Chapter 159: The Crown’s Jewels (3)
Chapter 159: The Crown’s Jewels (3)
Early November, 1792.
The final leaves of the maple trees that had turned red in autumn now lost their strength and fell from the branches. Meanwhile, the salty air blowing toward London from the North Sea and the Dover Strait grew colder with each passing day.
“Hmm. In about a week or two, it’ll really start getting cold.”
“Yes, dear. We should start preparing firewood.”
People rose from their languid enjoyment of the cool autumn weather and busied themselves with preparations for the winter that was approaching right before their eyes.
The City of London, the center of London itself, was just as bustling.
From North Downs, where marine insurance companies stood in long rows, to Westerham Heights, the London Stock Exchange, and even Baring Bank, the Royal Bank of England.
“If the payment isn’t deposited by tomorrow, the deal is canceled! Canceled! You know this place is outside ordinary jurisdiction! If you don’t want to get shot while walking home tonight, transfer the money immediately!”
“Ha! Anyone stupid enough not to take the call option?! The price is going to the moon!”
“N-no! I bet on the put option!”
Citizens exploring this amusement park of money clutched bonds and stock purchase certificates tightly in their hands. Each time they entered or exited the exchange, they screamed with joy or wailed in despair at the constantly changing numbers.
For centuries before Wall Street seized the throne with its more aggressive methods, this place had absorbed gold from all over the world.
Some might click their tongues in disdain at the spectacle, but if one watched the City of London bustling from early morning with financiers, businessmen, and accountants, it was easy to see that this place would become the financial hub of the world well into the nineteenth century—and even the twenty-first.
Yet while London burned with excitement, the reception room of the East India House on Leadenhall Street—one of the most important buildings in the City of London—was filled with an atmosphere colder than the early November air.
“Ahem. Minister Guillaume, this gentleman is the representative of the London office of the East India Company. Representative, this is Minister Guillaume de Toulon.”
Richard Wellesley spoke in an attempt to ease the tension.
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Guillaume de Toulon, proprietor of the Ears of the Nation.”
“The honor is mine, Your Excellency. On behalf of the East India Company, I welcome your visit.”
The two gentlemen shook hands warmly.
But their eyes remained cold.
Like enemies meeting on a battlefield.
Yes, I understood that a company might raise prices in order to make a profit.
Everyone needed to make a living.
“Whew… what about twenty-five livres per hide?”
I wiped my face with both hands and spoke.
Fabric could eventually be produced with machines—perhaps by persuading Lavoisier or Doctor Guillotin to help develop spinning machinery. But leather required raw material. There was no substitute.
The man with the gold-rimmed glasses—who clearly wore something expensive—smiled pleasantly as he answered.
“Twenty-five livres? That would be about three pounds in British currency. Hmm… I would say that’s a little insufficient.”
I removed my hands from my face and tapped the desk where my cup of black tea rested.
“Representative, I do not consider six pounds per hide to be insufficient.”
One livre was the daily wage of an average skilled worker, and five livres could buy a fairly good wool hat.
In other words, I was offering twenty-five days of wages for a single hide of high-quality Indian leather.
And he wanted more?
Unless the animals they raised were phoenixes or qilin, this was ridiculous.
Yet the representative of the East India Company continued smiling calmly.
“Well, prices depend on circumstances, Minister.”
“Prices depending on circumstances? I’ve heard of seafood priced by market rate, but leather? Does the tanned hide still wriggle and breathe?”
“Haha. There are many pirates who target our cargo traveling from Bengal to London. The maritime insurance premiums are not insignificant.”
I frowned.
“…Insurance premiums because of pirates? The British East India Company pays them?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
The representative laughed as if he were some benevolent immortal from a fairy tale.
Pirates? Pirates robbing East India Company ships?
What nonsense.
According to Lord Wellesley of the Board of Control, the East India Company maintained sixty thousand guards and thirty warships as maritime escorts.
If pirates attacked such forces, the fish in the surrounding seas would feast well.
And among those thirty warships were six first-rate ships of the line with more than eighty guns—equivalent to aircraft carriers in modern terms.
