William Limoen sat in his office. His new office. His old office was burned down in… the incident.
The memory of the events still sent shivers down his spine, but there were some advantages to moving. For one, his new office was assessable by wheeled chair. For two, there was a lovely coffee house nearby. For three, he now had a fine view of Port Aurora’s harbor.
Then again, Port Aurora was almost invariably overcast with grey clouds and almost religiously damp, so perhaps the view was not as good as he liked.
But today, the sun shined on Port Aurora – a most auspicious portent, especially for the meeting Limoen was about to have.
And just like that, the man he was waiting for walked into his office: Cicero “the Maestro” Paulomo.
“Greetings, misser Limoen.” Damn, did they all have that ridiculous accent? Limoen thought that was simply Ezzelio pretending - and pretending poorly at that - to have a shred of dignity. This Paulomo was different, though. His accent was very foreign and very heavy, but not quite ridiculous. His hair was receding, greying, and he had a thin mustache over his lip. His cheeks were sagging, but it was like there was a steel jaw below that flesh.
“Good Afternoon, Master Paulomo. Please, have a seat.” Said Limoen as the Maestro took his seat and sat down. He had a dead look in his eyes.
“You must have come quite far on your journey. From Quitso, correct? Are your accomodations to your liking?” said Limoen.
“They serve.” Said the curt Salvadarean.
“Very well then, onto business.” At last. The Maestro of Maonia had started to remind Limoen uncomfortably of a shark. An overweight one, but still one that Limoen would rather not have sitting in front of him in his office. “As you very well know, some of my associates have begun to do business within, shall we say-“
“My territory.” stated Paulomo.
“Yes, your territory. I trust this has been a lucrative arrangement for the both of us?”
“It has.” Said Paulomo. This was negotiation was going at simply breathtaking speed.
“Excellent, then I suppose you will have no argument for the expansion of this agreement?”
The Maestro’s face twisted tighter, to something that was neither a smile or a frown, just a mask, “Explain, misser Limoen.”
“Very well. Currently, being the years 861 to 862, our trade is simply us sending refined goods to you. Firearms. Sugars. Truffles, furs, textiles. Steel, and lumber too. You in turn protect our trade, and pay for these commodities, and arrange for my associates to enter your country without any harassment.”
“That is correct.”
“What I propose is that you begin to disseminate our goods deeper into Salvadare. I want to make sure that every man woman and child is clothed in Glimmite Cotton from here to Cide Mendoza, and I want to make sure the muskets used by Salvadare are made in Factories in Rothovel.”
The maestro stared at Limoen. Perhaps he was composing a response. Limoen continued.
“In return, I’ll want more protection, but you’ll be completely in charge of Salvadarean distribution. I’ll need more gold, but I’d also like sugar from the Salvadarean side, and coffee, ivory, lapis, so forth. At fair rates, of course.” Limoen had no intention of paying those fair rates, but he was trying to make an offer Paulomo couldn’t refuse. Paulomo remained silent, so Limoen continued.
“Naturally, we’ll continue to want to problems with the Salvadarean military, but should worst come to worst, you will have the finest arms that Glimmer has to offer.” Limoen hoped the prospect of the Syddian repeating gun would help sweeten the deal.
The maestro took a cigar out of his coat pocket, and puffed it in Limoen’s face. He then spoke at last, “I shall need… the Galhapertinikeauyan.”
The Galhapertinikeauyan, of course. Limoen had suspected something like this. If the fine art and zen of accounting had a god, and that god had a child, that child would be the Galhapertinikeauyan. Legend has it that he has determined the final number of the circumference ratio of a circle. Rumor had it that number was six.
“I’ve already made arrangements,” lied Limoen.
“Very well then, misser Limoen. We may deal.”
[M] We’re deepening trade with the Salvadarean Black Market. Also, if it’s not too much, we may be arming some hooligans with Syddian-designed, Glimmerite-built muskets.
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