Europa Universal
"Hanged Man! Ta-da! What do you think? It'll be fun, right?"
I was playing with Bertie, leaving the door slightly ajar.
It was late at night, so going out somewhere felt off, but with Hunyadi and Bertie's valet here, no worries about scandal rumors.
"...Yeah, it's fun."
It's no fun doing it alone.
"I'm submitting this to the exhibition. It's something we made for Rudolf's education program."
"A two-year-old is doing this?"
Bertie pointed at the board game.
Come on, that makes no sense....
"Not yet, but we'll use it for imperial education later."
The board game Bertie and I were playing was none other than—
"It's called Europa Universal. What do you think?"
"So, basically, you become the king of a country and keep developing it?"
Well... yeah, that's the rough summary.
"Europa Uni...?"
"If that's hard, just call it EuroUni."
It's close to Victoria, but why would I name it after her?
"There's a lot to manage."
Economy, infrastructure, resource management, class relations, technological progress—tons to keep track of.
"We're royalty, after all."
Maids and valets handle those calculations for us.
I helped him make the first move.
Bertie crossed his arms and stared intently at the board.
He scanned the map, then without hesitation placed his piece on Paris, the capital of France.
"I'll send a diplomat to Paris. Let's try building friendly relations with Napoleon III."
Was the Anglo-French negotiation Bertie's doing?
"The British Parliament is wary of France's naval buildup right now. Lord Palmerston would blow a fuse if he knew."
"Those old parliament geezers are too scared. France could be a friend, not an enemy. Plus, Paris's fashion and art are way more sophisticated than London's. No harm in getting along."
Not just for those reasons, I'm sure.
We were deep into the game when another guest arrived.
"Albert Edward Wettin."
Bertie jumped up in surprise.
"Father, don't be too harsh. I asked him first."
"...Understood, Your Majesty. But at this late hour...."
Worried we were up to something weird?
I lightly tapped the board game.
"Would the Duke like to join? The more, the merrier."
"A game, you say?"
Duke Albert's brows furrowed.
"Let's call it an entry for this Expo."
I'd looked around, and there weren't many technologies other countries would be interested in. Plenty of cultural artifacts and furniture art, though.
"How did you decide the features for each nation here?"
Bertie looked at his father in shock. Instead of yelling, Duke Albert was asking a question.
"It's a demo board, so I picked randomly."
"You said it was for education earlier—"
Duke Albert cut Bertie off.
"Enough. My apologies for the rudeness."
Bertie pouted and shrank back.
Poor kid....
Duke Albert caught on right away from the word "education."
Yeah, for educational use, the ministers would fill in the details themselves.
"No worries, Duke. So, what do you think of our Vienna culture?"
"...You were right to invite me."
That was praise enough.
"We can handle detailed wars with Kriegsspiel and reflect the battle results here."
Kriegsspiel. In English, war games.
It's weird, isn't it?
Prussia, who preaches liberalism, has soldiers huddled together making war games, while we Austrians—rumored to be oppressors—create a game about running a nation.
"As expected of the Duke, so knowledgeable."
In the end, we played the board game late into the night.
*
The next morning, I woke up in a daze.
"...My board game."
Duke Albert took EuroUni, saying he wanted to look into it more.
How am I supposed to endure this boring London life now?
What kind of "land of the free" is this stuffy country?
I rang the bell to summon the maids and began dressing.
"Bring the most comfortable dress."
Today, I'm touring central London to check out the automobile factories.
No patents yet, so we might still buy out a British car company.
"Your Majesty, the Prince of Wales requests an audience."
What's he want so early?
"Let him in."
He greeted me impeccably dressed in his military uniform.
"...Father says he wants me to show Your Majesty around London."
No wonder he looked so tired. And the crisp uniform instead of yesterday's casual clothes—must've been lectured till dawn.
I took his hand and said,
"Duke Albert seems like he'd get along well with our emperor as friends."
Maybe Albert dislikes Joseph out of self-loathing or something.
Bertie, like everyone else, crossed his arms while briefing today's schedule.
