Author's Note: First of all, thanks for making it this far, and if you left a review, thanks again! These chapters take longer to write due to the nature of this fic, it takes time to research the technology in this fic which leads to slower updates. I suspect this will be a divisive chapter. It'll either be your favorite chapter, or you're least. It will definitely be indicative of where I want to take the story, so if you really hate the chapter, maybe this saga of evil just isn't for you. There is a political aspect to this story, so either the spies are going unnoticed, or reviewers have been too conscientious to point them out.
Chapter 6 - Steeling the North
A thousand new scents filled his nostrils. He stood on his legs, rubbed his nose affectionately on his sleeping master, and snuck out the door. He trotted down the hill of cracked boulders, until he was under the starry sky. He ran to the woods and howled at the moon, truly free, truly content, somehow satisfied with his existence for the first time in his life. This was what he was meant to be.
Bran woke the next morning, and found Summer in the godswoods. Had it truly been a dream? No, that feeling he'd had, that had been real. He knew it with all the certainty that he knew the sun would rise tomorrow, even if he couldn't explain why.
He stared at Summer for the rest of the afternoon, trying to will himself inside the pup. But it wasn't to be. He was sure, somehow, that it wasn't something he could figure out just by trying harder. Eventually whatever gods were responsible for magic would allow it to happen once more. When the time was right.
ooOoo
Stereotypes were mathematically irrational. Yes there were differences between groups of people, but sociological studies clearly indicated that in-group differences between individuals typically exceeded group-to-group differences. As a former HR Manager I ought to have known better than to judge someone based on their resume and career choice. Sure Mikken was a blacksmith, and smiths were generally known for being stoic and hard working, but he had all the hysteria and maturity that might be expected of a two-year-old girl. He complained incessantly, and wouldn't stop bringing up the two week deadline I'd asked for. How irritating, to be stuck with someone so utterly devoid of basic business etiquette! Despite the setback, I'd dealt with worse team members in my first life, for example, the man who'd pushed me in front of a train. Mikken was definitely a close second though.
"The coal arrives in big piles like this," said Mikken gruffly, motioning to a conical pile of black rocks about 14 feet high. He grunted in exertion, picking up a large piece with two hands, which was about twice the size of a softball. "Some of 'em come like this. Some larger, some smaller, but it ain't good like this. First thing I do is pound 'em rocks till they're small."
"Why?" I asked.
"Now yeh ask questions. Couldn't have done that before promising Lord Stark we'd figure what was what in a fortnight?"
Perhaps if Mikken had answered any of my questions a few weeks ago I wouldn't have been pressured into such a corner. Despite being completely justified, I held my tongue. Getting into an argument would only escalate the conflict, and make me appear high maintenance to the rest of the men. "Apologies," I said diplomatically. "You're under pressure, it must be stressful. That said, arguments and finger pointing will not move us any closer to solutions. Cooperation is our only path. Why must the coal be crushed into a slurry?"
Mikken sighed. "Fine… Lord Stark ordered me to work with yeh, so I'll work with yeh. If yeh'd ever actually stepped foot into a foundry before, yeh'd know that the smaller yeh get it the quicker it turns to coke when yeh put it over a flame. With big chunks, yeh'll never burn the coal all the way through, and when yeh try and smelt usin' the unfinished coke yeh'd get a buncha tar in yer fucken' iron."
I nodded. "How do you break the coal into smaller pieces?"
"Biggest pieces require a stake and hammer," said Mikken. "Drive the stake into the rock, and it'll crumble eventually. Get 'em small enough, and you can crush 'em with a sledge hammer."
"Could a mill help?" I asked. I knew that mills were used in Westeros to grind grain into flour, and it would be the best to automate everything that we could. It should be possible to redesign such mills for our purposes. "I believe there's a water mill just north of Winterfell, near Acorn River?"
"Huh…" Mikken blinked, and looked me up and down. "It's a thought… A good one, actually. Real good… Yeh'd have to talk with a maester about it, and I reckon it'd be a real bitch to build. Still, we ain't ever gonna be able to process everything we got coming without using a mill. Yer still gonna have to get the larger chunks broken down first."
I nodded. "We'll need workers to sort and separate the coal by size. We need some way of crushing the extra large chunks down into large chunks, and large chunks down into usable pieces. We need equipment in the form of mills for crushing the coal. These will be designed by maesters, redesigning and repurposing preexisting river and horse powered mills as a basis. Finally, we need to create a transport system for the coal between the various stations of processing. For maximum efficiency, I recommend creating paths between the stations using metal tracks fit specifically for the carts, or creating small waterways."
