The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 6

Extortion

A new channel for making money!

Oliver¹ had no idea why he was here.

            

As a scrawny, much-abused orphan, he had only just walked into London last night on his own two feet. Today, he had somehow been roped into this grand enterprise.

Yesterday, after chatting with that clever, unfamiliar boy and being introduced to the old Jewish man, Fagin², he had found a place to stay in London. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had stumbled into some very strange place.

When he woke up this morning and heard Fagin muttering and rambling to himself over some glittering jewelry, his fear intensified.

            

But he didn’t have long to be afraid before Fagin’s friend arrived.

The man, called Sikes³, brought another man named Jack with him. The group of them sat around drinking and talking. They said Old Man Aisas’s factory was still sitting empty, and that someone had recently been asking about its condition. They wondered if the heir had come to clean up the mess.

This was a golden opportunity to make some money. Land was always valuable, and gentlemen weren’t stingy about tossing a few coins to get squatters to move out, all to show off their own generosity.

            

It was a completely different sort of business from the kind that got you sent to the gallows, and the income was steady.

When Fagin heard about it, he decided he wanted a piece of the action.

As it happened, Jack only had Old Tom under him and was short a hand. So Fagin sent Oliver along. A skinny kid couldn’t do much, but he could keep watch and bulk up their numbers. Who knew? Maybe he’d even win them some sympathy.

            

So Fagin told Oliver he had a job for him and gave him the nickname “Rat.”

And just like that, he had set off in a daze, running to the factory with the other two men. He crouched in a corner, peeking through a hole at the approaching carriage.

However, Oliver had a feeling that while Jack said this person was likely from the country, the stranger was nothing like the gentlemen he had seen back home.

            

He didn’t speak with a drawl or affect a deep, thoughtful tone. He didn’t look down on people when he spoke to them, nor did he size them up with his nose in the air.

Just like now, as the young man spoke up.

“So,” he asked, “you’re trying to extort me?”

            

Of course, anyone who wasn’t blind could see that Jack’s earlier words were utter nonsense.

The holes in the ceiling were clearly visible. Dust thick enough to bury Oliver whole coated everything. Rust crawled over the skeletal frames of the machines. Every detail screamed that the factory had been completely neglected.

But Oliver, having been thoroughly disciplined by the coffin-maker for some time, knew perfectly well that speaking this truth would not earn him justice or a deserved apology, but an endless string of beatings.

            

“No need to be so rude, Young Mr. Aisas,” Jack said, waving a hand in a show of ease. “It’s just a bit of money. Surely we won’t let that harm our friendship?”

But contrary to his relaxed words, he and his man Tom were slowly closing in.

Standing frozen in place, Oliver’s mouth fell open, his heart pounding. How he wanted to urge this poor stranger to run for his life!

            

But before the words could escape his throat, the poor stranger reached for the backpack on his shoulders.

“Oh,” the stranger said with casual ease. “Alright, then.”

Then, Oliver saw with perfect clarity as the stranger pulled a huge, gleaming golden longsword from his pack.

            

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The moment Arna’s fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, Jack’s eyes went wide. He looked as shocked as a stray dog seeing a person stand up and walk for the first time.

He clearly hadn’t expected an amateur, an ignorant country bumpkin, to understand the need to come here fully armed, like a seasoned brawler from the shipyards, and to have the guts to make the first move.

But there was no time for anyone to hesitate.

            

Tom was the first to charge, ripping open his coat to pull out a knife and swinging it forward with a curse.

But on the sword’s first strike, Tom’s knife was sent clattering to the floor. His wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

He howled, staggering backward. “My—Boss, agh, my hand!”

            

The next second, Arna produced a wooden club from somewhere and brought it down hard on the still-howling Tom’s ribs.

He collapsed to the ground, falling into a heap of broken machinery, letting out nothing but a faint groan.

“Go eat shit, you crazy, stupid country bumpkin!”

            

Jack, stunned by the sudden turn of events, finally snapped out of it and rushed forward. He grabbed a rusty iron pipe from the surrounding ruins of machinery and swung it wildly, like a club.

Arna dodged left and right with ease, then saw an opening and struck hard with the wooden club.

The club hit Jack’s kneecap and instantly snapped in two. But the force of the blow worked both ways; Jack’s leg fared no better, letting out a sharp, crisp crack.

            

Jack went down with a roar, cursing nonstop as he clutched his leg in agony, as if it were about to fall off his body.

Damn it, how is this country bumpkin so ruthless?

What did he do back in the country? Was he one of us, a fellow scoundrel who got lucky with an inheritance?

            

The battle was over in less than ten minutes.

Now, both men were sprawled on the floor in various states of pain. Only two people remained standing in the factory: Arna and the little boy who hadn’t made a move from start to finish.

