Dense steam filled the stone chamber, muffling the castle's echoes. Miel, with her head bowed and her face illuminated by the faint glow of a candle, finished straightening the rustic linen towels.
—Step inside, young master. I have heated the water so you may have a pleasant bath —she said, before withdrawing with a respectful bow.
—Thank you, Miel —replied Miguel.
As soon as the door clicked shut, the young man sank onto the wooden bench.
—Uf, finally, a moment of peace among all this filth —he thought. —All I need now is a good wine and some music to unwind after the round of hearings. If only all those luxuries existed combined in this corner of the world.
He removed his clothes in private, which made the maid frown before she left. Miguel stepped into the large wooden tub. The warm water began to soothe his muscles, washing away the sweat, the road salt, and the pungent scent of ash and iron that had clung to him during the defense of the walls.
—Now that I think about it, he reflected as he scrubbed his chest with a loofah, it is rather curious that I am not in a state of shock over my current situation. I am not saying I do not feel grief for the loss of the life I left behind—a life where, after all, I was quite successful. Yet, a logical reaction to such a drastic change of reality would be utter despair. And yet, I do not feel so dejected at the prospect of starting over.
The water swirled as he continued his thoughts.
—I ache for my family, my wife, and my children, but not because they will be left destitute. As a high-ranking state official, our assets and investment accounts were sufficiently diversified and secured. What truly eats away at me is the idea of not being able to see my children graduate from university, not being able to go out to eat with them on weekends, not being able to enjoy the fruits of my labor in the simple things we took for granted. They weren't the most spoiled children, perhaps because their parents were more absent than present, but I truly loved them. I wanted the best for them.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
—But oh well, chin up. There is no choice but to push forward. I must squeeze the absolute most out of this new life and try to build something worthwhile. After all, as long as there is life, the means to rebuild what was lost still exist.
Suddenly, the irony of his fate struck him hard.
—It is a macabre joke of the universe that the very thing to which I dedicated all my energy—becoming a Supreme Court Justice—was the cause of my death. How vapid money, fame, and connections are when you realize that time cannot be recovered. I, who sacrificed so much for social standing, now view all that influence as insignificant. I had become a slave to other people's expectations, ignoring what truly mattered. If I had stopped when I already had enough to live with dignity, save for old age, and enjoy my family, things would be different.
He remembered the face of the man who had attacked him at the end of that fateful hearing.
—The plaintiff in the mortgage foreclosure proceeding. A shady case. The bank had falsified evidence, and I had been paid generously to look the other way and order the property auctioned off with the support of the public forces. Deep down, that man who shouted at me in the hallway had every reason to be furious. But that is in the past now.
Miguel prepared to soap himself. He reached for the bar of soap on the stone shelf, but upon picking it up, he realized it lacked the feel and scent of the products he was accustomed to. It was a rustic-looking block, dense and unscented.
He applied the soap to his shoulders and arms, and immediately felt an intense itching sensation on his skin.
—Wow! What is happening to me now? —he thought, rubbing quickly. —The water was fine... Is it the soap? Oh, crap! We could get rich selling scented soaps!
He stepped out of the tub quickly, drying himself with a coarse towel, while his skin remained reddened and irritated by the questionable manufacturing of the soap.
—Let's see, he reflected as he dressed in clean clothes. We have the treasure's gold and the resources of the county. I do not remember the exact formulas from the fantasy and management novels I read in my youth, but basic chemical principles apply. Traditional soap is made with fats and lye; we can use washed wood ash and quicklime as alkalis, but to soften it and give it texture, we will need vegetable oils and stabilizers. Furthermore, we can distill essential oils from the lavender and pine in the nearby woods to create a refined product.
He looked in the mirror, adjusting his shirt.
—Also, we have a massive opportunity in the production of high-proof liquors. Pisco, for instance. The local vineyards can produce an excellent-quality distillate that sells well in any market.
However, his analytical mind returned to the logistical problem.
—Our location has privileged coastal access, but it is a two-day ride on horseback. The routes are infested with bandits and highwaymen, which hinders maritime commerce. If we want to move salt or export liquors, we need to pacify the forests and build secure roads.
Suddenly, a fleeting memory from his university days crossed his mind.
...
Sixth-semester Criminal Law, Santo Tomás University. —Welcome, students, to the course on Economic Criminal Law —said Professor Hernán Echandía in a slow voice. —We will analyze offenses that, despite lacking the media impact of crimes against life, carry an equal or greater destructive potential. A traditional and deeply rooted type of offense in our culture is usury.
...
—My God, that's it! —exclaimed Miguel aloud, startling himself. —Usury and credit.
He began pacing the room with a firm step.
—If we introduce a regulated banking system with controlled interest rates to stimulate industry, we can revive the local economy. And, if we apply higher rates to the loans of our political enemies, we can absorb their wealth to finance our expansion.
—Young master! Are you alright? Do you need help? —asked Miel from the other side of the oak door, startled by the exclamation.
—No, there is no need, Miel! —replied Miguel, smiling with cunning.