Chapter 77: The Rulers (7) Paris, France.
A huge machine—five meters wide and two meters tall—filled the private room of Ears of the Nation Branch No. 14 to the brim.
Beside the machine, three men with coal soot smeared on their faces were tightening and hammering at various parts with tools.
"Etienne, is the intake section working properly over there?"
"Something gets caught between the intake and the printing plate, but I think we can shave it down separately later."
"Mm. Good."
At Etienne Montgolfier's answer, Dr. Guillotin smiled in satisfaction. The deep lines at the corners of his mouth seemed to draw pale arcs through the soot on his face and fall toward his chin.
"Michel, what about your side?"
Dr. Guillotin turned his head and looked toward Etienne's older brother.
"Well. Honestly, it does run, but… I'd say it creaks when it's driven? It feels like there's something on the drive side that could be a problem."
"You don't know specifically what's causing it?"
"Yes. To my eye, there doesn't seem to be anything that should be an issue. But the machine keeps creaking—damn it. It's driving me crazy."
"Tsk. This is tough."
"Well, we're creating something out of nothing, so I figured it wouldn't be that easy. Haha."
It was grueling, but Michel Montgolfier cocked his head and smiled at Dr. Guillotin.
Just then, the private-room door opened and someone came in carrying a tray in both hands.
"Gentlemen, it's mealtime. At least eat something before you keep going."
"Ah, Monsieur Pétion! Always grateful. We engineering types—once we get hooked on something, skipping meals is routine."
"If it weren't for Monsieur Pétion, every one of us here would eat nothing and just keep turning the machine over and over. Haha."
Dr. Guillotin and Michel roughly wiped their hands with the handkerchief Pétion brought, then picked up the simple meal and spoke.
"I'm only doing what the boss told me to. Ah—do you like wine? The boss's father sent wine this time, would you believe it."
"Hah! If there's a Frenchman who doesn't like wine, let him come out and show himself! Hurry—bring the wine!"
"Wow, the aroma is really good. Where was this made?"
"It's wine made in the boss's hometown, Monsieur Etienne. They say it's between Marseille and Toulon."
"Marseille? That's practically Bordeaux-tier top-class stuff, isn't it? We get to build machines as much as we want, and we get wine too. Isn't this a dream job? Michel—should we just close up the shop and work under the Finance Minister?"
"Shut up, idiot. With the engine problem, I can't even taste it."
To his younger brother asking with a beaming grin, Michel answered with a snort of laughter.
"Heh heh, Michel. If you don't rest when it's time to rest, how will you work up the strength to keep going?"
"Well, Dr. Guillotin is right, but…"
"Ah! Gentlemen! As expected, you're all here!"
Through the door Pétion had opened, someone entered while taking off his hat.
"Professor Lavoisier? Why are you so late today? At this rate, we'll finish it all ourselves."
"Haha. Important guests arrived from England, so I couldn't help going out to receive them!"
Lavoisier replied with a broad smile at Dr. Guillotin's words.
"Important guests from England?"
"Here—these two."
As Lavoisier stepped into the private room, two young men followed behind him, strode into the room, and dipped their heads slightly.
"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. Chief engineer William Murdoch, of Mr. James Watt. We came at Mr. Watt's request."
"H-hello. My name… Richard Trevithick."
"Ah, the other gentleman has not yet learned French, so I'll explain on his behalf. This is Mr. Richard Trevithick, a technician at the East Stray Park mine. He's young, but a capable man who rose to the position of mine technician."
"How did you bring such distinguished gentlemen here, Professor Lavoisier?!"
"Haha. In the past, I once helped Mr. Watt, so I asked whether he could help with this matter. When I told him we were making a steam-engine-powered printing machine, he immediately sent technicians like this."
No sooner had Lavoisier finished introducing them than the technician named William Murdoch walked toward the machine and said,
"Then may I take a look right away?"
"No."
Pétion stepped in front of Murdoch and blocked him.
"What is this…?"
To Murdoch, who stared at him in disbelief, Pétion held out the remaining simple meal on the tray and said,
"Professor Lavoisier—and both technicians as well—must be hungry. Eat first, then continue."
"Yes, yes! Fill your stomachs first! There's wine here too. Haha!"
At the treatment they'd never received in their lives, the two technicians from England were left with faces full of bewilderment.
Early March, 1790.
Vienna, Austria, Holy Roman Empire.
"Hoh. So Finance Minister Guillaume said that, did he."
"Yes, Your Highness."
An Elector with the right to choose the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.
Maximilian Francis, Elector of Cologne, stroked his chin and spoke slowly.
"Heh heh. A play, is it. So it wasn't for nothing that those Foreign Office fellows kept calling him Richelieu, Richelieu. Of course—someone with that kind of ability wouldn't lack a sense of reality."
"What will you do?"
"Whether we do the 'play' Guillaume proposed, or go with the plan we originally proposed, the result is the same, so there's no reason to refuse. Instead, let's change the condition from full forgiveness of one billion livres to repayment of one billion livres—interest-free, with no time limit. We no longer need to carry the infamy of selling the country."
"Then for the day of the play—shall we do it as Finance Minister Guillaume said?"
At Goethe's question, the Elector quietly nodded.
"I understand Your Highness's order."
Goethe also nodded as he replied.
"Duke of Brunswick—did things go well?"
In a room of the Hofburg Palace where dozens of nobles and clergy were gathered, the Duke of Brunswick looked to the noble seated beside him who called out and spoke.
"From the start, Guillaume isn't even a German, is he? He didn't seem to have much interest in the Empire either."
