February 4, 1788 — Port of Manila
The sky over Manila Harbor was a sheet of molten brass. Ships creaked against mooring posts, their sails furled tight, while dockhands scrambled along the piers shouting in Tagalog, Castilian, and Hokkien. The air was humid, thick with the mingled scents of clove, salt, and sweat.
And just off the main pier stood a new flag.
A deep red banner bearing the golden seal of the Royal Trading Company flapped above the customs house. The symbol—a crowned anchor wrapped in laurels—marked the Company's arrival not just in name, but in presence.
Governor-General José Ortega adjusted his collar as he stood by the main entrance of the Company's newly erected office. The building had gone up faster than expected—designed by a military engineer, prefabricated in Cádiz, and shipped in pieces aboard Company galleons. It was a stone-and-stucco structure with high-arched windows, cool tile floors, and a central courtyard for weighing and inspecting goods.
Inside, the newly appointed Regional Director for Manila, Don Esteban Morales, was finalizing preparations for the official signing ceremony. Beside him stood a Jesuit scribe and a native Tagalog interpreter.
At precisely noon, Governor Ortega stepped into the chamber and laid a folded document upon the table: the binding contract that would place all exports from the Philippines—spices, hemp, sugar, pearls, and galleon silver—under the administration of the Royal Trading Company.
"This was inevitable," Ortega said. "But may it serve us all well."
Esteban nodded. "We intend to turn Manila into the crown jewel of Asia."
A tap of the quill. A signature. And with that, the colony was drawn into the Company's expanding web.
Back in Madrid
March 6, 1788 — Royal Palace of Madrid
"They've signed," Alicia announced, entering the study with a sealed dispatch fresh from the courier brig that had raced across the Indian Ocean and around the Cape. She handed it to Lancelot, who sliced the wax seal with a letter opener shaped like a naval dagger.
Inside: confirmation. Manila was officially onboard.
Lancelot let out a quiet breath. "That's the last one."
Alicia placed a fresh ledger beside him. "The Company now controls 82 percent of all imperial trade routes. The rest are either under negotiation or awaiting seasonal winds."
"And the profit projections?" he asked.
"With Manila's ports feeding in by midyear, Emilio estimates an additional 220,000 Ducados annually—minimum."
Lancelot looked to the map hanging across the study wall. Red pins marked every city with Company presence. Cádiz. Havana. Callao. And now, Manila.
"From silver mines to spice islands," he murmured. "We finally own the rails the empire rides on."
***
Don Esteban moved quickly. Within a week, three key systems had been put in place:
Centralized Weigh Stations and Warehousing.
All outbound cargo—tobacco, sugar, cinnamon, silk—was now routed through a single company-controlled weigh station in Binondo. Goods were measured, taxed, and sealed under the Company's inspection before loading.
Merchant Licensing and Registration.
Chinese, Filipino, and Spanish merchants were given a deadline: register with the Company or cease operations. Those who complied received stamped licenses and preferential access to Company galleons bound for the Americas and Europe.
A small Company fleet, headed by two armed merchantmen and a sloop-of-war, patrolled the South China Sea and guarded Company cargo against piracy. In exchange, merchants paid a fixed convoy fee—far cheaper than paying off pirates or bribing local militias.
However—
It wasn't all smooth.
Old trade guilds in Binondo and Cebu protested what they called "foreign seizure" of commerce. One mestizo merchant—Don Vicente Alonzo—refused to comply and attempted to bribe a harbor inspector. He was arrested and his warehouse seized.
The Company issued a public notice.
"Commerce without honor is theft. Let the law, not corruption, guide our future."
Within a month, compliance in Manila reached 90%.
Despite the Company's stunning success abroad, not all eyes in Madrid were pleased.
Noble houses with old shipping rights seethed behind closed doors. Some whispered of overreach. Others spoke of the Regent growing too bold—too powerful.
One evening, as Lancelot reviewed the Company's quarterly ledgers in the palace library, Alicia entered and closed the doors behind her.
"You should be careful," she said.
He looked up. "Why?"
"Three members of the High Council have asked to review the charter's authority. They've begun courting allies. Even the church is getting involved."
But Lancelot wasn't alarmed or felt threatened.
"How can you look so confident?" Alicia asked.
"Because, I already have tools to get them in line," he said and continued. "It's already March? It's been so long since I became a regent and our plan of raising money is working effectively despite resistance. You asked me what's next right in December."
"I do remember that," Alicia acknowledged.
"Well, I'm going to reveal it to you now," Lancelot replied, producing three documents and handing it to her.
"What's this?" Alicia asked, looking at the documents.
"That's the next step."
She opened the cover of the files, and there she saw the title.
"Sacred Investment Act."
"Knight's Order Reform."
"Royal Lottery System."