"Aye… That's… That's a thought." Mikken said, the way a subordinate might politely tell their boss that they're being an idiot. "Once yer coal is the right size, there's not much left to it. Yeh just gotta put it in something like this." He showed me the bottom of what looked like a small steel trash can, the type I had kept in my home in my first life. About two dozen pencil sized holes had been punctured into the bottom of it. "Yer gonna wanna heat it up in something like this. See how small the holes are? Make 'em too big and the coal burns, exposure to that oxygen stuff yeh told us about. So yeh leave it small like this and the coal just heats up, and the tar separates out of it, and it turns nice and white." He loaded his prepared slurry of processed coal into the steel can, covered it with a lid, and put it over a wood-burning fire. "The whole process takes about 15 hours, but yeh can just leave it there and do whatever else while the coal cooks down."
"15 hours?" I asked.
Mikken shrugged. "It goes faster if yeh use a coal fire rather than a wood one. Melts the bottom of the can though."
"What about if we made bigger containers?" I asked. "And insulated the fire with bricks? We'll need to create an oven and containers for this."
Mikken shrugged. "Aye. We will eventually. But I can create more of these steel cans, and I'm not sure how much thicker the container would need to be to withstand the heat from a coal fire. I do know how to dig up more firepits and how to create more of these smaller steel crucibles."
Sensible suggestions. Only a foolish project manager dismissed warnings from engineering. "Fine. We'll need workers to dig up the pits. Have your blacksmiths start making more crucibles for producing coke." Mikken raised a good point. We needed a short term plan and a long term plan. The technology for mass production hadn't matured, so we'd be wise to implement proven technology at a larger scale to increase production in the short term. We could further augment our short term capabilities by rapidly increasing our human resources and deploying them efficiently. In the long term we would need to design, test, and manufacture heavy machinery to automate much of the process, implementing hydro-powered crushers, a rail or freight network, and industrial furnaces. The short term plan would be heavily reliant on construction lines alone, so I explained the concept to Mikken. "We want to split this process up into small repeatable tasks, which can be repeated quickly and over long periods of time. Each worker is responsible for only a few tasks in the line, so you need to design each task or series of tasks to take roughly the same amount of time. Figure out what tools will be needed to make the task as easy and fast as possible. Write up a proposal with the tasks, tools, and personnel we'll need." I'd review it after he'd finished of course. He was the subject matter expert, and had a far better understanding of the coal to coke process than I did, so it was best to let him write the initial draft with details I would likely overlook. In the meantime, I would talk with the maesters and lords about the heavy machinery that would eventually be required, as well as the availability of capital and human resources.
Mikken grimaced. "Can't."
"Oh?" I asked. "And why not?"
"I'd wager that he can't write," said Lother Brune smoothly. "Common enough among smallfolk. Shall I fetch a maester for him?"
Ahh yes, the medieval education system, or rather lack thereof. Such a bother. I nodded at Lother Brune and followed him to the library tower. The railroad confused the maesters and lords, they were intrigued by the possibility of a hydro-powered crushing machine, and agreed that a large scale furnace would need to be built as soon as we had the resources for it.
After Lother Brune had fetched Maester Coleman, I remembered my promise to Bran. Magic would be quite difficult without an operation orb. Luckily, I knew a little about the history of the orb. It was based on the Differential Analyzer, an analog computer. While I didn't know the spells they'd used to replicate computerization, and I certainly didn't know how to build a Differential Analyzer, I did know the basics behind another type of mechanical analog computer. While Maester Coleman did tell me that they didn't exist in Westeros, he assured me that they could be built once he'd understood my description of a logarithm, and its scale. He promised he'd build one for me within the month, and only asked that he could send one back to the Citadel. I had little doubt of his promise, they'd emerged on the earth from my first life in the early 15th century. How hard could it be to build a ruler?
ooOoo
"Why do you want to be a mage?" Asked Tanya.
It was Bran's first lesson in magic and long past sunset. They'd met in the broken tower, so their order might remain secret. Summer stood watch by the door, and he'd make a ruckus if anyone unfamiliar approached. They had to operate in secrecy in order to avoid persecution for being a mage. He wasn't excited, necessarily, it felt more like destiny. Magic was what he'd been born for. He knew that wouldn't make sense though, you couldn't really explain a gut feeling to another person.
"The white walkers are coming. Father left for the south even though he didn't want to, Mother left to beg my aunt and uncle for help, Arya rode south even though she thinks the prince is a bastard, and Robb acts as Lord of Winterfell even though he doesn't feel like he's ready. I've never been good at fighting, whether it be with a sword or bow," said Bran. "I don't know how to lead troops, or make steel, but I was born with magic. When the white walkers come for us, I want to be ready."
"So you want to make the most of your talents to help your homeland?" Asked Tanya. "Admirable, but you'd be far better off shadowing Robb. If something were to happen to him, all that we're working towards would vanish in an instant."
"Lots of people could do that," Bran said, shifting uncomfortably. He forced himself to look at Tanya's gaze rather than her chest. "Magic is something only I can do."
"I can do magic as well," said Tanya. "If rumors about Arya's visions are true, she could too. I sense mana output from Robb as well, though weaker than yours. Magic is uncommon, but if we looked for it, we could find others. As for helping repel a northern invasion, mages are an asset, but none of the spells I will teach you will do significant damage to an invading army, nor will they grant you the mobility or stealth to infiltrate and take out an enemy commander. Study tactics, help Robb train an army, get engaged to Maergery Tyrell and form an alliance with the Reach, any of those endeavors would be far more beneficial to the war effort."
