In the command tent of the Viking Industrial Corps, Ragnar held a small, painted wooden board in his hands. It was a portrait of Princess Aud of Dublin.
His eyes scanned the painting. The artist had been generous or perhaps terrified of the subject. Princess Aud had sharp, intelligent eyes, hair the color of a dying sunset, and a jawline that suggested she could chew through a shield wall. She looked remarkably like a CEO from his previous life who had fired three departments before lunch.
He was surprised by the quality of the pigment. Then he thought it was normal; the Irish monasteries were famous for their illuminated manuscripts, and the Vikings of Dublin had likely "borrowed" a few monks to paint their royalty.
However, what caused him to pause was not the beauty, but the intense gaze of the woman sitting across the table from him.
Princess Gyda was sharpening her dagger.
"She looks... capable," Ragnar ventured, his voice cracking slightly.
"She looks like she counts her copper pieces twice," Gyda commented, not looking up from her blade. "And she is eighteen. A prime age for a political merger."
Ragnar's inner 21st-century mind rioted. Bigamy is illegal. Bigamy gets you stabbed. He knew that in this era, powerful Jarls often had multiple wives or concubines. But being an educated modern engineer, he knew that managing one relationship was hard enough; managing two, where both women carried weapons, was a statistical impossibility for survival.
"The portrait is irrelevant," Ragnar declared, placing the wood face down on the table. "As I told Floki, the position of 'Wife' is currently filled by the Head of Internal Audit."
Gyda stopped sharpening. She smiled, terrifyingly. "Good answer, Director."
Ragnar turned to Floki, the Dublin envoy, who was sweating in his fine green wool.
"Floki," Ragnar said, getting down to business. "We accept the alliance. But we cannot accept the marriage. I am... unavailable. However, we still need to settle the payment terms."
Floki wiped his forehead. "A shame. Princess Aud would have loved your... chin. But business is business."
"I know Dublin is rich in silver," Ragnar continued. "But silver is just metal. We need resources."
Floki didn't reply verbally. He snapped his fingers.
Two burly bodyguards stepped forward, carrying a heavy cedar chest.
"Your Highness," Floki said. "We have silver, yes. But we heard rumors that the Builder likes... strange earth."
Ragnar was confused. He watched as the guard opened the chest.
It was filled with a white, crystalline powder. It looked like dirty snow.
Ragnar frowned. He reached in and took a pinch. He rubbed it between his fingers. It was gritty. He touched it to his tongue a dangerous habit from his chemistry class days.
It tasted salty. Bitter. Cool. Ragnar's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat.
Potassium Nitrate. Saltpeter. Niter. In the 21st century, this was common. In 865 AD, it was magic. It was found in bat caves, in stable scrapings, in the efflorescence of damp walls.
Ragnar looked at Floki. "Where did you get this?"
"We trade with the Spanish Moors," Floki explained. "They use it to cool their water. They call it 'Chinese Snow'. We thought it was useless, just fancy salt. But the Weasel... your man Aethelwulf... he told us you might like it."
Ragnar felt a surge of ecstasy that no pile of gold could match.
He had Charcoal (from the paper mill waste).
He had Sulfur (from the impurities in the Sea Coal).
And now, he had Saltpeter.
Gunpowder!
He wasn't ready to make guns the metallurgy wasn't there yet. But he could make blasting powder. He could make grenades. He could turn the walls of York into gravel without waiting for the trebuchets to pound them for a week.
"Floki," Ragnar said, his voice trembling with joy. "You have brought me the dust of the gods."
When Floki saw the Engineer holding a handful of white dust and laughing like a maniac, he felt confident the trade was secure.
"How about it, Director?" Floki asked. "Can we reach terms?"
"Yes," Ragnar said, dusting off his hands. "We will trade. But my Mistress of the Ledger will negotiate the rates."
He didn't negotiate prices himself; he knew Gyda would squeeze every ounce of value out of them. As he was about to leave to run a chemical test, Floki stopped him.
"Director," Floki said. "One condition. We want the Torsion Spikes. But we want them... discreet. Dublin is a nest of spies. If our enemies see us carrying Northumbrian weapons, they will know we are allied."
Ragnar thought about it. "We can stamp them with Frankish markings. Make them look like imports from the continent."
Floki grinned. "Perfect."
Later that day, Gyda sat down with Floki to hammer out the details.
"Welcome to the Industrial Corps, Envoy Floki," she said, opening her ledger. "I hope you are good at math."
"I am a merchant, my Lady," Floki grinned. "I count in my sleep."
As they talked, the air around them crackled with the friction of two sharks negotiating the price of blood.
After three hours of intense discussion, the alliance was codified.
Preamble:
Recognizing the shared need for profit, the destruction of Saxon hegemony, and the advancement of kinetic technology, the Kingdom of Dublin and the Industrial Corps (hereinafter "The Partners") enter into this Binding Accord.
Article 1: The Non-Aggression Pact
The Partners agree not to raid, pillage, or burn each other's ships. If a Dublin ship meets a Northumbrian Industrial ship, they shall exchange greetings and ale, not arrows.
Article 2: The Supply Chain
The Industrial Corps agrees to supply 500 units of "Standard Bolts" (20mm caliber) and 50 "Torsion Spikes" (Civilian/Concealed Carry Model).
The Kingdom of Dublin agrees to supply 2 tons of Raw Niter (Saltpeter) and 500 pounds of Refined Silver per month.
Article 3: The Logistics Network (The Weasel Clause)
Transportation shall be handled by the "Aethelwulf Import/Export Group" (The Weasel).
To account for the risk of smuggling through Mercian waters, a tariff of 15% of the total cargo value shall be paid to Aethelwulf. This tax ensures that the Weasel does not sell the cargo to the highest bidder out of spite.
Article 4: Intellectual Property
The Kingdom of Dublin acknowledges that the "Blast Furnace" and "Torsion Tech" are the sole property of Director Ragnar.
Any attempt to reverse-engineer, steal, or kidnap the Director's smiths will result in the immediate termination of the alliance and the deployment of "Experimental Kinetics" against Dublin.
Article 5: The Marriage Proxy
In lieu of a marriage alliance, the Industrial Corps gifts Princess Aud one (1) Gold-Plated Torsion Spike with pearl inlay. This gift signifies that while the Director cannot marry her, he supports her right to shoot people from a distance.
Article 6: Duration
This Treaty shall remain in force until the Walls of York fall, or until the ale runs out.
Signatories:
Done in the Mud of Northumbria, 865 AD.
[Signed]
Ragnar Ulfsson
Director of Industry & Logistics
[Signed]
Floki of the Green
Envoy of King Olaf the White
[Witnessed By]
Gyda Horiksdottir
Mistress of the Ledger
Aethelwulf (The Weasel)
Head of Export (Signed with a thumbprint because he was eating a chicken wing)
After the parchment was dried (using the new rapid-dry paper from the mill), Ragnar rolled it up.
"It is done," Ragnar said.
He looked at the chest of saltpeter.
"Gyda," he said. "Get me charcoal. Get me sulfur. And tell Bjorn to clear the beach."
"Why?" Gyda asked, putting away her quill.
"Because," Ragnar smiled, a dangerous, scientific glint in his eyes. "We are going to make a very loud noise."