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Chapter 678: The New Orders of the Fjords

A long-missed guest arrived in Neverwinter at the tail end of an autumn evening.

Margaret.

Roland had prepared a reception of unusual warmth for the woman who had been the first to step aboard during Border Town’s most difficult years and had returned generous results every time since. The First Army fired a cannon salute. Roland himself came down to Shallow Beach to meet her.

“You’re very kind, Your Majesty.” Margaret smiled. “I’m simply a businesswoman.”

“The Western Region would not be where it is without your help,” Roland said. “Neverwinter doesn’t forget its friends.”

It was not flattery. Margaret’s chamber of commerce had supplied the first large food purchases when Border Town could not feed itself, had leased ships to move refugees when moving them overland would have taken twice the time, had given Theo the network he needed to establish a foothold in the old king’s city. None of it had come free — and that was fine. Many things in the world could not be accomplished with money alone, and the people who chose to help despite uncertainty were worth more than the help itself.

“It’s my honor to be counted among your friends.” Margaret offered a slight bow. “I’ve come to fulfill the perfume contract we signed six months ago, but I’ve also brought you a new opportunity.” She gestured behind her. “These are the most respected merchants in the Fjords, and they’re very interested in the steam-powered boat project.”

“Are they.” Roland’s smile warmed. “Give me a brief introduction later?”

The dinner table held his usual approach to commerce: good food, good drink, and conversation that moved where it wanted. The visiting merchants showed no particular interest in performing noble etiquette — the Fjords had never developed much of it — and for a while they attempted a careful imitation, which dissolved pleasantly after a few rounds of drink. Roland preferred it. Palace dining rules had always struck him as designed specifically to prevent enjoyment.

Between toasts he assembled a picture of the visiting group. Beyond Gammon and Marleen, who had come to Border Town before, the delegation included a Chamber of Commerce from Sunset Island and one from Shallow Water Town — both islands flanked Crescent Moon Bay to the south and north, forming a tightly linked commercial circle around the bay. Though modest in land size, the three islands held the highest concentration of population and commercial power in the Fjords, and the competition between them was visible in the quality of their ships. Each three-masted vessel at the dock could carry three hundred people or equivalent cargo, and cost around five thousand gold royals before the sailors’ wages. Neither Sunset Island nor Shallow Water Town was going to arrive in a smaller vessel than Crescent Moon Bay.

After dessert, business began.

“Margaret mentioned the steam engine,” Roland said. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Nibelung, the Shallow Water Town representative, spoke first. “But beyond the steam engine itself, we hope to have steam-powered boats — fully converted ships, like the one you sold to Crescent Moon Bay.”

“I heard the conversion was quoted at eighteen hundred gold royals previously,” Atiyer of Sunset Island cut in before anyone else could, “and Sunset Island is prepared to offer two thousand per ship — an extra two hundred as a premium — for five ships. We can pay half the deposit immediately.”

They were talking about the paddle steamer Crescent Moon Bay had purchased a year ago, which was by now nearly obsolete by Roland’s standards. Still, filling the order would train workers and generate useful revenue, both of which he needed.

“Two to three months per ship, so roughly a year for five. Director Barov at City Hall will draw up the contracts if you can accept that timeline.”

“Completely acceptable. Though Sunset Island has one additional request.” Atiyer cleared his throat. “We’d like Fjords craftsmen to be included in the construction — as they were for the steam engine factory at Crescent Moon Bay. The ships they build would be delivered to Sunset Island first, and at the end of a ten-year contract they could choose to stay or return.”

“Shallow Water Town hopes for the same arrangement,” Nibelung added. “Five ships is only our opening order. If the terms suit us, we’d expect at least five ships annually after that.”

Roland turned this over. Ten years, five ships a year at ten thousand gold royals per order — and at the end, they’d have both ships and the knowledge to build more. He didn’t actually mind the knowledge spreading. The paddle steamer was already behind his current development; by the time a ten-year contract expired he’d have triple-expansion steam engines and hulls those craftsmen had never seen. What he wanted was not to hoard the technology but to acquire more people.

He knocked the table once. “No objection in principle, though I’d want to adjust the duration. Ten years down to five.”

Both businessmen looked immediately pleased. Shorter terms meant mastering the construction method sooner, which was precisely what they wanted.

“I’ll sweeten it further,” Roland continued. “If Shallow Water Town and Sunset Island are willing to let their craftsmen remain permanently in the Western Region after the contract ends, I’ll offer a twenty percent discount on all prices. What do you think?”

A pause. Craftsmen were expensive to train, and several hundred of them represented a real investment. Losing them against a discount measured in thousands of gold royals was not obviously a good trade.

“May I confer with my colleagues before answering, Your Majesty?” Nibelung asked.

“Of course.” Roland made an easy gesture.

“Please excuse me as well.” Atiyer rose and left the room.

Roland turned to Gammon and Marleen, who had spent the commercial discussion in a state of composed patience — exchanging pleasantries about Border Town’s early days, displaying no urgency. The lack of urgency was itself informative.

“You’re not here for the paddle steamer?”

“We are here for a steam-powered boat, Your Majesty.” Gammon took a measured sip of the white spirits. “But not a wooden paddle steamer. Crescent Moon Bay wants the indestructible steel ship — the one built for Sir Thunder. The one that can split a storm.”

Margaret’s expression changed immediately.

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