novelbin Chapter 377: The Genius Manuscripts
Chapter 377: The Genius Manuscripts
"...what is it, guard?" Leofric asked.
The guard swallowed hard, looking slightly confused. "A highly unusual merchant ship just dropped anchor at the primary pier... It isn’t Frankish, and it definitely isn’t Norse."
"Who does it belong to?" Ragnar asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"A wealthy trader from Persia, my King," the guard reported. "He sailed past the southern blockades and ignored the harbor taxes. His guards are heavily armed with curved swords. He refuses to speak to the dockmaster. He is demanding to see the King or the Lord Commander right now."
Persia? The Abbasid Caliphate and the Persian merchant networks were wealthy, but they almost never sailed this far north into the waters of England.
"A Persian merchant sailed all the way to City Titan just to demand an audience?" Louis whispered, looking entirely bewildered.
"Unless he is selling something we desperately need," Ragnar muttered, his curiosity piqued. "Or he knows something we don’t."
Ragnar turned to Gyda. "Take the girls and Arne back to the keep. Leofric, bring a dozen riflemen. We are going to the docks."
Gyda nodded. Ragnar and Leofric marched through the crowded market. They reached the edge of the harbor just as the rain lightly began to drizzle again.
Docked at the royal pier was a beautiful, entirely exotic ship with triangular sails and intricately carved dark wood.
Standing on the pier, surrounded by six bodyguards wielding sharp scimitars, was the trader.
He was a tall, incredibly handsome man with a neatly trimmed dark beard.
Thick gold rings covered his fingers, and a ruby rested on a gold chain around his neck.
Ragnar walked right up to him, ignoring the intimidating bodyguards.
"I hear you are making a lot of noise on my docks," Ragnar said, crossing his arms. "I am King Ragnar Ulfsson. What do you want, merchant?"
"Ah. The famous King," the trader spoke in almost flawless Norse, which shocked Leofric. "My name is Ardashir. And I did not sail for three months through pirate-infested waters just to sell you cheap silk or spices, King Ragnar."
"Then why are you here?" Ragnar demanded, not in the mood for riddles.
Ardashir waved a gold-ringed hand, and one of his bodyguards stepped forward.
The guard dropped a secure iron lockbox onto the pier.
"Open it," Ragnar ordered smoothly.
Ardashir chuckled softly. He casually waved a gold-ringed hand. The guard stepped back, and Ardashir knelt on the pier, pulling a small complex brass key from his silk robes.
The lid groaned as Ardashir pushed it open.
Ragnar leaned forward slightly, fully expecting to see shining gold, exotic curved weapons, or perhaps some dangerous spy report... however, there were no weapons inside.
Instead, nestled inside a layer of velvet, were dozens of leather books and tightly rolled parchment scrolls. T
hey were covered in elegant Arabic script and strange, highly detailed geometric diagrams.
Leofric blinked, "Books? You sailed for three months through pirate-infested waters just to sell us... old books?"
"Not just old books, Lord Commander," Ardashir smiled, "This is the life’s work of the greatest mind the eastern world has ever seen!"
Ragnar narrowed his eyes. "Who wrote them?" Ragnar asked.
After hearing such words, Ardashir stood back up, wiping a drop of rain from his beard. "A man named Al-Khwarizmi. He was the grand scholar of the House of Wisdom in Baghdad. He died four years ago.
When he passed, the lords and corrupt politicians tried to burn his work or hoard it away in their private vaults. But I am a man who respects absolute genius... so I took them. I secured them tightly in my personal keep to ensure they would never be lost to the mud."
Ragnar’s breath hitched in his throat.
Al-Khwarizmi... the father of algebra... the man who literally invented the algorithm!
To a medieval Norse raider, these scrolls were just useless paper. But to a modern soul desperately trying to build industrial factories? These scrolls were the holy grail!
You couldn’t calculate the precise explosive pressure of a Gatling gun or the gear ratios of a steam-powered cart using basic Roman numerals. He desperately needed advanced mathematics!
"Damnit..." Ragnar whispered under his breath, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Even so, Ragnar was a King. He knew how the trade game worked. If he showed the Persian merchant how desperately he wanted the scrolls, the price would instantly skyrocket into the heavens.
Ragnar forced his face to remain cold and uninterested. He let out a heavy sigh.
"They are math books, Ardashir," Ragnar said smoothly, leaning back and crossing his arms again. "My men need steel, not poetry."
"Oh, please, King Ragnar..." Ardashir laughed, a cunning grin spreading across his face. "Do not play the ignorant barbarian with me... it is deeply insulting to both of us."
Leofric frowned, stepping forward. "Watch your fucking tone, merchant."
Ardashir didn’t even flinch at the threat. "I have traveled across the entire world," Ardashir continued, "I have seen the impenetrable walls of Constantinople. I have seen the sprawling palaces of the Caliphate. But when I sailed into your harbor... I saw towering blast furnaces that turn the night sky orange."
The Persian merchant took a slow step closer, "A regular Viking doesn’t mass-produce steel. I heard rumors of a Northern King who was building impossible machines... and when I saw it with my own eyes, I knew why I spent four years guarding these scrolls."
Ardashir pointed at the lockbox. "You are an absolute genius," Ardashir stated firmly. "And you know what is inside this box. It is the advanced mathematics you need to push your empire into the future. You need Al-Khwarizmi’s numbers to calculate your gear ratios. Do not pretend you don’t."
Ragnar stared at the merchant for a long moment.
Then, a genuine smile broke across Ragnar’s scarred face. He threw his head back and let out a booming laugh. "You are too smart for your own good. Fine. You caught me. The books are incredibly valuable to me."
"I knew it." Ardashir grinned proudly, crossing his arms.
Although Ragnar had admitted his desire for the books, his tone quickly reverted to that of a king. "So... what is the price?"
Ardashir’s smile faded slightly, "I have more silver and jewels in my personal vaults back home than the King of Wessex ever saw in his entire miserable life."
"Then what do you want?" Leofric demanded.
"I want a monopoly..." Ardashir answered smoothly.
Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "A monopoly on what?"
"On your steel," Ardashir declared, his voice ringing out clearly over the noisy harbor. "The Damascus steel we forge in the east is beautiful, yes. But your steel? It is revolutionary. I want the exclusive rights to buy and sell your steel across the eastern continent."
After hearing such words, Leofric gasped quietly.
Ragnar looked at the scrolls. "You have a deal, Ardashir," Ragnar stated, extending his hand.
Ardashir eagerly grabbed Ragnar’s hand, shaking it firmly. "You are a brilliant man, King Ragnar!"
"Don’t celebrate just yet," Ragnar smirked, tightening his grip slightly until the Persian merchant winced. "You get the monopoly. But you are going to stay in City Titan for the winter. I want you to help my scholars translate every single Arabic word in those scrolls into Norse and Saxon. If even a single number is mistranslated... the deal is completely off."
"Done!" Ardashir agreed instantly, ignoring the pain in his hand. "I would be honored to spend the winter in the famous City Titan."
Ragnar let go of his hand and turned to Leofric. "Grab the lockbox. Guard it with your life, and take it to Louis’s quarters."
"Yes, my King." Leofric nodded, kneeling down and securing the iron box.
"Come, Ardashir," Ragnar gestured toward the keep looming over the city.
"You know, King Ragnar..." Ardashir said softly, keeping his voice low "I didn’t tell you the full truth about why I sailed north."
Ragnar slowed his pace, "Oh? What did you leave out?"
Ardashir looked forward, "I also came because the Caliphate is quietly organizing something massive in the south..."