Chapter 171: Sleeping Lions (1)
Chapter 171: Sleeping Lions (1)
July 3, 1793.
London.
“Woooo! Pour it! Drink it! How long are you going to keep us dancing with joy!”
“Did you see the faces of those East India Company bastards coming out of the Supreme Court earlier? Those greedy pigs, fattened up with avarice! Seeing those swine finally lose their momentum this time—ah, that really clears the chest!”
“Long live His Majesty the King! Long live the Tory Party!”
“““Long live! Long live! Long live!”””
After nearly twenty years of bickering, the Tory Party had finally landed a proper uppercut on the jaw of the Whig Party, and the atmosphere was one of full celebration.
“Director Guillaume, you’ve arrived! Hahaha!”
“Well… you called me, so I came. But Prime Minister Pitt, is there really a need to summon me like this?”
How should I put it…
This feels a bit like teabagging? Public humiliation? Like kicking someone while they’re down and then kicking them again.
“Of course we know that Director Guillaume maintains firm neutrality between our Tory Party and the Whig Party, but surely good things should be shared, shouldn’t they? Just think of it as being invited to a wedding feast. Hahaha!”
“Right…”
“Come now, don’t be like that. Let’s make a toast! A toast!”
Hmm. I see.
If I’ve said this much and he still acts like that, then Pitt… you really wanted to humiliate the corpse of the fallen Whig Party, didn’t you?
What a nasty adult.
If Pitt had been born in the twenty-first century, he’d probably be the kind of person who never lets his nephews win even a single game during the holidays.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
“What? You’re leaving already? The banquet has only just begun!”
“As someone who keeps his distance from politics, I’ll just greet a few acquaintances and head out.”
“Ah, stay a little longer!”
Hmm. How do I shake off this unpleasant man?
“Well, since it’s a rare day off, try not to drink too much. After all, you still have work tomorrow. Work.”
“Damn it. First that fellow Wilberforce, and now Director Guillaume as well? You really know how to torment a business partner.”
William Pitt made that remark, then opened his mouth again with an ah, damn sort of expression.
“Director, do you have a moment?”
“What are you trying to make me do this time? I’m not doing it anymore. I’m absolutely not doing it.”
“Come now, just meet one person. He’s a fan of yours. A fan.”
Pitt leaned close and whispered into my ear.
“That ten-year thing… you know it isn’t actually written into law, right?”
You bastard. Good grief. Are you even human?
“Hahaha!”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’ll give you exactly ten minutes.”
“A wise decision, Director!”
William Pitt led me into a room somewhere inside the banquet hall.
Inside sat a man about Pitt’s age, smoking from a rather long tobacco pipe.
“Pitt, have you finished drinking already?”
“Wilberforce. I brought someone I wanted to introduce to you.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Guillaume de Toulon, former Controller-General of Finance of the Kingdom of Revolutionary France.”
“G-Guillaume de Toulon! It’s an honor to meet you! I’m William Wilberforce, a Tory Member of Parliament! I’ve been deeply impressed by your achievements!”
Oh… really?
You’re quite the fan.
But… is that smell coming from somewhere?
“Excuse me, but do you happen to smell something strange?”
“A smell?”
What is this smell? It isn’t floral. Something sweet… but unfamiliar.
“Ah! It’s probably the medicine I smoke for headaches. I’m a bit embarrassed about it.”
“Medicine…?”
Wilberforce showed me the long pipe he had been smoking from.
“No, no! The revocation of the monopoly? Impossible! That sacred right was granted by His Majesty King George I himself!”
Denial.
“And now they want to inspect the company’s ledgers!? That’s a violation of private property! Surveillance of civilians!”
Anger.
“L-let’s compromise! A compromise! Honestly, even I think evading the 500-ton tax law was a serious mistake!
From now on, we won’t label ships over 500 tons as 499 tons to evade taxes! So please, just come back to the negotiating table one more time! I beg you! Please!!”
Negotiation.
“…How am I supposed to explain this to the Governor? No—forget explaining it. Will I even keep my life? At this rate, won’t I end up wrapped in a black cloth and thrown into the Thames in the middle of the night?”
Depression.
“It’s all over. Completely over. Francis Baring will kill us all. I’d better write my will before I die screaming somewhere. Heh…”
Acceptance.
Having faithfully gone through the five stages of accepting sudden reality, the East India Company delegation left Westminster with hollow eyes.
Out of the dozens of objectives given to them by their governor, Francis Baring, they had succeeded in preserving only one.
It was a complete defeat.
Yes. A disastrous defeat.
No—can this even be called mere defeat?
