The courtyard of Blackwood Keep was crowded, but not with soldiers. It was crowded with money.
Lord Wylis Manderly, heir to White Harbor, had arrived with a retinue that rivaled a royal procession. He was a massive man, nearly as wide as he was tall, with a walrus mustache and a tunic of silver-threaded wool.
He stood next to his daughter, Wynafryd, staring at the industrial skyline of the Wolfswood.
"My daughter told me stories," Wylis rumbled, his voice wheezing slightly. "She spoke of glass gardens and warm floors. But she did not speak of... this."
He gestured to the Converter.
It was a monstrosity of iron and brick, shaped like a giant, bulbous pear, hanging on massive trunnions (pivots) so it could tilt. It stood twenty feet tall.
"It is ugly," Lady Elara Glover said, walking up to join them. She wore the grey cloak of the Blackwood officers now, having spent the last month drilling with the Legion. "But it eats pig iron."
"Lord Wylis," Ronan said, stepping forward. He was covered in soot, wearing a heavy leather apron. "Welcome to the future of construction."
"You promised me steel, Lord Ronan," Wylis said. "Cheap steel. Enough to build a bridge across the White Knife. But my smiths tell me that crucible steel takes weeks to make. You cannot possibly produce the tonnage I need."
"Crucible steel is for swords," Ronan said. "It is slow. We cook it in pots."
Ronan pointed to the giant iron pear.
"This is the Bessemer Converter. It doesn't cook the iron. It purifies it with air."
The Blow
"Charge the vessel!" Ronan shouted.
A crane lifted a ladle of molten pig iron—direct from the Blast Furnace—and poured it into the tilted mouth of the Converter. Sparks rained down like fireworks.
"Five tons," Ronan said calmly. "Liquid iron. High carbon. Brittle as glass."
"Right the vessel!"
The workers turned a heavy wheel. The giant pear tilted back to a vertical position.
"Blast on!"
Ronan signaled the engine room. The Newcomen Engine, modified with a massive flywheel, drove a high-pressure air blower.
WHOOSH.
A blast of cold air was forced through the tuyeres (nozzles) at the bottom of the vessel, directly into the molten iron.
Wylis Manderly flinched. "You are blowing cold air into melted iron? It will solidify! It will clog!"
"Watch," Ronan said.
[Chemistry: Oxidation]
[Reaction:] The oxygen in the air hits the carbon and silicon in the iron.
[Result:] Exothermic Reaction. The carbon burns. It doesn't cool the metal; it makes it hotter. Much, much hotter.
A roar erupted from the mouth of the Converter. It sounded like a dragon screaming.
A pillar of flame shot thirty feet into the air.
It wasn't orange. It was blinding, violent yellow, mixed with showers of sparks that cascaded over the courtyard.
"Gods be good!" Wylis shouted, shielding his face. The heat was intense even at fifty paces.
"It's burning the impurities," Ronan yelled over the roar. "The silicon is burning! The manganese is burning! And now... the carbon!"
The flame changed color. It went from yellow to a transparent, ghostly blue-white.
Ronan watched the flame with [The Architect's Eye]. He wasn't looking at the spectacle; he was looking at the spectrum.
• Carbon Content: 4.0%... 3.0%... 1.5%...
"Wait for the drop," Ronan whispered.
The flame suddenly flickered and dropped. The carbon was gone. The iron was now pure, ductile, and incredibly hot.
"Cut the blast! Tilt!"
The air stopped. The vessel tilted.
"Add the Spiegeleisen!"
Workers threw in a calculated amount of manganese and carbon alloy to bring the steel to the exact hardness Ronan wanted.
"Pour!"
The vessel tipped further. Liquid steel—five tons of it—poured into the waiting ladle. It was brighter than the sun.
"Twenty minutes," Ronan said, pulling off his goggles. "We just made five tons of structural steel. It would take a thousand smiths a month to do that by hand."
The Negotiation
Later, in the warm, glass-walled solar, Wylis Manderly was sweating. He wiped his brow with a silk cloth.
"I have seen many things," Wylis said. "But that... that was the power of the Doom."
"It is the power to build, My Lord," Ronan said. "You want a bridge? I can cast the girders next week. You want rails for the mines? I can roll them."
"And the price?" Wynafryd asked sharply. She was the accountant; her father was the dreamer.
"I want the debt," Ronan said.
The room went silent.
"Excuse me?" Wylis asked.
"The Crown owes the Iron Bank of Braavos," Ronan said. "But the North owes the Crown. I want to buy the North's debt."
"You want to become the creditor of Winterfell?" Wynafryd asked, her eyes narrowing. "That is dangerous, Ronan. People kill their bankers."
"Not if the banker is the only one who can keep them warm," Ronan said. "I will supply the steel for your bridge. In exchange, House Manderly will back my currency."
"Your... currency?"
Ronan pulled out a slip of his grey paper. It was printed with intricate designs (to prevent counterfeiting) and stamped with the Blackwood sigil.
[Item: Labor Voucher]
[Value: 1 Hour of Labor / 10 lbs of Grain]
"Gold is heavy," Ronan said. "And I am running out of it. This paper represents the productivity of Blackwood. If Manderly accepts it in White Harbor, it becomes real money."
Wylis looked at the paper. Then he looked at the steel ingots cooling in the yard.
"If I say yes," Wylis said, "I am betting against the Iron Throne's coin."
"The Iron Throne is bankrupt," Ronan said. "I am not."
Wylis laughed, a deep belly laugh. "You have stones, boy. I'll give you that. Very well. We accept your paper."
[Economic Victory]
[Currency Established: The Blackwood Note]
[Trade Network: Expanded to White Harbor]
The Gift
As the Manderlys celebrated the deal, a guard entered. It was Captain Jory. He looked pale.
"My Lord," Jory whispered to Ronan. "A cart at the gate. No driver. Just... horses trained to return home."
"Home?" Ronan asked.
"It's a Bolton cart, My Lord. But the horses... they bear the Blackwood brand. They were stolen during the fire."
Ronan excused himself and walked out to the darkening courtyard.
The cart stood there. A tarp covered the bed.
Ronan pulled back the tarp.
It wasn't a body.
It was a man, alive, but barely. He was bound and gagged. He was missing an ear. His fingers were broken.
It was Hylas, the Maester who had tried to steal the secrets.
Pinned to his chest with a flaying knife was a note written on pale skin (parchment? or something else?).
Lord Blackwood,
I found this stray wandering my lands. He sang very interesting songs about books and machines. I returned him to you. I prefer my enemies to keep their secrets. It makes the game more fun.
See you in the Spring.
Ronan stared at the shivering, broken Maester. Roose Bolton hadn't killed him. He had tortured him for information, found out about the printing press threat, and sent him back as a message.
He isn't scared, Ronan realized. He's amused.
Ronan cut the Maester's bonds.
"Get him to the infirmary," Ronan ordered softly. "And double the guard on the Semaphore line."
He looked North, toward the Dreadfort.
"You want a game, Roose?" Ronan whispered. "Fine. Let's play."
Status Update:
• Tech: Bessemer Process (Infinite Steel).
• Economy: Fiat Currency introduced.
• Threat: Roose Bolton knows everything (via the Maester).
...…
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
125 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
150 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!