Bran squirmed from Tanya's icy gaze. "How does Arya's magic work? Do you know? How can she see the future? Can it be changed? But if it can be changed, it's not really the future is it?"
"I do not know," said Tanya, grimacing. "I do have a guess, but it is merely speculation. I've come across a certain… Being… He could freeze time, and place those who deigned to question him in different universes. If I were to guess, rather than our future, Arya's visions are glimpses of a different Westeros entirely, and should be viewed with all the certainty of unverified intelligence passed along by an enemy soldier."
Bran's heart raced. He'd always been the most spiritual of his siblings, magic would help him grow closer to the gods. Help him understand himself and the world around him.
"Such magic is useless to us," said Tanya. "It follows the tradition of archaic magic. It cannot be reproduced. It cannot be taught. It cannot be verified. It is a miracle, granted solely by the whims of a more powerful being whose agenda may or may not align with your own. I won't be teaching you such useless things. I will teach you modern magic. Modern magic is the phenomenon where mages use their mana to interfere with the world, a method that allows apparition of phenomena by giving appropriate stimulation to the point of application," said Tanya. Bran nodded, writing her words down on his slate and trying to memorize them as best he could. He had plenty of chalk, he just had to cut out chunks of the white rock his brother was using in his steel experiments. "Spells- or formulas more precisely- are simply the reproduction of chemical reactions happening in nature, via the application of one's mana into a scepter. Many things can act as a screpter: a staff, a wand, perhaps even a sword or bow. Some mages, like me, can forgo the use of a scepter and simply apply the formulas with our fingertips. In order to perform a formula, you must not only have a thorough understanding of the natural phenomena you seek to replicate, but also be able to require the necessary computations. To that end, you will be needing this."
Bran took a wooden rectangle, with little rows of sticks each containing a set of beads on it.
"An abacus," said Tanya. "A rudimentary calculating tool for addition and subtraction. Maester Coleman has agreed to build us slide rules which you will be using for multiplication, division, exponents, roots, logarithms, and trigonometry."
Maths? It sounded all wrong. He didn't care for Tanya's modern magic. He wanted the old magic that was spiritual, that was all about your connection to the world and all its gods. Understanding? Replication? It just seemed wrong, presumptuous to believe the world and its gods could be understood or worse controlled, let alone by something that was used as a tool to balance a house's budget. But Tanya was the one who could actually use magic, and Bran would make the best of it. He didn't like the sound of trigonometry or exponents, but he had always enjoyed spending time in the Godswoods. "Roots and logarithms sound like they might be fun."
Tanya stared at him and sighed. "I'll teach you the maths and the magic formulas, it's up to you to learn them. I'm not your teacher, nor your boss, learn it if you like, don't if you prefer. You can walk away; it makes no difference to me," she taunted cruelly.
It was to be expected, he supposed. In Old Nan's tales, the wise old magician often gave their pupils several useless tasks to teach them humility or work ethic or some such. Maths was a secret test, and Bran wouldn't be deterred from his destiny. He learned his times tables and division in one night, and exponents and roots in two. He approached his studies with an intensity that would astonish and infuriate Maester Luwin, but this was magic- his purpose. The boredom he could ignore, the sense of wrongness, of incompleteness, was more difficult. The universe's secrets could not be uncovered with numbers. But… Tanya was the one who could actually use magic. Somewhere in these tedious afternoons was the secret to how he'd gone inside Summer. Perhaps magic was triggered by boredom and frustration…
But no… Learning maths just earned him more maths. Always more challenging. There was a thoroughness to it, a meticulousness, one thing built on another, that he could appreciate, but…
This was not the way…
He'd have quit, if he weren't so sure it was all a test. Each of Tanya's taunts, her calls for him to give up, made him more sure that she was testing him before she revealed how Arya saw visions of the future, or how he had moved his soul into Summer. She really was his wise old mentor!
Finally Tanya explained motion in three basic laws which she claimed were required for flight and levitation formulas. "The first is the Law of Inertia: objects in motion will stay in motion, unless acted upon by an external force. The second is the Law of Force-Pairs: for every force there must be an equal and opposite force. The third is most simply described as the sum of forces on an object is equal to its mass times acceleration. So, what is the sum of forces acting on you?"
"I don't know," said Bran. What astonished him though, was that he felt he kind of did. If he could just write it down on his slate and work out the numbers he'd be able to make sense of it.
"Are you moving?"
