Chapter 20: Deep Worries (2)
Chapter 20: Deep Worries (2)
“I imposed quite a lot, young Guillaume. Thanks to you, I leave with many thoughts.”
“It’s nothing. I was glad too—I got to talk openly for the first time in a while. Haha.”
Sieyès patted my shoulder a few times as if he found me admirable, then climbed into the carriage.
Man, he’s incredible. Even I—an energetic fourteen-year-old—feel like I’m dying from exhaustion after staying up all night, but this mid-thirties uncle is downright lively. Makes me wonder if he secretly took a nap somewhere.
Alright. Business with the lively priest uncle is done. Time to settle accounts.
I turned my head and looked at Bishop Serge, who still hadn’t gotten into the carriage.
Huh? Is this guy dozing off right now? N-no—at dawn it was me and Father Sieyès doing all the talking, so why is this uncle the one dozing now?
“Ahem!”
“Huh? Oh, oh! I wasn’t dozing, Guillaume.”
Bishop Serge jolted awake at my loud throat-clearing and said.
“…Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“Say… something? Ah… Between us, it’s not like words have to be exchanged, is it…?”
Oh? So this uncle is going to play dumb to the end, is that it?
“Why does a total stranger know what I carefully brought up? Not just a little—all of it?”
“Ah… well, you see. Uh… somehow… ha… ha.”
“Bishop.”
“Huh? Oh, oh! I’m listening!”
“Let’s say, Bishop. L-let’s say. If the judge over at the court, or a policeman, were to hear what I said—what do you think would happen?”
“Uh… mm. Yeah. I think it’d be a big problem.”
“Then why! Were you! Going around! Spreading it! Around?!”
“I… I was careless. Young Guillaume, please forgive me just this once!”
This country in this era is still a place where the king throws his weight around and wields absolute power.
So if you go and say to that—
“Ah, looks like your politics are fucked, so you’re probably about to get hit by an uprising? Kukurubingbbong.”
What happens?
What else—I’d be Shim Young getting grabbed by Captain Kim Du-han. No, would it be even worse than that? Even if I begged and swore I’d never do it again, wouldn’t it be guillotine at minimum?
“You should know better! Why! Would you! Do that?! Gyaaahhh!”
“I… I won’t ever talk about it outside again!”
“Outside? So you’re saying you’ll talk about it inside?”
“Ah… no, that’s not—”
“Isn’t this outside right now?”
Mm, good. Looks like the chewing-out skill I trained on the frozen GOP of Cheorwon as a Republic of Korea Army sergeant with a completed term is still alive and well.
Watching Uncle Serge squirm is funny, but I’ve chewed him out enough. Fine, I’ll forgive him—this much.
“Whew. Don’t do that again, Bishop.”
“Of course! I won’t disappoint you again, young Guillaume!”
Seeing his face bloom bright makes me feel good too. Uncle Serge really does look best when he’s smiling wide.
“Then I’ll be going now, young Guillaume. Please tell the lady of the house that the tea was truly excellent.”
“Yes. You be careful on your way too, Bishop.”
After saying his goodbyes, Bishop Serge pulled out something like a little medicine bottle from his inner pocket and dripped a drop into each eye.
“By the way, what are you putting in your eyes right now?”
“Huh? Oh, oh? Ah… this, you see…”
Uncle Serge flinched at my question and started darting his eyes around.
What is it. What is that.
“Serge, it’s nice to have a reunion after so long, but if we want to reach Chartres within the day, it’d be better to depart early.”
Since the two of us had been talking for a while, Father Sieyès must have felt stifled inside the carriage. He came down and walked over toward us as he spoke.
“It’s nothing—Bishop Serge put something in his eyes, so I was asking what it is.”
Father Sieyès heard that and shifted his gaze to the little bottle Bishop Serge was holding.
“Ah, that drug? It’s extracted from the poisonous plant belladonna. If you dilute it and use it, it’s good for motion sickness. You could call it motion-sickness medicine.”