"True. He only came to the Empire because of that Orléans fellow's dark scheme, didn't he? If the late Kaiser were still alive, just thinking how much he would have wrung us out using Guillaume—it gives me chills."
"Still, it's fortunate that Archduke Leopold, who will be the next Kaiser, seems like someone you can reason with. And since Guillaume leaves the Empire after today, I can finally breathe again."
"Mm. True enough. Hahaha!"
After whispering and laughing together for a while, the Duke of Brunswick and the nobles straightened their postures again at a shout from a servant who entered.
"His Highness Archduke Leopold of Tuscany arrives!"
Soon, a man in his mid-forties, dressed in white with a scarlet cloak draped over him, entered, stood tall in the center of the room, surveyed the surroundings, and said,
"Good to see you. It has been some time, all of you."
"""We pay our respects to His Highness Archduke Leopold of Tuscany."""
"I'll speak without preamble. I trust I have shown you my intent sufficiently?"
"How could there be any doubt?"
"Good. Then when do you intend to give me the imperial crown?"
The Duke of Brunswick rose and bowed his head to the Archduke as he spoke.
"It has not been long since the late Kaiser passed, so by propriety, please wait until September."
At the duke's words, the Archduke smiled in satisfaction and spoke.
"Very well. I believe we will have a good relationship going forward."
"""Yes, Your Highness."""
In the carriage returning to France, we had just left the lodging and were heading toward Vienna's city streets.
"Orléans, that fucking bastard. When we get back, I'm not letting him off."
"…?"
"What? Guillaume, why aren't you doing it too?"
"No, it's just the first time I've seen you curse someone who isn't me, Mathieu."
Yeah—who's the reason we're suffering like this?
If anyone gets forcibly sent on a business trip for over three months, wouldn't they snap?
But who am I.
A modern person who lived through the cold-blooded twenty-first century—and Lim Gichan who got scammed by that cold-bloodedness.
Fuck. I'm getting pissed again.
Ahem. Anyway, a modern person of the twenty-first century is supposed to keep their composure in any situation.
Flexible thinking. Don't blame others.
The victory mantra I learned in multiplayer games—and the mantra you need to live in this world.
If I have just this, couldn't I overcome any hardship?
"Still, Orléans is a fucking bastard."
"Mhm, as expected."
Mathieu nodded, looking satisfied.
Then the carriage we were in stopped, and Major Davout gently stuck his face in through the carriage window.
"Your Excellency. I apologize. The citizens won't clear the road…"
"Ah… so it's time."
"…Pardon?"
"Major Davout, don't chase them away. Leave them as they are."
"Yes? Ah—yes."
Major Davout tilted his head once as if he didn't understand, then bowed and disappeared.
"What is it now? What are you scheming this time?"
"Stay here. I'll be right back."
Starring: Guillaume de Toulon.
Script: Guillaume de Toulon.
Director: Guillaume de Toulon.
Translation: Johann Wolfgang Goethe.
The play begins now.
After stepping out of the carriage, I climbed onto the driver's bench and shouted to the people blocking the way ahead.
"Oh, citizens of Vienna! What question do you have that you seize this man's feet like this?!"
"Th-the Finance Minister has come out! Oh, Finance Minister! Please answer our questions!"
"My, my! The road to Paris is long—I cannot proceed without granting your request! What is it that you're curious about, that you ask this man?"
"Wise Finance Minister Guillaume! Even if I work all day long, it is hard for me to even put gruel in my mouth! What is the reason?!"
"Hah—is that truly so? Yet at the banquet I attended days ago, there was roast pig stuffed with cod flesh! Oh, what a calamity!"
"Finance Minister Guillaume! The house I live in is a shabby hut worth one hundred gulden, yet I have no money, and it has been over twenty years since the last time I repaired it. Please bestow your grace upon me!"
"Hah—what a pitiable, wretched one! I shall give you this ten-livre banknote in my possession! It is as good as ten gulden. With this money, you should at least be able to fix your roof. And yet it is strange! The pipe I received as a gift from the nobles you serve is made of precious ivory from Africa—yet you live in such a shabby hut!"
I pulled out the banknote and the pipe stem and waved them where everyone could see.
"Finance Minister Guillaume! I—"
"Oh! How heartbreaking this is!"
At the continuing barrage of questions, I pressed my palm to my forehead and spoke with a grief-stricken expression.
Besides the victory mantra I learned in the twenty-first century, there's one more. A defeat mantra that can twist even something going well all at once and stir up trouble and chaos.
Flexible blame. Don't think.
Oh, you're all having such a hard time? That's strange—your country's nobles didn't seem to be. I'm not from here, so I don't know the details. Anyway, I'm leaving. Figure it out yourselves.
Like a well-fed enemy ADC in all-chat, slowly scratching at your nerves.
Like an obnoxious cousin bragging about how great they are at a holiday gathering.
After a long while, like an opera actor, I used every gesture I could to make the crowd's chests swell—then climbed back into the carriage.
The moment I got in, the people blocking our way parted instantly like the Red Sea, as if it had been arranged.
Of course, it had been arranged.
"…Your Excellency. When did you learn German?"
Once the crowd withdrew, Major Davout came back toward my carriage and asked with eyes widened.
I pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper from my pocket and waved it at Major Davout.
"I didn't learn it. I memorized it and recited it."
"…Pardon?"
"That doesn't matter. Major Davout—let's ride to Paris at full speed."
"Yes? Ah—yes! Your Excellency."
Now it's time for all of us to part ways. Don't meet again next time.
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