A pirate capable of raiding such vessels would be like Somali pirates seizing a United States aircraft carrier while waving AK rifles.
Well… perhaps there was one possible explanation.
Maybe these pirates had writhing octopus tentacles growing from their chins.
Or perhaps they were protected by giant sea monsters.
Or perhaps their name was Davy Jones.
Otherwise—please.
Go to hell.
The idea that an East India Company ship of the line carrying seven hundred sailors needed insurance against pirate vessels crewed by fifty men was absurd.
If you’re going to scam someone, at least make the lie convincing.
I rubbed my temples with my thumb and forefinger.
Why didn’t I lash out?
Because I wasn’t a beast ruled only by instinct.
Of course I wanted to call in Director Oudinot from outside the reception room and split this bastard in half.
I even wanted to laugh with Lord Wellesley while fastening a leash around his neck and tossing a frisbee.
But placing the leash on the East India Company using Richard Wellesley and Mayer Rothschild was a move that had to be saved for last.
Even if I was a state guest and Wellesley supported me, to ordinary people I would still look like an economic criminal.
There was no need to take unnecessary risks.
Still, that didn’t mean I would allow myself to be cheated.
Someone once said:
Speak softly and politely—but carry the biggest stick you can.
I liked that philosophy very much.
After draining the cold tea to calm myself, I spoke again.
“So then, Representative, what price do you want?”
“How about eighty livres per hide?”
“You son of a—”
I swallowed the curse just before it escaped my throat.
“The finest leather sought by the Ears of the Nation cannot be obtained without the assistance of the East India Company.”
“…”
“Ahem. Well. Hmm.”
As each word passed between the representative and me, Lord Wellesley shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Very well. We will purchase three months’ worth of supply for now. If additional funds become available later, we will place another order.”
“Excellent decision, Your Excellency!”
The representative continued smiling until the end.
I forced a smile in return.
So be it.
I had hoped not to draw the knife—but now I was thinking carefully about exactly where to stab.
There are unspoken rules in society.
When fighting, don’t strike the groin.
Lend money to friends, but never guarantee their debts.
And in business, there is something called commercial ethics.
Simply put: if you cheat someone, do it moderately.
But apparently the East India Company had no such concept.
That annoyed me.
“Sir, how did the meeting with the East India Company go?”
“Tch. Talking about it only irritates me. It seems we’ll have to execute the plan.”
I spoke with a deep sigh to Mayer Rothschild, who had traveled quickly from Paris to London.
“Is everything ready, Mr. Mayer?”
“Of course, sir.”
I handed him a box filled with business cards prepared by Lord Wellesley’s newly established accounting firm.
“Good. Let’s give those pathetic East India Company bastards a proper blow.”
[Price Accounting Firm — No. 7 Riverside Street, London]
Mayer spoke to the financial prodigies he had personally trained—his own sons.
“Amschel, Salomon, Nathan. Are you ready?”
“Yes, father.”
“Remember this well. This is the first step our Rothschild family takes into the world.”
The three sons nodded firmly.
If the Rothschild family failed to seize this extraordinary opportunity, they would have no right to call themselves Jews or financiers.
“I will purchase thirty shares of the East India Company.”
“…I don’t recognize you. Do you have proof of financial backing?”
“I represent Price Accounting Firm, City of London.”
“City of London?! Please come in!”
The eldest son, Amschel, headed to Portsmouth harbor.
“Huckleberry Brewery! Ninety shares! Four shillings per share! Next listing—East India Company! Twenty shares! Fifteen shillings per share!”
“Price Accounting Firm will purchase twenty shares of the East India Company.”
“Twenty shares at fifteen shillings! Price!”
The second son, Salomon, went to the London Stock Exchange.
“No matter how many times you ask, I won’t sell. Find someone else.”
“I will pay five shillings more per share than the exchange price. You hold three hundred shares—that’s quite a sum.”
“…Five shillings more… seventy-five pounds?”
“Well, if you refuse, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Wh-who said I refuse?! I’m selling because I appreciate your sincerity!”
The third son, Nathan, went to Manchester.
The Jewish–Guillaume alliance had begun tightening its grip around the throat of the East India Company.