novelraw Chapter 231: Refugees and Bandits
Chapter 231: Refugees and Bandits
Upon receiving the King's orders, Gwen elevated the investigation of the silver mine to the highest priority. He summoned several inspectors from the investigation bureau and asked them to recommend suitable candidates.
Ultimately, Gwen selected an agent nicknamed Blackfish, dispatching him to the Derby silver mine in Nottingham to gather intelligence.
"Remember not to expose your identity. The department will be expanding its personnel in a while. Do a good job, and perhaps you will be promoted to Investigator."
Leaving the office, Blackfish went to the logistics department to collect his mission funds. Because this assignment was located in the direct royal territory, with a short distance and low risk, he only received eight Silver Pennies.
"This is far too little."
Muttering a few complaints, Blackfish signed his name, pocketed the silver coins, and left.
The journey from Londinium to Nottingham took seven days on foot or three days by horseback. As an agent at the very bottom of the investigation bureau, Blackfish could not afford to keep a horse, nor did he intend to spend money renting one. Instead, he slowly made his way forward by following a merchant caravan selling woolen cloth.
Along the way, the lingering scars of war had yet to fade. Wheat fields that should have been flushed with new green were now overgrown with nettles and thistles. Scorched farmhouses occasionally dotted the roadside, with a few ravens nesting on the blackened roof beams, claiming the ruins as their new home.
Two days passed, and the caravan entered Cambridge, a region that had suffered devastation second only to Londinium. Although Cambridge had once been Gunnar's fiefdom, the man showed not a shred of nostalgic mercy, ordering the local residents to hand over massive amounts of grain and livestock. By the later stages of the war, the discipline of the Frankish Army had completely deteriorated, making extortion and plunder the norm.
"They are simply worse than Viking pirates"—that was the locals' assessment of the Frankish Army.While making camp for the night, Blackfish took out his hardtack, broke it into pieces, and soaked it in a bowl to soften. Suddenly, over twenty ragged refugees emerged from the darkness. Young and old alike, they silently approached the campfire, their eyes fixed intently on the food in the hands of the caravan members.
Unwilling to stir up trouble, the caravan leader took five long loaves of black bread from a wagon and handed them to the refugees. "Hurry up and leave. Don't make things difficult for our small business."
Taking the bread, most of the refugees stood up to leave, but a few remained seated, staring at a smoked meat sausage in one merchant's hand. Frightened, the merchant stuffed the remaining half of his sausage into his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed desperately, nearly choking in the process.
"Hey, that is not how honest folks behave." Noticing the refugees crossing the line, the caravan leader reached for the short axe at his waist. The remaining thirty hands, independent merchants, and travelers hastily grabbed their weapons. Some pulled out daggers, while others casually picked up heavy rocks.
Unable to gain any further advantage, the refugees hobbled away. From start to finish, they never said a single word, as if speaking would drain what little stamina they had left.
Having weathered this minor crisis, the caravan leader sat back down by the campfire. This was the fourth group of refugees he had encountered, and he was already well accustomed to it.
In most cases, refugees who received food would leave of their own accord. However, some groups evolved into bandits, openly practicing extortion and even plundering passing merchants. The largest band of brigands called themselves the Black Flag Brotherhood. They had committed over a dozen consecutive robberies and even breached two villages.
Swelling to two hundred members, the Black Flag Brotherhood grew increasingly rampant. They actually lost their minds and attempted to rob a passing noble lord. The latter, named Joren, was traveling with his family and trusted aides to Winchester to receive his fiefdom. This man was no easy target; he immediately led a dozen cavalrymen into the enemy ranks, scattering the Black Flag Brotherhood in a single devastating charge.
With the annihilation of the Black Flag Brotherhood, the bandits in the surrounding areas regressed back into mere refugees. Traveling merchants benefited greatly from this, causing Earl Joren's reputation among the common folk to rise slightly.
Thinking of this, the caravan leader could not help but complain, "Why doesn't His Majesty send more men to wipe out the bandits?"
Blackfish chimed in from the side, "The war is over, and more than two-thirds of the military officers have taken leave to bring their families to their fiefdoms. It will take at least two or three months for them to settle their domestic affairs. During this period, the standing army lacks the capacity for large-scale bandit suppression." "How do you know that? You just made it up, didn't you?"
At that moment, Blackfish realized he had misspoken. He forced an awkward smile. "Right, I just made it up. Maybe His Majesty will dispatch the standing army and the Royal Guard out of the city in a few days to completely eradicate the bandits in both Londinium and Cambridge."
After leaving Cambridge, the caravan encountered fewer and fewer refugees. The winter wheat in the fields was growing rather well. Occasionally, they could even see two villages playing a football match, the atmosphere joyous and lively, making one feel as though they had returned to the peaceful years before the war.
Upon arriving in Nottingham, Blackfish bid farewell to the caravan. He found a tavern near the market and asked the bartender for news regarding the silver mine.
"What do you want to do?" The bartender furrowed his brow, spilling some beer onto the counter.
"Nothing much. I just heard some locals mentioning the silver mine. They say the workers there are treated very well, so I wanted to head over and find a job."
As he spoke, Blackfish rolled up his sleeves to reveal a pair of muscular, powerful arms. "I've worked in an iron mine before. I should meet the standards."
"You better change your mind," the bartender said, setting down a plate of sliced smoked meat sausage. "The pay at the mine is indeed good, but the supervisor only hires people from the villages near their area. You don't stand a chance."
After sleeping in the tavern for a night, Blackfish left Nottingham and followed a winding path toward the hilly terrain in the northwest. Relying on the deep ruts left by heavy wagons on the road, he found the location of the silver mine.
The situation was exactly as the bartender had predicted. The mining area was not short on manpower, and they never hired strangers from out of town. Left with no other choice, Blackfish took up odd jobs in the village at the foot of the mountain. Occasionally, he helped the villagers transport river fish and fresh vegetables to the mining camp, using the opportunity to observe their production operations.
At a rough glance, the silver mining process was similar to that of iron. The workers used pickaxes to excavate the ore, crushed it to remove impurities, and then performed an initial smelt in a small melting pot to obtain crude silver ingots with a relatively high silver content.
The subsequent steps were rather strange. The workers placed the crude silver ingots into a shallow, porous, clay-made disc, and then heated them in the melting pot once more, resulting in silver blocks of extremely high purity.
'What kind of process is this?' Blackfish muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head. However, the mine employees could not be bothered to deal with an outsider and shooed him away.
Over the next few days, Blackfish continued to loiter around the foot of the mountain as usual. He even managed to flirt with a shepherd widow. During their casual chats, the widow accidentally mentioned a strange occurrence.
"Last month, I went into the mountains looking for a sheep and saw a few figures carrying cloth sacks, walking down a narrow trail. My eyes were probably playing tricks on me. After all, who would abandon the main road just to take those rugged, treacherous mountain paths..."
Blackfish acutely sensed that something was amiss. He pressed the widow to carefully recall the scene from that day, and the very next morning, he found an excuse to leave the village. Right before his departure, the civilian officials dispatched by the Prime Minister coincidentally arrived, prompting him to ruthlessly mock them in his mind.
'They set out earlier than me, yet arrived later. How can anything be accomplished relying on these bugs? Fortunately, His Majesty has our intelligence network.'