Even the once-mighty Dutch and Spanish East India Companies had been crushed by the glorious history of the British East India Company. Yet today, these representatives had drawn a black line across that history with their own hands.
The names of the East India Company delegates who came to Westminster today would probably be cursed by company employees for generations.
“…So what do we do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Being cursed is one thing. But we still need to survive, don’t we?”
After all, they weren’t nobles. What did it matter if their names were cursed? First, they had to stay alive.
“There was one thing we managed to protect. If we think hard about that one thing, we might still find a way to survive.”
“…Is there a calculator in this carriage?”
“Of course there is.”
On the road from Westminster to the City of London, the hands of the East India Company delegation began moving busily inside the carriage.
“We deeply apologize, Governor!”
“Hmm? Apologize?”
“Our incompetence has caused the company great losses!”
“Oh, that matter? Yes, you made mistakes, but nothing that would change the overall situation. No matter who had faced that opponent, it would have been impossible to stop him.”
Francis Baring, governor of Baring Bank and the highest director of the East India Company’s board, waved his hand dismissively as he spoke to the kneeling delegation.
Hearing that, the expressions of the representatives brightened slightly.
Is the governor not planning to cast us out?
We’re saved. At least we won’t end up as eel feed in the Thames.
But only for a moment.
The next cold sentence from the governor made the hair on their bodies stand on end again.
“More importantly—is that all?”
“…Pardon?”
Cold. It felt like a dagger had pierced the heart.
“So what you’re telling me is that the East India Company has lost its monopoly over Indian trade, and the Treasury will soon conduct an accounting audit… and that is the only information you managed to bring back after traveling all the way to Westminster?”
“N-no, Governor!”
“Then what?”
“We successfully preserved the opium trade monopoly you mentioned.”
“The opium trade monopoly.”
Francis Baring poured whiskey into an empty glass as he murmured the words.
“That is good news. And the rest?”
“T-that is…”
Standing before the intimidating governor, the delegation exchanged glances.
“We were unable to preserve the rest. However, if we expand the scale of opium trade toward India and China to the maximum, and convert all the farmland in Patna and Ghazipur into opium fields, we can maintain our current revenue!”
“Patna… Ghazipur. Hmm.”
The vast plains near Bengal occupied by the East India Company.
Patna and Ghazipur.
The governor knew those places well.
In fact, converting those plains into massive opium plantations had already circulated as a proposal within the board.
But it had always been rejected.
If the entire region became opium fields, what would feed the people of Bengal? That had always been the key objection.
“You know that problem. How do you intend to solve it?”
“If we import potatoes from Ireland for food supplies, it can be resolved, though at a slight loss. Also, the Turks are selling opium cheaply in Smyrna. If we purchase it there and supply it to China, the food issue can also be eased!”
“Oh? Quite specific. And realistic.”
The governor tapped his desk with his finger for a moment, then nodded.
“Very well. I will entrust the opium matter to you. Take this failure as nourishment and work with greater diligence.”
“““Thank you, Governor! Thank you!!”””
The representatives, whose faces had looked like they had been eating garbage just moments ago, brightened instantly with relief.
“Oh, by the way.”
The governor lifted his whiskey glass toward his lips and spoke quietly.
“That Frenchman Guillaume… the one who struck us from behind.”
“Guillaume… you mean the French Controller-General of Finance?”
“Yes. Surely you don’t still believe you don’t know who hit us?”
Click, click.
The governor clicked his tongue.
“His movements line up exactly with the route through which we were attacked. And he has a clear motive.”
“A motive?”
“According to my investigation, he once visited our London office. For business. And we charged him quite handsomely.”
Francis Baring emptied his glass in one swallow.
“Since we’ve been struck once, shouldn’t we return the favor?”
“…Where shall we begin?”
“Didn’t Guillaume de Toulon recently grant the blacks the status of French citizens?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
The governor stood and walked slowly toward the world map hanging on the wall.
After staring at it for a moment, he tapped the region of the West Indies.
“Do you know where this is?”
“French Saint-Domingue, Governor.”
“And this?”
He moved his finger slightly across the border line that cut across the island.
“…Spanish Saint-Domingue.”
“If I were a high Spanish royal, watching blacks across the border talking about freedom would be rather unpleasant. What do you think?”
Spain feared French power—but if the vast Russian Empire stood with Spain?
“Saint Petersburg. Madrid. Stoke the flames until our noble royals begin breathing fire. Didn’t we establish communication lines for moments like this?”
“Yes, Governor.”
The Baring communication network—built across Europe over nearly ten years at the cost of 450,000 pounds—began to move.