"No…"
"If a net force is the only thing that can cause motion, and you're not moving, there is no net force. Most people can understand there is a downward force acting on them. That is what we call gravity. What sometimes goes unnoticed, is that there is an equal upward force acting on them from the ground, called the normal force. When your feet push down on the ground, the ground pushes back up on you. This is an example of a second law force-pair. If you want to fly, you must push the air around you down, so the air pushes you up in reaction. This is called propulsion, and is the fundamental phenomena behind flight formulas. Don't even think about using them on yourself. Even slight miscalculations can cause deadly levels of angular acceleration, and if you forget to carry-a-one and you'll literally accelerate so quickly that you'll shit out your own intestines. However, using them on objects around you is good practice, and will help show you how precise your calculations will need to be for more advanced formulas."
Tanya took Bran's chalk, closed her eyes, and a faint green geometric array burst from her fingertips. The chalk floated softly to the ceiling, slowly and then quickly, spinning slowly and then rapidly, a small downdraft blowing her hair. Bran stared up at it in awe. "Tsk. I messed up a flight formula. Overestimated the weight by a few grams, and was off center by a millimeter."
Tanya told Bran the magic formula and how the spell worked by visualizing his mana going through the object, and pushing down on the air around it. She pushed her mana through him, so he could feel how mana felt when it moved inside him.
"Move your arm and your mana moves as well," said Tanya. "It's like learning to wiggle your ears. First you wiggle your eyebrows and your ears move as well. Practice enough and you can wiggle your ears without your eyebrows. I want you to get used to moving your mana, and then apply the formula I've taught you to the things around you until you can float them in the air with no upward or downward motion. The flight formula is the most basic spell. You'll need to learn how to manipulate mana, how to practically apply the maths you've learned, and how to comprehend quantitative calculations and turn them into useful spells. Modern magecraft is neither simple nor easy, but is far more reliable than the archaic arts used by ancients. A spell that works once and then never again is worse than useless, as it guides humans to irrationality and madness. The minimum requirements for a spell to be useful are that it must be repeatable and teachable."
Tanya's explanations, all her maths, it… It helped… As she said, with the maths, he could understand the spell fairly easily.
It wasn't at all like the stories, where everything came into focus in one perfect moment of clarity and spiritual understanding. Where the master went through a series of unrelated exercises that all culminated in sudden surprising mastery. Nor was it dark or mysterious, merely boring and tedious. It didn't make him feel special, anyone could have come to the same conclusions if they bothered to learn what he did. Bran was no closer to truly understanding chalk, flight, or himself. He didn't understand the universe or its gods. However, he did feel he understood how his mana might very specifically affect the motion of chalk.
Tanya layed out a series of exercises he might do to slowly increase his skills. Step by step, with clear explanations for how each brought him closer to his goals. Bran spent every moment of the next several days improving the dexterity of his mana control. Eventually he managed to channel it into a stick, then his chalk. A few days later he could make a piece of chalk spin, a day after that he managed to make it flip, and a few days after that he could make it accelerate into the sky or weigh less. No matter how much he adjusted his mana, he lacked the precision to make it float. It didn't match howling at the moon wearing Summer's skin, but he actually understood how he was making the chalk move, and he supposed that was something…
Still though. Going into Summer had been effortless, even if he'd managed it only once. Moving chalk was always difficult and boring, even if he often succeeded. It wasn't the magic he wanted, the magic that was his destiny, but it was the magic he got.
ooOoo
"I'd like to thank you for saving my life, Tanya," said Tyrion, bowing politely. "It means a great deal, and I shall not forget it."
I stood beside my bed at parade rest, and considered the blonde man. Him coming to my quarters, rather than summoning me to his, did suggest a degree of humility. It would be easy to believe his words were true. Unfortunately, it was 298 A.C., so yes, I had not in fact been born yesterday. While it would have been convenient to have a Lannister owe me a favor, as a former HR Manager I knew that well-intentioned promises were often empty, and that the most accurate predictor of future actions were past actions. Tyrion was a man who'd skillfully swindled me into giving away the secrets of my future winery on insinuations of cooperation, and then conspired to sabotage our partnership with a series of increasingly impossible tasks. Perhaps his gratitude actually was genuine, but it would last as long as an unlit cigarette around General Rutersdorf.
"Your words honor me, my lord," I said. "Though I'm afraid that your gratitude is undeserved. I had little choice. I do hold you dearly of course, but if you were assassinated the Starks may have been blamed. A civil war when the realm faces foreign invasion would be a disaster. I fight for Westeros!"
There had also been the little matter of the assassin attacking me, and my motivations clearly falling under the sole purview of self-defense, but I judged such trifling details unnecessary.
Tyrion sighed at my answer, and inspected the room I had rented at an inn just outside Winterfell. His gaze stopped on a toothbrush I had fashioned in Fleabottom from a bone and some hair from a hog's rear. "What is this?"
"A hairbrush," I lied smoothly. I would not freely give away intellectual property to this man again. "If you still feel the need to reward me for merely doing my duty, I could always use some gold dragons."
