Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 013
Chapter Title: Red Dye and White Gold
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1726, the Caribbean island nation of Jamaica, located south of Cuba.
Ever since it was occupied by the British in the 17th century, this place had flourished nonstop as a smuggling haven.
Even after Port Royal—the very symbol of corruption and debauchery—sank into the sea during an earthquake, the trend persisted.
South America was under such tight Spanish surveillance, but Jamaica was proper British territory.
Not even Spain could extend its watchful gaze all the way here.
This held true even for cochineal, the commodity Spain poured all its efforts into managing.
However, the cochineal merchants who had strutted around Jamaica for decades with chests puffed out were now wailing in despair.
"No way! Does that even make sense? Look, just yesterday it was 48 pesos per pound, and now you're asking for 30?"
"What's the problem if the price changes overnight?"
"Of course there's a problem! What kind of price drops over 30% in a single day?!"
The standard market price for cochineal was normally in the high 40s pesos per 100 pounds.
That was the rate for legitimate trade in Mexico or Peru, though. Smuggling usually drove it up to the mid-to-high 60s.
But rumors had spread of massive quantities of a substitute dye flooding in via the British East India Company, sending cochineal prices into a nosedive.
They kept dropping day by day until now they were below half the original price, down to 30 pesos.
"At that price, there's no point in smuggling! Don't you want to make money?"
"Come on, who are you trying to fool? Everyone knows even the regular channels have dipped to the low 20s per pound. Don't want to sell? Fine by me. I'll just buy from someone else."
"No, that's..."
"Aw, what a shame. Looks like it'll drop even more tomorrow."
People who had been begging them to sell just days ago were now threatening to walk unless they slashed prices further.
What could they do? It was infuriating, but the market had truly collapsed.
'Those damned English pirate bastards. I'd like to grind them into powder and drink it down.'
The cochineal merchants fantasized countless times about blowing British East India Company merchant ships to bits, but in reality, they could do nothing.
As they wandered the harbor sighing heavily, Holy Roman merchants they had seen a few times before approached.
"36 pesos per pound. Sell it all to us."
"36? For real?"
"In exchange, hand over your entire stock. Buying in bulk and shipping at once saves on transport costs."
36 pesos per pound was still an outrageous lowball, but 6 pesos more than nothing was something.
Besides, as those English merchants had said, it might drop even further tomorrow. Better unload it all fast and watch the situation.
'These guys know how to do business,' he thought. "Yeah, bulk buys are the way to save money. Alright, we'll hand over everything we've got if you settle payment today."
"Not a condition, exactly, but we have a favor to ask. Can you gather as much fake silver as possible and pass it our way?"
"Fake silver? We could probably siphon off whatever we can get... but you've got some guts. Smuggling's one thing, now you're dipping into counterfeit coins?"
Ah, so that's why they were offering more—they had an ulterior motive.
Fake silver couldn't be refined, rendering it worthless unless used for counterfeiting.
There was only one reason to buy it in bulk.
But whether those guys ended up hanged for minting fake coins was none of their business. As long as they could offload the goods, they were golden.
"Got it. Let's draw up the contract first. We'll stuff you with enough fake silver to sink a ship."
Not knowing when the other side might change their minds, the Spanish merchants snapped up the offer.
And exactly one month later...
"What?! The Indian dye rumors were all bullshit?!"
"Yes. And even what little arrived is total garbage compared to cochineal—no need to worry at all."
"Those fucking English pricks! Then why the hell did they spread around dye that's useless?!"
Leaving the Spanish merchants' wails behind, Wertheimer's merchant ship sailed across the Atlantic, loaded to the brim with cochineal and platinum ore.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Though it was just a one-month fiasco, the cochineal panic rippled through European merchants.
Most took losses, but in Vienna of the Holy Roman Empire, rare laughter echoed without end.
"Kahahahaha!"
"Sir, all the imported goods as of today have sold out."
"Good, good. No tails left to step on, eh?"
Wolf Wertheimer grinned ear to ear at the ledger figures before him.
Profits far exceeded expectations.
Cochineal smuggling had always favored sellers, with severely limited supply available.
But this time, they had swept up nearly every shipment heading to Jamaica—what kind of margins was that?
"Also, His Highness Franz requests renowned jewelers and artisans for accessories. The best skills, tight-lipped, and as close to you as possible."
"Of course we'll provide them. Tell him I'll send the finest artisans."
With results this solid, he could happily grant any request.
By now, he was starting to believe Franz might actually process that fake silver.
And if he failed? No big deal. It was practically free scrap anyway—just shrug and move on.
"Anything else he asked for?"
"One more thing. The court wants to host a grand banquet, but costs are a burden."
"So, consider sponsoring it?"
He held no warm feelings for the royal family that swallowed favors sweet and spat out the bitter, but currying favor never hurt.
Wolf checked the proposed banquet list and unwittingly swallowed hard, letting out an admiring sigh.
"Our Prince Franz must be dead serious. Does he really have confidence in processing that fake silver?"
