Even Aiwass hadn’t expected the fish to bite so quickly.
He’d barely said a word, hadn’t even cast the bait properly, and the fish was already flopping ashore.
[This fish is really desperate,] Aiwass thought.
Without breaking the ruse, he followed York to Lloyd’s Society.
The tropolitan area lay northwest of the Red and White Queen District.
To reach Lloyd District, they’d cross the entire Queen District.
As a port hub, Lloyd District couldn’t afford to let goods pile up.
Multiple railway lines connected the bustling tropolitan area to the southeastern coastal Lloyd District, all bypassing the Queen District.
York led Aiwass onto a train.
By just past nine, they arrived at Lloyd’s Society.
Despite York’s claim that it wasn’t a comrcial company, a towering skyscraper greeted them.
At over thirty stories, it was a marvel for this era’s technology, starkly contrasting the one- or two-story buildings nearby—the tallest structure in Lloyd District.
The headquarters buzzed with activity, everyone dressed impeccably.
A grand revolving glass door welcod them into a gleaming marble-floored lobby.
Small round tables with low stools dotted the hall, where young n in suits, exuding a salesman’s vibe, whispered to well-dressed but visibly anxious clients.
A massive display board stood to one side.
The left listed nas like Tyson Oil, Nimanchar Ocean Group, and Blue Lizard tal & Timber, followed by flip boards showing numbers precise to one decimal.
The right listed goods—cotton, soybeans, sugar, wine—with their prices on similar flip boards.
Suits clustered around, so murmuring, others tense, so boasting loudly, or jotting notes in corners.
Occasionally, soone updated the numbers.
As York entered with Aiwass and Lily, a receptionist approached—a polished young woman in her early twenties, her makeup mature.
“Advisor,” she greeted courteously.
“Who’s here?” York asked.
“Mr. Boca, Mr. Forbes, Ms. Graygreen,” she replied.
“Not Mr. Lloyd?” York muttered, then instructed, “Call Vice President Boca to my office.
Say I’ve brought a newcor.”
“Yes, sir.”
York led Aiwass and Lily to the elevator, telling the operator, “Seventeenth floor.”
The operator, a woman in her forties, nodded, cranking a wheel to raise the wire-sh gate.
She pulled a lever, and the half-open elevator rattled upward.
This was Aiwass’s first ti seeing an elevator in Avalon.
It was ancient—creaking as it passed between floors, revealing red brick through the sh gate.
The shaking and clanging noises made Aiwass’s heart race, fearing it might snap and plumt.
Dust and small pebbles fell through the sh, which the operator nonchalantly kicked back out.
It finally reached the seventeenth floor, shuddering violently before steadying.
Lily, gripping the wheelchair, exhaled subtly, her fingers white from the strain.
“Have you ridden an elevator before?” York chuckled.
“I’ve brought many here, and they’re always spooked the first ti.”
[So it’s a deliberate intimidation tactic?] Aiwass thought, grumbling inwardly.
He shook his head firmly.
“I’ve never ridden one like this.”
“This elevator and building were designed by Star Antimony architects,” York said, leading the way enthusiastically.
“You may not know, but Avalon’s buildings rarely reach this height.
Structures like the Candle Vigil Cathedral or the Hall of Silver and Tin co from the Papal State’s designs, but even they aren’t this tall.
At such heights, special reinforcent materials are needed, or a strong wind could make the upper floors sway and collapse.”
He gestured animatedly, as if he’d forgotten the funeral—or shed a burden.
His steps were light, almost humming with relief.
“Not every building gets regular maintenance by preservationists like the Hall of Silver and Tin,” he continued.
“Most age naturally.
This showcases Star Antimony’s advanced technology…”
York’s speech was full of praise for Star Antimony’s engineering, detailing the building’s tech, architects, structure, and daily foot traffic.
[You haven’t been to Star Antimony, but I have—in my past life,] Aiwass thought.
Their elevators were far more advanced.
After York rambled on, Aiwass interrupted, “Was this building here two hundred years ago when Lloyd’s Society started?”
“You know Lloyd’s Society is two hundred years old?” York said, surprised, then nodded.
“Of course, you’re a ‘Moriarty.’
No, it wasn’t.
Elevators are less than a century old, and this building was finished seven or eight years ago.”
York laughed.
“When I was a kid, this building didn’t exist.
Ten years ago, the old Lloyd’s Society building was attacked and bombed, so President Lloyd funded this new one.”
“President Lloyd?” Aiwass seized the cue, playing along.
“Is he related to Prince Lloyd from back then?”
As expected, York had been steering toward this topic.
He opened his office door, smiling broadly.
“Since you know Prince Lloyd, this’ll be easy.
Sit, Aiwass—oh, my apologies.
Miss Lily, please stay with Mr. Aiwass for a mont.
I’ll make tea.”
Aiwass caught York’s deliberate slip—calling him “Aiwass” to pause the conversation.
It gave Aiwass ti to glance around, taking in the room’s layout.
The office was filled with well-kept green plants, a cage with a green parrot sporting colorful tail feathers, and a fish tank with goldfish.
Photos lined the walls—York with friends, arm-in-arm, smiling or playfully roughhousing, from his twenties to now, nearly all with prominent figures.
As he boiled water, York tid his words, assuming Aiwass was studying the photos.
“How much do you know about Prince Lloyd?”
“Successful rchant, sha of the royal family,” Aiwass replied.
Prince Lloyd wasn’t a “du Lac.”
Two hundred years ago, he was a rchant nad Lloyd.
During Avalon’s mariti peak, he ran a coffeehouse, his brewing skills drawing rchants who shared valuable intel.
Sensing opportunity, Lloyd self-funded a loan to publish Lloyd’s News, a thrice-weekly paper limited to 500 copies, packed with shipping and mariti updates.
In an era of sluggish news, its value to high-cost ocean traders was imnse.
With his broad network, Lloyd’s reports were the most reliable, fetching high prices among smaller rchants.
Those who couldn’t buy copies visited his coffeehouse to deal directly.
But the paper only carried “second-tier” news.
Lloyd reserved “first-tier” secrets for those willing to trade intel and favors, building a powerful network.
Captains, rchants, and usurers courted him.
He set rules, pioneering the insurance brokerage industry.
Initially, Lloyd didn’t issue insurance but took a 5% cut on all mariti policies passing through him—a low-effort, high-profit venture.
Naturally, this drew threats, so he built a private ard force.
With muscle, he issued “Lloyd’s Loans,” growing into a behemoth.
He entered high society, eventually falling in love with the queen and becoming Prince Lloyd.
Even then, he didn’t abandon Lloyd’s Society.
Using royal authority, he expanded its scope to all insurance types, including mariti, and turned Lloyd’s News into Lloyd’s Weekly.
Through the enamored queen, he siphoned royal resources, passing laws favoring his society.
He wove a intricate web of favors, drawing key knight families into Lloyd’s Society, directly or indirectly.
By the queen’s death, Lloyd’s Society was untouchable, tied to multiple governnt revenues.
Prince Lloyd beca the “royal sha.”
His influence stripped and restricted royal powers.
From then on, knight families banned marriages with non-bloodline rchants.
York, unfazed by Aiwass’s sharp words, rely smiled.
(End of Chapter)
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