Tyrion looked away from the toothbrush, his one-eyed gaze meeting mine once more. "Exchanging gold for life is hardly a fair exchange. I offer you hard advice, that might nonetheless save your life. You must drop this Stark-Salamander Steel project, or at least rework your negotiation for a fixed sum. Forget our wine partnership. Success in the wine endeavor will alienate you from the king. His love for Arbor Gold is a slight to my sister the queen. He hates the bitch, and I find it entirely unlikely that helping her favored wine become the finest in the land will endear you to him in the least. And if you succeed in revolutionizing steel smelting, you will make an enemy of every noble that does not directly benefit from it. You do not have the political might to withstand those that will soon oppose you."
I felt my face flush. Easy, easy, emotions had no part in business! I tilted my head, and took a calming breath. "What would you have me do then, my lord?"
"You must gain a name that will make acceptable the power your work will grant you. The Stark boy, Bran, appears besotted by you, but I would recommend against it…" Tyrion swallowed. "He is from a great house, you are a smallfolk, and he lacks the power to protect you from those who might oppose the marriage. Your husband must fit a list of certain criteria for this plot to work. They will need to belong to a minor house, but not too minor, they must have good relations with strong players, but not be a puppet, and they must understand the importance of allowing you your freedom…"
"I'm a freeman," I said gruffly. "I'm no serf. I'm well within my rights to own property."
"All peasants are serfs in a noble's eyes," said Tyrion solemnly, as if whispering sad truths to an innocent child. "I know you've come to your fortune fairly. Most will assume you stole it. My father knows of you, and of our deal. Yet if you ever have the misfortune of meeting him, he will do…" Tyrion's eye seemed to glisten, but I might have imagined it as there were no tears. "As his… son… he cannot punish me for my foolishness. Tywin Lannister will do unspeakable things to you."
I put a hand on my head. "What a mess…"
"Indeed," said Tyrion. "I will protect you though, Tanya. I give you my word. Follow my advice, have patience, and I will keep you safe and allow you to flourish. On our trip back to King's Landing, we will pretend an accident happened, and that you passed away. This will guarantee your safety as I look for matches."
"Thank you," I said, bowing. "My lord."
After he left, I pondered his words. I'd be a naive fool to believe him outright, but I'd read enough history to know that there might well be some truth to his words. I needed to know how the men in power exploited those without it. The library wouldn't be much help. Kings didn't tend to tell their maesters about all the smallfolk farms they'd raided to feed their glorious armies.
On the other hand, Tyrion's warning seemed remarkably similar to when I'd convinced Uger to drop out of the running in my second life. Think of the danger of the frontlines, Uger, what would your daughter think if you never returned? I'd told him the harsh realities of the trench warfare then, as Tyrion told me the harsh realities of big business now. It seemed remarkably likely I was being played.
I found my way to the quarters of my right-hand man.
Lother Brune frowned and thought over his answer. "Aye… That does seem plausible if the king is a petty man, which several soldiers seemed to think he was. By my estimate the queen and her oldest son are even worse. You're probably fucked if you don't secure noble support, of that I can agree with the halfman. Still, there's something the Imp is overlooking. You and your father should've been taken down by jealous nobles far earlier. You were infamous before Tyrion Lannister ever met you. That's what brought me to you, I wanted to know which noble backed you. I'm absolutely sure you've got a guardian watching over you. If you didn't you'd have never secured a meeting with the king in the first place, and negotiations with the North would have been far more challenging. Your successes are your own, but they've only been possible because you've already won the support of someone very powerful. So far they've been content to stay in the shadows, but once that is no longer sufficient, they'll reveal themselves to you. Whoever your current benefactor is, they're a far better bet than whichever pathetic man that whore-hungry dwarf selects to impregnate you."
I frowned. I had no context by which to judge Brune's words, but they seemed plausible enough. In large companies, HR and hiring managers usually screened potential hires rather than owners or CEO's. I didn't see why a country would be any different. It seemed unlikely that the king would choose the participants for more minor meetings, so perhaps I'd been brought before the king at the whims of one of his secretaries… Wait... A se-secretary?
I faltered, overtaken by a horrible sense of vertigo, as the world seemed to shift around me… I remembered a certain Soviet secretary in my first world, and a Russy secretary from my second. He'd been the man most responsible for the Empire's defeat and my demise, as our offensive ground to a halt in the frozen tundra. In both worlds he'd been a ruthless, ambitious madman whose power had run unseen by those above him, dismissed as harmless until it was far too late. I had a horrible intuition that my true enemy wasn't the king, the prince, the queen, or Tyrion or any of the other highlords. It was this puppet master pulling the strings of the entire kingdom, securing his power patiently in the shadows…
No, no I was being paranoid and irrational. Brune probably was right, I was championed by somebody in the king's court, yes. That didn't mean their intentions were malevolent. After all, they were using their power to nurture me, and they were helping me modernize Winterfell. They were surely an upstanding servant of the realm who was using their power to efficiently deploy human resources.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking, I knew nothing of my hypothetical benefactor. However, I'd always been of the opinion that the unknown was undervalued. Better to fire a malingerer, and spin the hiring wheel with a fresh employee. Too many in my former department had hung on to underperformers, because they preferred even terrible performance to the unknown. Such actions led to inefficiency, and could eventually lead to organizational collapse. I'd take the unknown over a known swindler like Tyrion. Still, it would still behoove me to gather more intelligence.