"The carriage is ready, Your Majesty. Father's recommended itinerary is the British Museum in the morning, a stroll through the Crystal Palace gardens in the afternoon, and a Royal Academy concert in the evening...."
Just hearing it makes me yawn.
I want to see the Crystal Palace, so keep that, but swap morning and evening.
"I'd rather see an automobile factory in the morning. Do I have to visit museums you can see in Paris or Vienna just because I'm in England?"
As I teased, Bertie's eyes lit up.
"Of course, ma'am. You should see the technology our Great British Empire boasts."
"Duke Albert invited me to the Expo ahead of time, so previewing isn't bad."
Bertie must be more curious about steam cars than stuffy museums anyway.
"...Father does love showing off Britain's excellent industrial sites."
Bertie cleared his throat, putting on an adult face.
"I'll report that I couldn't refuse Your Majesty's strong request."
"Bertie. Shall we head out?"
He sold me out—I'll collect payment during the patent ordinance!
*
Arriving in east London, we looked around together.
The difference between my maids and Bertie's valet is stark.
My maids covering their mouths with handkerchiefs, while his valet follows unfazed.
"I've only heard about London smog...."
"Haha... it's a bit bad, huh?"
A bit? It's worse than the spring yellow dust back home.
I covered my nose and mouth, eyes peeled for companies from my memories, but...
None.
As disappointment showed on my face, Bertie comforted me.
"Automobile factories are usually in Birmingham, so hard to find in London."
I see....
Nothing to be done. Even if we can't snag top talent here, they'll be treated well in Austria, so grab who we can.
I handed my handkerchief to Hunyadi, swapping to a fresh one as I toured the streets.
"Even in the same London, east and west feel totally different."
Bertie rubbed his nose awkwardly at my words.
"Well, factories and slums are concentrated here. The air's different from west side Mayfair or Belgravia."
Street kids sat slumped, soot-covered faces blankly staring at our fancy carriage.
"Bertie. Don't those kids go to school?"
"School? Hmm. Probably working in factories or helping parents. Most London slum kids do."
Bertie sounded like I'd asked something obvious.
We're a bit better off than London. Our kids at least watch street circuses. And at least on paper, compulsory education is standard.
By the time we industrialize, British intellectuals will complain about child labor, so I'll nudge Joseph slyly.
We left east London empty-handed and were strolling the Crystal Palace when Bertie asked,
"Sisi, they turned Frankenstein into a play, right?"
I saw it once and quit because it was boring.
"Still sponsoring it steadily."
"How about Frankenstein in its home country? Or the scheduled play if you don't want."
Frankenstein in England—sounds fun.
Musicals about my life, Elisabeth, varied by country too.
In Vienna, I'm the selfish woman who ruined the empire; in Hungary, the saint who saved the nation; in Korea... the tragic heroine romancing death.
If I do too well, maybe no musical about my life?
"A play in its home country sounds fun. Let's do that."
As we enjoyed touring the Crystal Palace, a commotion broke out.
"It's noisy outside. Mind if I check quickly?"
A man was being restrained by guards amid the uproar.
"Go ahead."
"Be right back."
Bertie hurried toward the noise.
The bound man struggled harder upon seeing him.
"Hunyadi."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"...That face—now that I look closely, it seems familiar."
"Who do you mean?"
I can't quite place it... where have I seen him?
Familiar face, messy hair, shabby coat.
Hunyadi seemed to realize something and shouted,
"It's Andrássy Gyula! Your Majesty!"
Andrássy Gyula.
Right! I saw him on a wanted poster!
The one sentenced to death in absentia, with a dummy hanged in his place!
But...
"Why's he here?"
"No idea."
I'd heard he was flitting between Paris and London as a social playboy, but he looks more homeless than playboy.
Edward glanced between me and Gyula in confusion at his shout. He figured out he's an exile.
I ordered the maids,
"Bring him to me."
"...Your Majesty, but."
"No Vienna maids here."
Oh, one is.
"I'll fetch him, Your Majesty. The other Hungarian maids might get accused of aiding a condemned man."
"...Countess Königseck."
Trying to make up for past mistakes this time?
"You go."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."