The Trickster’s Ledger and the Crown’s Debt

I arrived in Madrid alone on December 8th, in time for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and slipped quietly into the royal palace through the back gate. There, waiting for me after several months, was the Count-Duke of Olivares.

Our reunion was, to put it mildly, a disaster.

"Count... Duke...?"

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the wig perched atop his head, and the Count-Duke let out a wail that sounded like a tragic hero’s final cry.

"D-damn it! Is it really that obvious?"

"Yes."

"Gaaah!"

He threw his wig off in a fit of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pique, revealing a forehead that had grown overwhelmingly expansive and a crown that had developed a rather shy, reflective sheen. I wondered what on earth had happened to him.

"Why don't you just stop wearing the wig? I think you'd look better without it."

Honestly, the wigs of this era are hideous. Having known the comfort of 21st-century hairpieces, seeing the Count-Duke made me realize just how precious the thick, luscious hair I’d gained in this new life truly was. I decided that when I got home, I would treat my hair with the utmost care. As I absentmindedly stroked my own locks, the Count-Duke shrieked and shoved the wig toward me.

"Do you have any idea how much this wig cost?"

"You should have used that money to pay off your debts instead. Besides, you keep taking my goods without paying a cent—it’s your love for freebies that’s making you go bald."

I couldn't help but deliver a toxic jab while staring at his glistening forehead.

"Freebies! I pay for everything with bonds, don't I!"

"Then, will you accept those bonds if I offer them to pay my taxes?"

"Ugh!!!"

"Is it normal for a man to issue bonds that even he doesn't want to accept?"

I was busy lecturing his shiny crown when a voice drifted in from behind.

"He has a point."

Philip IV appeared without a single attendant, carrying the full weight of royal dignity.

"However, Olivares is only doing this because he has no other choice. Juan, as a Marquis of this kingdom, I hope you can show a little patience."

"I am well aware, my King."

I knew this empire was already doomed, and that he was merely the captain trying to save a sinking ship. Philip was the shipowner, and I was, at best, the emergency repair crew. I placed the report I had prepared in front of the King and his chief minister.

"Now that everyone who needs to be here is here, let us begin the 1627 annual settlement."

I spoke leisurely as I waited for them to read the documents.

"I must warn you in advance: all the data I am presenting here is strictly confidential."

"What could possibly be so important that it needs to be... wait! What is this!?"

Olivares jumped to his feet, staring at the numbers in the report, unable to finish his sentence.

"Olivares. Be silent. Juan, explain."

"Very well! I shall provide the details."

"First, the linen and hemp harvest in Valladolid this year. We didn't plant them separately while farming wheat; the fiber crops simply grew well along the riverbanks. It seems to be due to the flooding, so I doubt we'll see this level of production next year without dedicated cultivation."

The first page of the report was dominated not by wheat, but by linen and hemp.

"I outsourced the spinning to the citizens of Valladolid and the surrounding households, and the amount of linen produced by the diligent women of the Kingdom of Castile has exceeded all expectations."

"You might ask, 'Won't there be disputes over retting if you produce linen thread on such a massive scale?' Even if I have secured the supreme water rights, using water resources wastefully would certainly lead to conflict."

Retting is the process of soaking harvested plants to rot them just enough to extract the fibers. It results in foul, stagnant water that kills fish and causes disputes with downstream regions. In central Castile, where water is scarce, many farmers failed to harvest linen simply because they couldn't perform the retting process.

"That is why I am not retting directly in the river. I have diverted water into dedicated channels to create retting pits, and I am purifying the wastewater as much as possible before releasing it. So far, there have been no incidents of fish dying or livestock perishing."

Once the large-scale retting pits were operational, the wild linen along the Pisuerga River vanished in an instant. When I posted a notice that I was buying well-dried, un-retted linen, merchants began bringing in a steady supply of crops from goodness-knows-where. There were far more farmers with stockpiles of un-retted linen than I had imagined—they had harvested it but couldn't process it.

"And while operating these large-scale pits and receiving dried linen from the vicinity, I discovered an interesting fact."

According to 17th-century common knowledge, if you don't rett linen quickly after harvest, the quality drops and you can't spin good thread. But by using standardized processes in large, lime-plastered stone pits rather than muddy river puddles, I found something unexpected.

"Contrary to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conventional wisdom, if the linen is properly dried, the quality of the fiber is determined by the time of harvest, not the time of retting. If you harvest when only the roots are slightly brown, the fiber quality is best when retted slowly in the cool autumn. Therefore..."

I was in the middle of a thorough explanation, but the Count-Duke cut me off.

"That doesn't matter! Don't bore me with your useless stories! Just tell me if this makes money!"

It wasn't just the debt-ridden Count-Duke who lacked appreciation for the hard work in the field; Philip, too, was looking bored. I gave up and told them what they wanted to hear.

"As the Count-Duke knows, textiles are effectively cash. Prices vary by quality, but even the lowest-grade, unbleached linen cloth guarantees sufficient value. If you look at page 8, you will see the conclusion: our final profit from the textile industry this year."

Olivares scanned the document with hawk-like eyes, his gaze moving like lightning.

"Wait! If the cloth production is this high, shouldn't the profit be higher? The amount of cloth listed here is enough to sell new clothes and undergarments to five Tercio regiments."

'Selling' to the regular army, not 'supplying' them? Our debt-ridden Count-Duke might have lost his mind! One might think that, but in reality, this is 'common sense.' The idea that the state provides uniforms and weapons as a free gift is not a historical standard; deducting them from soldiers' pay is a tradition dating back to the Roman era.