"I'll keep your words in mind," I said, and left.
There was one thing both Tyrion and Lother agreed upon. I had erred in my meeting with the king. I found that hard to believe. Would the ruling class truly resent me for my noble quest to leverage my talents into obscene wealth? Were such nonsensical actions truly possible? Naturally, I sought a third opinion.
"Your words dishonor me," said Lord Robb Stark haughtily. Theon Greyjoy's hand dropped to his sword, until Robb gave him a look, and Theon relaxed. While I approved of Theon's vigilance, it was unwise for a soldier to be so on edge. He looked absolutely exhausted. "You made a deal in good faith with my father. The lords of Westeros are not so dishonorable as to rob children. Why would a king engage in such petty games? If King Robert asked for better wine, it was because he wanted better wine. You are a freeman, you are entirely within your rights to own property, and make profit from it. You will be taxed of course, so why would your liege be unhappy? I'm aware you've some secrets some might find objectionable, but you've done no harm to me or mine, or he or his, and you've been discrete, so you are no enemy of ours. Your talent makes him wealthy as well. Hurting you only hurts himself. Foolishness, I expected better of Lord Lannister."
"Hah!" I said, elegantly pumping my fist. Confirmation from an actual high lord! I didn't have to spread my legs in order to become a businessman! I should've known. I'd experienced some resistance in The North, but nothing that wouldn't be expected in the modern world. Nothing I'd experienced from the nobles showed that they were the blood-thirsty monsters Tyrion imagined. I doubted that Tyrion had been lying, the lord's probably did treat him monstrously, but it seemed likely that the blonde charlatan's dishonesty had been returned to him by the rest of Westeros, reinforcing his pessimistic worldview. The world tended to treat you as you treated it. As expected, I'd been acting rationally the entire time, and this was just another cunning psychological attempt at sabotage.
Ahh well, I didn't hold it against Tyrion. It was just business, afterall.
ooOoo
By the end of the week, Mikken and I had a good idea of what would be needed to increase the production of coke. His blacksmiths had already created about ninety small coke cans and firepits, dozens of carts for transport, ten steel platforms, twelve sledgehammers, and fifteen shovels. We would also need sixty workers for processing. Unfortunately, Winterfell didn't have sixty workers. Lord Robb Stark called a meeting in the Great Hall to resolve the issue.
"Tanya's suggestion does have a certain logic," said Maester Coleman, who had been Mikken's scribe. "Hiring women. The roles for Mikken's proposal do not require the talents of maesters or skilled men. But I've done a headcount, and there are only ten women in Winterfell who could be diverted into these positions."
"It's foolishness anyways," said Theon. "Send me to the Iron Islands, Robb. I can get you the men you need, and we can raise our houses together."
"We've got plenty of men here," said Robb. "Maester Rhodry, of the farmers working my lands, who could be parted with most easily?"
"The farms south and west of Winterfell are more productive," said Maester Rhodry. "However, the majority are freemen, and would resent being moved off their lands. To the north there are few farms, and few potential laborers. The eastern farmers are poorer, mostly villeins, and exist to serve you… If you move them off your land, and into your foundry, you will meet no resistance or criticism. However… They do provide Winterfell and Cerwyn much of our grain, which in turn provides for the Night's Watch. Perhaps the serfs would be able to expand their individual farms to cover for 20 lost men, but taking much more than that would reduce output of grain…"
"I will not lose grain for steel," said Robb. "An army without food is less than useless. What of the eastern farmers' wives and children? Could they not work our foundry?"
Maester Rhodry shrugged. "Perhaps. But they have duties of their own, I expect."
Lord Robb Stark called on several eastern farmers to explore how we might get the bodies our project required without sacrificing the output in the farms. A gathering of about fifty villein serfs and twenty freemen peasants filled the Great Hall the next day.
"All yeh need do is ask," said Kober, the leader of the serfs, groveling before Robb. "We're men of The North, it'd be an honor to serve our Lord Stark."
"Speak for yerself," said Elmar, the leader of the peasants, standing with his arms crossed. "I didn't save me pennies, pay me taxes, so me woman could be stolen from me."
"Stolen? This is Lord Stark!" Said Kober angrily, tugging at Elmar's wools. "Yeh'd do well to remember yer place for once."
Elmar scoffed. "I know me place. I paid the old Lord Stark a few moons for me freedom, instead of wasting it on ale like yeh sad excuse for men. Yeh coulda' done what me and mine did, and now Lord Stark's well within his rights to take yer harvests and send yeh away, but I only owe him me taxes."
"That's what yer title is worth!" Kober spit on the floor. "Don't pretend yeh got it for any reason other than looking down yer nose at us! Now pay yer lord some fucken respeck, yeh smug prick, or I'll bloody well make yeh!"