"...Pardon?"
"I need to head to the palace right now. Prepare my carriage."
With signals this clear, hesitation was a luxury.
The massive cochineal windfall had already vanished from Wolf's mind.
His eyes were fixed on a far bigger jackpot shimmering ahead.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The bone-chilling winter had passed, and spring's gentle breath tentatively seeped into the Hofburg Palace gardens.
The sound of melting thin ice rippled quietly over the fountains, while tender sprouts shyly stretched toward the sunlight.
The palace windows, heavy with winter's memories, quietly opened as if welcoming the new season's whispers.
Having finished my lesson with Theresa, I was enjoying a simple outdoor snack for the first time in ages.
She had apparently given up on coffee and was now intensely curious about tea imported from Qing China.
She eyed me, pondering how to hold the cup gracefully.
"By the way, have you heard the rumor?"
"Which one, Your Highness?"
"You know, the one about Father hosting a massive banquet this May—right around my birthday."
"The palace has been buzzing about it these past few days."
I nodded calmly.
"We always kept birthdays small last year, just close nobles in Vienna. But this year's several times bigger, so I wondered if there's more to it."
"Naturally. The first anniversary of the Treaty of Vienna with Spain falls almost exactly on Your Highness's birthday."
"Ah! Right. They have to mark the occasion anyway, so they're combining it with my birthday for something huge."
The treaty would turn precarious after Spain's failed Gibraltar assault next year, but for now, the mood was perfect.
Gathering foreign envoys and scaling it up would visually hammer home Spain's recognition of Austria's Pragmatic Sanction.
It'd pressure the Holy Roman Electorates still withholding approval.
In my past life, it had been scrapped over budget after review. But things were different now.
A generous Jewish entrepreneur whose pockets had suddenly deepened offered substantial sponsorship.
Charles VI was thrilled, even inviting Wolf Wertheimer to a banquet for praise.
Having lost his father, it must have been a rare high for the emperor, so Wolf surely felt his donation well rewarded.
Of course, the sponsorship wasn't just for feel-good vibes.
If the birthday gala was an unprecedented success, Wolf's standing and imperial favor would soar.
It wouldn't be easy, but I had the means to make it happen.
In a way that benefited both Theresa and me optimally.
"Your Highness, your birthday's still a ways off, but is there anything you'd like as a gift?"
"Huh? If I say what I want, will you get it?"
"No. Actually, I have something in mind."
"Really? A gift straight from you, Franz?"
Theresa's eyes sparkled with anticipation and curiosity.
She traditionally received gold crosses and silver Bible-shaped trinkets each birthday.
With the stage vastly expanded and her a year older, a flashier bracelet or necklace wouldn't seem out of place.
Unveiling platinum jewelry—the world's first—here was an unmatched opportunity.
"Spoiling the surprise would ruin it, so please look forward to it. I'm sure you'll love it."
"Anything from you would fit me perfectly, of course. Hehe... ahem. I trust you'll consider my refined tastes."
She flailed her limbs happily before hurriedly recomposing herself and elegantly lifting her teacup.
Watching her, I was tempted to tease by asking about the tea's aroma and flavor, but I settled for a smile.
Her face, flushed with joy at the impending birthday gift, was utterly adorable.
"It'll be the best birthday ever. I promise."
When platinum jewelry first appeared in the late 18th century, it cost three times gold's price.
Now, 50 years earlier with a production monopoly, I could charge five to ten times that.
Royal-exclusive pieces already ran three to five times pricier than noble fare.
For select royals like Charles VI and Theresa? The sky was the limit.
Most goods maximized profit through mass production and economies of scale, but precious metals were different.
Minimize rarity to the extreme? No—maximize it for enormous gains.
That's why I chose platinum as my debut venture.
Current tech made mass production impossible, but that very scarcity would fuel the business.
"If possible, I'll prepare gifts for His Majesty too—not just you, Your Highness. A matching set would highlight father-daughter bonds and draw envy."
"I'd love matching jewelry with you, Franz... ah, hot!"
She mumbled so softly it was barely audible, then startled herself.
Her thoughts shone transparently through her actions and expression, drawing another involuntary laugh from me.
Yes. We couldn't flaunt an engagement vibe yet, but someday.
By the time you become the proper lady you dream of, much will have changed.
This empire, me, and you yourself.
I handed her a cool damp cloth for her scalded tongue.
Theresa smiled bashfully and pressed it to her lips.
Through her bright hair, her faintly flushed face evoked a tiny rabbit.
"Oh, and we can dance together at the birthday too? I've been practicing hard!"
"I'll look forward to it."
"Again with that. This time it's real? I'll show you something way better than last time."
And the tongue thing was just a mistake, really. Really... Theresa muttered as she blew on her tea and sipped.
After that, only the clink of teacups filled the brief silence.
She beamed, seemingly enjoying the mood, while I closed my eyes, savoring my coffee's aroma.
In that pleasant quiet, a now much warmer breeze brushed past us.