On the docks of Camelot, Lott was in deep thought, preparing to carry out his latest scheme. The merchants, already gathered, were eager for business, completely unaware of the trap laid for them. Just as Lott was about to proceed, Morgan approached with a triumphant air.
"Surprised, are you?" she said, smirking. "I arranged all of this."
Lott raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely convinced. "You did?"
"Yes, I had all the French grain merchants come here and hoard their stock. With their goods piling up, they'll have no choice but to sell at our price," Morgan explained proudly.
Lott gave her a curious look, slightly amazed at how her plan mirrored his own. His gaze made Morgan uneasy, and she quickly added, "What are you staring at? These ideas are all mine. You should just relax and let me handle it."
"Relax?" Lott scoffed. "If they've fallen into my hands, I'm going to make sure I deal with them properly."
He dismissed her suggestion of resting, unable to shake the feeling that her thoughts aligned suspiciously with his own. "It's probably just a coincidence," Lott mused. Still, he couldn't deny the brilliance of the plan, and soon enough, he was fully committed to seeing it through.
The French grain merchants, meanwhile, waited impatiently by the docks, expecting a swift deal. At first, they stood tall, confident in their positions, but as noon passed with no sign of buyers, doubts crept in. One of them approached the dock officials, only to be told that the grain buyer had a personal matter to attend to and couldn't make it.
Frustrated but left with no options, they waited until the next day. Yet again, they were met with excuses—this time, the buyer's family issues persisted. By the third day, it was clear something was wrong. The buyer still hadn't shown up, and the merchants were beginning to panic. More ships arrived, their holds full of grain, creating an even greater surplus.
Finally, the merchants had enough. They sought out the buyer, tracking him down to a luxurious restaurant, enjoying steak, grilled fish, and lobster. "We were told you had urgent matters at home," one of the merchants accused.
The official didn't flinch. "All taken care of," he said, shovelling another forkful of fish into his mouth.
Before they could press him further, the official dramatically pretended to choke on a fishbone, slumping over his plate. If it weren't for the fact that the fish had no bones, the merchants might have believed the act.
At that moment, realization struck. They had been tricked. Camelot's rulers had no intention of buying their grain. The merchants, furious and humiliated, rushed back to their ships, determined to leave. But the British fleet was waiting just a mile from shore, blocking their path.
"We're patrolling for pirates," one of the naval officers said sternly. "You'll need to turn back or face consequences. Your grain could be seen as aiding pirates if you attempt to leave."
The merchants had no choice but to return to the docks. They watched helplessly as another ship sailed in, fully loaded with grain, and was allowed through without inspection. The game was clear now: they were trapped. Some merchants, stubborn and unwilling to yield, attempted to break through the blockade. But Camelot's navy swiftly overpowered them, confiscating their grain as "evidence."
Defeated, the remaining merchants returned to the dock. They tried to outlast Camelot, hoping the rulers would relent, but they were in for another shock. More and more grain poured into the dock, increasing the supply to the point where they could no longer command high prices.
Desperate, the merchants chose a few representatives to negotiate. After a long process, they managed to secure an audience with Lott himself. Though their frustration simmered beneath the surface, they greeted him with utmost respect.
"King Lott, we have come on behalf of the French merchants," one of them said, bowing slightly.
Lott, lounging comfortably on a chair, barely opened his eyes. "What is it that you need?"
"Will you buy our grain?" the merchant asked hopefully.
Lott stretched lazily. "At full price? No, you'll have to lower it."
The merchants, sensing a sliver of hope, pressed further. "What price are you suggesting?"
Lott raised his hand, showing five fingers.
"Ah, fifty percent off. We can work with that," the merchant said, believing the deal wasn't too terrible. But Lott shook his head, smiling coldly.
"No, five coppers per bag. That's my price."
The merchants were stunned. "But that's far too low!" they protested.
Lott stood, his demeanour shifting to one of authority. "The price is fair, considering the circumstances. You can either take it or leave it. There won't be any further negotiation."
Seeing no other option, the merchants trudged back to their fellows, knowing full well they had been outplayed from the start.