“…Mo-tion sickness medicine?”
“That’s right.”
Sieyès answered like it was nothing.
But my eyes slowly—slowly, but with a fierce glare—moved to Bishop Serge’s face.
—Uweeegh. B-bishop. Isn’t there some tip for settling motion sickness?
—Hahahaha! I don’t have anything like that either!
You said you didn’t. You said you didn’t. You said you didn’t!!!!!
“G-Guillaume, j-just a moment—let me have a chance to expl—”
“No!!!! You!!!! Don’t!!!! Gyaaahhhh!!!!”
Forgive my ass. I’m never forgiving him.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What on earth did you learn under me, Serge. I, Sieyès, shared good information generously even with an impudent younger brother like you.”
“Gngh…”
Serge kept groaning at Sieyès’s words.
“Hyung, it’s not that I was trying not to tell young Guillaume…”
“Not?”
“Well, you know—shouldn’t depend on such things from childhood, right? A person ought to get knocked around a bit when they’re young—”
“Serge, you’ve turned into a complete old fogey while I wasn’t looking, huh? Hahaha!”
Sieyès laughed as if Serge’s excuse-that-wasn’t-an-excuse was ridiculous.
“Old fogey, hyung?! I’m such a progressive person!”
“Of course, of course—our old-fogey bishop is very progressive. Yes, absolutely.
Hahaha!”
“…Whew. How much longer are you going to tease me with this, hyung.”
“You brought up that incident with the café waitress to me for ten years, so shouldn’t I get to use this for ten years too?”
Watching Sieyès snicker, Serge could only feel the trip to Chartres stretching into a billion years.
‘Guillaume de Toulon…’
The carriage to Chartres had already passed the midpoint and was nearly at its destination.
Serge had been nodding off since morning, and it had been a long time since he finally conked out inside the carriage.
Thanks to that, Sieyès could calmly chew over his dawn conversation with Guillaume.
‘He certainly wasn’t an ordinary child.’
Guillaume’s words seemed persuasive enough.
Of course, it was something that had never happened even once in recorded history, so whether it would truly come to pass was still questionable.
—An uprising will break out soon.
—An uprising… Why do you think so?
—Consider the change in grain prices over the last thirty years.
—Grain prices?
—Yes. I don’t know the details, but the mill owner I mainly do business with said it’s jumped by more than double.
—More than double…
—Think of it simply. Nobles don’t need to buy grain. People in their domains offer it up on their own.
—I see. So most of those who buy grain are the common people.
—That’s right. And wages in cities and rural areas haven’t risen at all. The burden ordinary people feel will be enormous.
—That has merit. But do you think an uprising will happen just from grain prices? In the past, when France was caught up in war, grain prices rose the same way, yet there was no uprising.
—I don’t think an uprising will happen because of just one reason either.
—Then?
—The most important thing is taxes.
—Taxes…
“Taxes reaching ninety percent of income… It’s amazing an uprising hasn’t happened already.”
Sieyès murmured, recalling the conversation.
He knew France was rotting. But he hadn’t known how far the rot had progressed in concrete terms.
If the child’s words were true, France wasn’t merely rotting—it was like it had festered open, pus running freely.
Sieyès’s eyes drifted out the carriage window to the wheat fields.
Green wheat, already grown tall as if waiting for the coming harvest season, captured his gaze.
Fresh.
The sight of the wheat surrendering its body to the gentle wind looked fleetingly fresh.
Suddenly, Guillaume’s earlier words came back to him.
—Then, young Guillaume. When do you think such an uprising will erupt?
—Mm. I think it wouldn’t be strange if it erupted at any time. But it will definitely erupt within ten years.
—Ten years… ten years… How large do you think it will be?
—At minimum, I think it’ll be enough to burn away most of what we consider common sense without a trace.
“So even that freshness will all burn, in the end.”
As if trying to keep that freshness in his eyes until they arrived in Chartres, Sieyès did not take his gaze off the wheat fields.