Arna watched him warily for a moment, on guard in case this friendly, green-named child might see his companions get beaten and suddenly transform into the enemy’s final boss.

            

But from beginning to end, the boy, who was about ten, just stood there. The dot on her map steadily flashed green, unmoving. He seemed to have been scared witless by the sudden brawl.

Arna returned the sword to a storage slot, then tossed aside the broken piece of wood she’d pried from a machine. It landed with a thud, but the boy didn’t react at all.

It wasn’t until Arna walked over and reached out to push back the cap that was hiding his face that the boy seemed to wake from a dream, stumbling backward.

            

Getting closer, Arna realized the child was probably even younger than she’d first estimated. He was terribly thin, and it was only his ill-fitting, baggy clothes that made him seem more mature.

As Arna’s warm fingertips touched his forehead, Oliver couldn’t help but flinch, afraid this gentleman would slap him or do something else to him.

But the hand only brushed his hair back. Arna studied him for a moment, then reached out to straighten his old cap, gently patting the dust from his clothes.

            

“You’re quite good-looking,” Arna asked. “How old are you?”

“Nine, respected sir,” Oliver said, trembling. “I only arrived in London yesterday. Before that, I was in the country—I swear, I swear on my life. Mr. Fagin said this was just a simple errand, the kind the most honest boys would do…”

Behind him, the two men on the floor groaned, nearly entangled with a pile of broken wood.

            

Oliver shivered again and swallowed hard. “I didn’t steal anything from you, sir, truly.”

Arna couldn’t resist pinching the child’s cheek.

“Alright, I know,” she said, then turned to the other two. She crouched down, grabbed the leader Jack by the hair, and forced his head up. “How do you like this payment? Generous enough for you?”

            

Her words provoked a fierce response from Jack.

He let loose a string of curses, but when Arna picked up a nearby steel pipe and brandished it at him, the memory of the beating he’d just received made the words vanish like smoke.

Jack grunted for a long while before finally asking, “What are you going to do with us?”

            

The police? He knew that a small matter like this wouldn’t get him hanged. At most, he’d spend a few days in jail.

Arna understood completely. It was time for her favorite part.

“You’ve smashed up my factory like this,” she said with an air of righteousness. “Shouldn’t there be compensation?”

            

Her hand gestured vaguely around the room. “All of it! You broke all of it!”

The utterly one-sided shakedown ended with Jack and Tom handing over everything they had on them as compensation, before wretchedly dragging Oliver with them and fleeing from their corner.

When Arna came out the factory’s main gate, the first thing she saw was the solicitor, Mr. Green, standing by the entrance, holding his breath. He was peering behind her as if he expected a few more thugs to be hiding there.

            

As expected, she thought. You can’t count on most guide NPCs in a battle round. You have to do it yourself.

She stood before Mr. Green, satisfied, and waited for her reward.

They just stood there, staring at each other.

            

After a moment, Mr. Green, misinterpreting her meaning, couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What is it, Young Aisas?” he asked.

“I thought you would approve of my actions?” Arna hinted, beating around the bush. “You and my grandfather were loyal friends, and you are to me as well, are you not?”

            

The weight in Mr. Green’s heart finally lifted.

Sure enough, he was being blamed for not explaining things clearly, and for not going in to help just now.

“The word ‘loyal,’ Young Aisas,” he began, instinctively making a joke, “is best used to describe dogs and… when swearing an oath to a monarch.”

            

But returning to the topic of the factory, Mr. Green gave a nervous cough, pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looked somewhat ashamed.

“…Alright, I admit, I had heard some rumors,” he said in a low voice. “But, er, considering the general state of property in the East End, I thought it more reasonable to have you cautiously assess the situation for yourself first.”

He paused, glanced at Arna, and added, “Besides, my dear young friend, I am not a policeman. I am just a lawyer, and a very old one at that. If I had known you were adept at handling matters this way… I would have offered different advice.”

            

Arna understood. So, no reward.

She sighed and locked up the factory. “Shall we head back?”

Judging by those men’s actions, they were highly practiced. The fact that they’d agreed to bring along a child who could have been a liability meant this certainly wasn’t their first time.

            

Organized, premeditated, a criminal enterprise… She wondered if she could find their den and take them all out in one go. That would surely be a huge payday!

Then, using that money to repair the factory would be a piece of cake.

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The author has something to say:

            

Arna: It’s me against a gang of thieves. The advantage is mine!

Those two thugs are basically half a Slime, and they don’t even spit goo, haha!

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1. Oliver is the young protagonist from Oliver Twist. The timeline is right after he was tricked into joining the thieves’ den.
2. At the time, gang fights were common on the streets of London, and many members were laborers. Whitechapel is near the docks, so I conveniently made up a shipyard (?).
3. I had her switch from the Golden Sword to a piece of wood because the Golden Sword loses durability…