I yawned as the two smallfolk started swinging at each other.
While Elmar was correct on a philosophical level, perhaps even a legal level, I feared that Kober's words were true. Might made right. Robb controlled the northern army, and unless Elmar wanted to see his entire line extinguished, he'd have little choice but to fall in line, whatever the law might say about a freeman's right to choose their profession. It was why property rights were so important. Humans were rationally self-interested, and if one's property could be stolen whenever convenient, it was unfortunately irrational to carefully accumulate wealth as Elmar had. Instead, spending recklessly was the rational action. Of course, no business could thrive in such a climate, and even a subsistence level economy was optimistic.
Lother Brune separated and calmed the two men.
"Kober. Elmar," said Robb. "I did not call you here to make demands or give orders, but for information about your people. I would not be stealing your woman, I would be offering fair wages, and they would return to you for their nightly duties. What is the problem? Speak freely."
"Take our wives?" Asked Elmar furiously. "Just take our damned farms and be done with it! Our kids would get themselves killed, our livestock would starve, we'd have no meals prepared for us, no yarn spun, and nobody would wash or repair our clothing!"
"Is that true," said Robb, glancing at Kober. "Speak freely."
"Aye," said Kober reluctantly. "Yeh'd be better off just taking a handful of us for yer project, and letting the rest fill in as needed. We'd lose some of our harvest sure, but we'd be able to save some of it. Unless the winter is long, we'll survive it."
"I see," said Robb. "Thank you. You're dismissed."
Once the room was cleared, he sighed.
"I'll just have to take men from a larger area," said Robb gloomily, slumping into his chair. "Perhaps conscript one man from every twenty farms. We'll have to take men from the Dreadfort and Karhold. I don't like it; Roose Bolton and Rickard Karstark won't like it either. It'll take time, it'll damage my honor, feeding their families will cost us grain, but it must be done."
"Perhaps," I said, smirking. "Perhaps not. I believe I may have an alternative solution."
Never forget the importance of timing in business. When making a request of a superior, it is often best to guide them to the problems first. Let your superior brainstorm solutions, see the drawbacks of conventional methods for themselves. That way, when I propose a radical solution I'll look competent and heroic rather than ambitious and agenda-driven. Over the course of several days Lord Stark called on several meetings, various arrangements were made. And fundamental changes I had never thought possible in this lifetime, were agreed to as if I were doing Winterfell a favor.
Modernization… Civilization… If Lord Robb Stark followed through on his promises, the known world would have a new center. Government departments were formed, leaders were chosen, and the personnel set about making action plans of their own. I mostly left the preparation to Robb and his chosen retainers, providing guidance to aspects of their plans that may lead to inflexibility. Adjustments and adaptability would be key.
Robb led a precession east of Winterfell to make his proposal to the local serfs and peasants. A couple games of salamanderball were brought to a close as the farmers were gathered.
"Your husbands have told me your fears," Robb told the assembled women. "You will be compensated for your services. If you are a villein, I will make you and your family freeholders. If you are a freeholder already, I offer a signing bonus of one silver moon.
"If you have a child of less than two summers you are exempt from service. If you have a child between the ages of two and nine, Nan will look after them. I can speak to her character. She watched over me when I was a pup, and looks after my younger brothers Bran and Rickon. If you trust your children to her, she'll show them what is what. I'll promise you that."
I made a motion to speak, and Robb gave me a nod. "We offer more than merely watching over your children. Maester Rhodry has agreed to teach your children their numbers and figures. Becoming freemen will do you little good, without knowledge of how to properly manage your finances."
"What use will they have for that?" Asked Kober indignantly. "I ain't want you filling 'em up with useless thoughts."
"Now hold on," said Elmar. "There's sense in the lil' lass's words."
"And the older ones will be taught how to wield a sword," said Theon Greyjoy. "And those of you who are between the ages of thirteen and thirty. How to shoot a bow without taking off your damn thumb. Ser Rodrik Cassel will turn you into men. You should be on your knees thanking us for our kindness."
"Is it us now?" Asked Tyrion, somewhat rudely. Theon grimaced, and I had to question the motives of antagonizing someone who might be the future Lord of the Iron Islands. It was little wonder people treated Tyrion poorly, and just another reason to view his proposal with skepticism. Well, no matter.
In the schools the children would be learning a couple other things. How to make fortifications for a farm. Guerilla warfare tactics. Basic strategy. In the case of occupation, we wanted a thinking army. Additionally, they'd be taught northern history, which was probably why Robb had agreed to the importance of public education. Any politician could understand the importance of brainwashing the youth.
Robb had written crows to the other northern lords to begin training and educating men between the ages of 13 and 30 with respect to military matters. If he was to give them swords, they'd need to know how to use them. He'd included an explanation of how Winterfell was supporting their farmers. His bannermen were free to support their farms as they'd like, but he expected a trained army before winter.
