shades — amber to gold to a deep liquid rose. The presentation mattered as much as the scent; if later centuries had taught him anything, it was that exquisite packaging elevated a product by a third in the customer’s mind. As the hit product meant to open the Fjords market, he’d been careful with every detail.

The perfume was, compared to the steam engine, nearly free to produce. Once Evelyn understood that her gift — the ability to concentrate spirits past any natural limit — applied equally to distillation, she had begun producing liquors of extraordinary purity, sometimes skipping the final step entirely. Leaf, meanwhile, had extracted and condensed rose oil and flower essences into small batches. Two or three crushed stalks filled an entire bottle with fragrance.

“If you like them, these few bottles are yours.” He set the plate down.

“Really?” Margaret smiled. “Then I won’t be courteous.”

“I’m told it commands high prices in the Fjords?”

“The Alchemist Workshop in King’s City releases only a very limited stock each year — a thousand bottles, perhaps, nowhere near satisfying demand. Most of what sells in the outer regions has already passed through maritime merchants’ hands once.” She paused, then looked at him. “How many bottles can your Workshop produce in a year?”

“If material supply holds, approximately ten times King’s City.” Roland gave the figure deliberately low. He had no interest in flooding the market and selling perfume like grain at a harvest fair, earning four or five thousand gold royals when the thing could command five times that. Perfume alongside the steam engine — that was the formula. Not cabbage pricing. Hit-product pricing.

Margaret was quiet for a long moment. Beyond the window, grey sky sat flat and low over the town rooftops. Then she exhaled. “Your territory,” she said slowly, “is truly full of the unexpected.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to manage sales?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” She rose and bowed. “I consider this a rare opportunity.”


After the general terms were settled, Roland passed the contractual details to Barov and returned to his office to draft a letter to Theo — still in hiding in King’s City.

Whether to press the attack against Timothy or to build a new trading route: the answer was both. He had no intention of committing everything to a single gamble. Even if the assault failed, saltpeter production had to continue.

The solution was self-sufficiency.

In the letter, alongside his intentions to move against the capital, he took care to encourage Theo to contact the nitre plants in King’s City’s outskirts, to find workers from those operations and arrange for them to come west.

Life had not been kind to the saltpeter trade this year. Timothy’s export ban had been bad enough; the forced low-price sales to the Alchemist Workshop had wrung what remained from the merchants’ margins. Nitre-field profits had collapsed. Roland was confident that generous wages would be sufficient — entire factories’ worth of workers, if necessary.

The principle of saltpeter production was not complicated. Border Town’s population was growing steadily, and it could already supply the volume of raw material the fields required. Every condition for self-production was in place. Before Timothy fell, this was the most reliable guarantee he had.

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