Rain poured down upon the industrial tracks of the Northern Line, turning the gravel embankments into grey sludge.
At the moment, an army of Directorate Engineers was on the move.
Ragnar sat in the executive car, looking out at the bleak landscape of the Scottish Lowlands. Opposite him sat Princess Elfwynn, who was nervously adjusting her spectacles.
She had packed her warmest cloak, as instructed, but she still shivered slightly.
Vizier Al-Hakam was also present, looking at the rolling hills with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He missed the sun of Cordoba, but the promise of coal kept him warm.
"The Scots are stubborn, Director," Al-Hakam noted, sipping tea from a delicate glass cup. "My traders tell me King Kenneth values his independence more than gold."
"Every man has a price, Vizier," Ragnar replied, tapping his silver-geared cane on the floor. "For some, it's gold. For others... it's central heating."