"What of the food shortage?" Asked Elmar. "Yes, it is good that you've prepared a place for our children but a proper meal takes hours to prepare. How can we work our fields on empty bellies?"
"We've expanded our kitchen, hired some cooks for you," said Robb, confidently. This had been the only one of my solutions he'd been sure would work. "We've a cook Martha from King's Landing, where she worked in temples that fed hundreds. We'll have some carts brought out to you. You'll be able to eat like lords."
Not true in the least of course. Martha would be cooking food that could be prepared in bulk, was durable enough for travel, and did not spoil quickly. They'd be seeing a lot of soup and bread, perhaps a few sandwiches, maybe even some ramen on special occasions. It still beat hard tac on the Rhine.
"And what of our clothing?" Asked Elmar.
"We'll pick out the best spinstresses and seamstresses from those in our services," Robb said. "You'll bring your furs and damaged clothing to them, and they'll repair your clothes and spin your furs."
Sensing a pattern? Yes, I had as well. Government positions taking over what clearly should have been private enterprises. Why not have restaurants, laundromats, and fur mills? That way, the farmers themselves could decide how best to run their own affairs through the democracy that was free-market capitalism. Truthfully, it did irk me, but I was confident that entrepreneurship would arise naturally with the increased wealth and education of the newly enlarged class of freemen.
"And what of our livestock?" Asked Elmar. "Are we to just leave them unattended?"
"...It's a bit complicated…" Robb looked at me for guidance. As many times as I'd gone over the solution with him, apparently he still had trouble with it. But I wasn't about to look this gift horse in the mouth.
"Elmar?" I asked. "How many livestock do you own?"
"Four goats," said Elmar proudly. "Two horses. Ten chickens."
"And you?" I asked Kober.
"Six chicken," said Kober. "One sheep."
"Would it not be easier to keep your animals together?" I asked. "Less land. Less maintenance. One large farm is more efficient than several cottage shops."
"I ain't letting that goatfucker anywhere near my Bessie," said Elmar indignantly.
"I ain't no goatfucker yeh dishonorable egg swallower," said Kober. The assembled peasants gasped, a proverbial line apparently crossed.
"Call me an egg swallower again," Elmar roared.
"What young man hasn't experimented with a sword or two," said Kober, holding his hands up innocently.
"Yeh ain't call me no sword swallower!"
"Aye, I didn't," said Kober defiantly. "Yeh got no honor, yeh get on your knees and-"
Elmar swung at Kober.
I sighed, as Lother Brune and Ser Rodrik Cassel separated the two men.
"Trust is indeed the problem," I said. "How can the two of you trust each other? How do you know one man won't steal or abuse your animals? How can you work together when you know the other will only work in their own rational self interest?"
"Aye," the two men said.
"We'll be creating one large farm," I said. "The Winterfell-East Company, of which you'll have collective ownership."
"Collective ownership? Bah! Sure it sounds good," said Kober. "But what about when Elmar tries to steal all the gold for himself?"
"And what about when Bessie gives birth to a new kid?" Asked Elmar. "Who claims the new goat?"
Astute questions. "We'll assign each of you a certain number of ownership shares, or 'stocks'. This will be based on your initial investment of animals. Each animal, whether it be a cow, goat, or chicken will be assigned a value. Eggs and new goats are the property of the company, and will only become yours if purchased. Each month, each stock will provide you a dividend, based on profits. You can sell the stocks between yourselves as you see fit."
"So I can sell them for coin?" Asked Kober. "Whenever I want?"
"As long as you can find a buyer," I said. "Although keep in mind that as the farm grows, the value of the stocks will grow as well. A stock worth two pennies today might be worth four pennies tomorrow, and eight the day after."
Elmar smirked and Kober frowned.
"I suppose that'll work," said Kober.
Elmar smiled. "Yeh've some interesting ideas lass," he said, bowing. Dozens of men behind him bent the knee as well.
Hmm, it appeared that for some strange reason or another I'd achieved a moderate amount of popularity among the smallfolk by merely providing them with a recreational activity, educating their children, doubling their household income, improving their social status, showing them how to defend themselves, and providing them a means to passively increase their wealth. Interesting. Medieval peasants were pathetically easy to please. It should have been a matter of course for a politician or local businessman to improve the lives of his constituency, any modern citizen would have seen through the charade instantly, but apparently they felt such feeble amounts of charity I'd shown them required unsightly displays of gratitude. As it happened, I didn't care about the smallfolk in the least. I'd merely worked in my own rational self interest. That it benefited them as well was merely a fortunate coincidence.
It appeared the project would be moving forward. It would still require my supervision of course, but I could focus more of my attention on training Bran. In my excitement to engage in the glory of accumulating wealth, I'd neglected the boring tedium of the lesser calling that was magic and combat. The neglect had almost cost me my life when I'd engaged with Tyrion's assassin. I'd need to run some experiments, determine this body's capabilities, and perhaps even leverage my popularity among the smallfolk to acquire a small unit of meat shields.