The concept of 'supply' being a given only emerged after the total wars of the industrial age. Pre-modern soldiers actually received a decent nominal wage; they were only poor because that money was immediately clawed back for food and equipment. Of course, our Spanish Empire couldn't even pay the soldiers, so local noble commanders had to feed them out of their own pockets or rely on 'plunder rights' and 'requisition rights.'

"That is because we must deduct material procurement and labor costs. Surely you aren't asking me to pay taxes based on total revenue without accounting for expenses, are you? Count-Duke?"

"Can't you just pay taxes based on that for the sake of calculation?"

I firmly replied to the Count-Duke, who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was trying to skin the cat without even peeling it.

"In that case, I won't be accepting any more bonds from now on."

"Guh!"

Having sunk the 'easy-money' Count-Duke, I moved on to next year's plans.

"Our linen business strategy for next year will focus on securing volume and investing in bleaching and dyeing—the processes that *truly* make money."

At the mention of money, the 'Mr. Krabs'—no, the debt-ridden Count-Duke—jumped up, his forehead gleaming as he devoured the report once more.

"Furthermore, we are producing 1-fanega standard sacks and canvas cloth made from hemp and 'lignified linen.' Our industrial ropes are standardized based on the thickness of a little finger; by twisting them together, we are producing everything from arm-thick sail ropes to thigh-thick anchor cables. Admiral Enrique was satisfied with the quality, so a significant portion has gone to his fleet, though the canvas cloth didn't quite meet his standards for sails."

The Admiral's estate, 'Medina de Rioseco,' is a day or two's ride from Valladolid. When I started producing canvas and fleet ropes, the Admiral sent his kin to conduct a quality inspection. The inspector was a stern, serious man who hacked at the ropes with an axe and set them on fire. "Apply pitch," he said. "Twist them tighter." He gave various orders before leaving. While the cloth didn't pass the Admiral's high standards for sails, opening a channel that paid in cash was a massive help to the company's liquidity.

"What is the Admiral doing! He should be using domestic products!"

Olivares, well aware of the cost of importing sails from the Low Countries, roared with veins bulging in his neck.

"It is only because the quality hasn't stabilized yet. I will ensure we meet the Admiral's strict standards by next year."

"There is still a lot of first-class farmland that hasn't been reclaimed; if we restore the irrigation channels, we can cultivate it. I intend to grow linen and hemp there."

Among the Castilian farmers, there is a saying that once you plant linen or hemp, the land is useless for five years. I had written a five-year crop rotation plan in the report—linen, fallow, fava beans, sugar carrots, chickpeas, then back to linen—but neither the King nor his chief minister had bothered to read the details.

"Right! So, can we generate even greater profits next year? Can you pay more taxes?"

I lightly ignored the tax-obsessed parrot and brought up my own request.

"I would like to receive investment to restore the waterways and build embankments to protect the city. As you can see from the numbers, Count-Duke, if Valladolid runs according to plan for just five years, I can provide the state with more than the taxes the Mesta currently contributes, either in cash or in kind."

I placed the new investment request in front of them. The estimated costs for each section of the waterway and embankment were cold and stark. Adults certainly love big, beautiful numbers. But if those numbers are on a bill, they prefer them to be small and modest.

"Inv... investment... so many silver coins..."

Olivares looked even more desperate, clearly realizing that if he just put the silver coins in, the money would multiply. Philip, having grasped the situation from the Count-Duke's reaction, answered on behalf of the man who couldn't find the words.

"Juan. I, too, can see that your plan is magnificent and grand. However, I am ashamed to say that this kingdom truly has no capacity for it."

-Smirk-

"I have a way, Your Majesty."

I decided to plant the seeds—no, the saplings—of wicked capitalism in this holy kingdom.

"Let us convert this company into a joint-stock corporation."

"What is a joint-stock corporation? Does it make money?"

Rather than explaining the intricacies of a joint-stock company, I grabbed his hand with faith and trust.

"I have no confidence."

"N-no! Don't say that!"

"No confidence that it will fail."

At my words, Olivares shook off my hand.

"Hey! Don't joke around in a place like this! Even if I am being chased by debts, do you think I'm a fool who would fall for such absurd talk!"

But it seemed his faith and trust in me were lacking. I spent a long time explaining the concept of equity and shareholder profit distribution to the Count-Duke, continuing my explanation relentlessly.

"So, will you not do this? If we start in March, we can grow more linen, more hemp, and more horses starting next year!"

"Hmm. If we can grow horses, I suppose I have no choice."

When Philip nodded at the mention of 'horses,' Olivares finally acknowledged the necessity of the investment, though he continued to express anxiety.

"If that is the case, how about we leave the royal share as it is and raise funds by selling shares of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the 'company'?"

In the end, it was agreed that the royal share of fifty percent would be maintained, and the 'company' shares would be sold only to 'those the royal family can trust.'

The settlement ended after a longer time than expected. The Count-Duke and Philip had to head to a banquet with the nobles, but I said I would not be attending. Philip suddenly asked me:

"Juan. If the child you are expecting is born, would you prefer a son or a daughter?"

"Whether it is a son or a daughter, I am happy with either. I only wish for the child to be healthy."

"......That is the right answer."

"The sun has set, so rest in my palace tonight."

"I heard that Enrique's maiden has conceived."

The Count-Duke of Olivares, acting as a chamberlain rather than a minister, guided me personally, and on the way, he spoke to me casually.

"Why are there so many people interested in other people's family affairs?"

As I grumbled, the Count-Duke stopped walking and spoke to me seriously.

"Pray to God for the life of your child."

"What do you mean by that..."

"In the end, the third princess has also been called by God."

Only then did I realize that Philip's third daughter had passed away.