Chapter 230: International Railway Construction Joint-Stock Company (2)
[I understand Branch Manager Nathan’s concerns well, but after review there is no issue.]
“…I will explain the details once you come to the French mainland, as they are sensitive.”
Hmm. As expected, the boss had profound insight that Nathan Rothschild had failed to perceive. It was not that the giant-big American mosquitoes had driven him mad after all.
Nathan read through the official memorandum that had flown across the Dover Strait from Paris and thought to himself,
“What do you intend to do now, Branch Manager?”
“It seems the boss has everything in mind already, so now I should do my part.
…It has been a while since I last saw my friends at the Admiralty and the War Office.”
“I will send the invitations at once.”
After the secretary nodded at Nathan’s words and disappeared beyond the branch manager’s office, two carriages came to a stop side by side at an intersection in the City of London, where the Ears of the Nation branch was located.
Their sizes differed somewhat, but both had black bodies that would not show dirt easily, and each was drawn by only a single horse.
Rather than the elegant sort of carriage ridden by wealthy capitalists or landowners, they looked more like the sort of carriage used by cash-strapped members of the middle class.
“…And what business brings a naval lord here?”
“And why is the army here?”
The two soldiers who stepped down from the carriages parked side by side at the roadside glared at each other as they spoke.
“Both of you have arrived. The Branch Manager is waiting for you.”
It was the secretary who had gone all the way out into the street to wait for them and who now mediated between the two.
“But was not I, Arthur, the only one invited by the Branch Manager today? What is this seal—no, this naval gentleman doing here?”
“Tsk. As expected of a land soldier—no, an army man—always scraping by without money. Your words are rather coarse.”
“They have to be coarse, thanks to certain people who keep taking even the money meant to feed soldiers and pounding it into ships.”
“Hoho, let us not quarrel. Both of you are valued guests of the Branch Manager.”
The army officer in the red uniform and the naval officer in the blue uniform both coughed at the secretary’s words, but the looks they shot at each other did not change.
“Come, come, let us go upstairs. The Branch Manager is waiting.”
Not missing that brief moment of silence, the secretary ushered the two men side by side toward the second floor.
Before they knew it, they had been pushed into the reception room, where a young Frenchman of German descent waited for them.
“Major Arthur Wellesley of the Army, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Hardy of the Navy. Good morning. Please sit. I have been waiting for you.”
“Ahem.”
“Hmph.”
At the sight of him smiling with easy warmth, the two officers coughed once more and dropped into the soft guest chairs.
Nathan smiled inwardly in satisfaction.
Did it not show how favorably these two regarded Nathan, given that they snarled at one another yet did not storm out of the room?
He opened his mouth toward the army officer seated across from him.
“By the way, how is your elder brother, Major Arthur? I heard there was recently a conflict in India with the Kingdom of Mysore. Representative Richard Colley Wellesley, now Governor-General of India, must be having a very difficult time.”
“Haha, difficult? Not at all. On the contrary, my brother seems extremely pleased. After all, it is a chance to win merit for free. How could uncivilized natives possibly stand against the Redcoats?”
“That certainly sounds correct. Ah, speaking of which, I heard Major Arthur will soon be departing for India as well…”
“Haha, that is right! I am scheduled to sail next month.”
Major Arthur Wellesley nodded with a visibly excited face, then slowly spoke.
“But for what reason did you summon this… man and me?”
“This man? There is plainly a difference in rank between us, yet you call me ‘this man’? Does the army perhaps not teach proper respect toward one’s superiors?”
Watching the two bicker, Nathan said in a calm tone,
“I called you both here because there is an investment opportunity suited to you.”
“…An investment opportunity?”
“Oh! I should very much like to hear about that right away!”
What is wrong with this bastard?
Seeing Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Hardy leaning forward with shining eyes, Major Arthur Wellesley had exactly that thought.
For someone who did not know that Guillaume had once bestowed the grace of short-term stock profits upon Hardy and his cohort, it was only natural.
Nathan set down the milk tea in his hand and said,
“Seeing you so eager makes it worthwhile for me to share this information. …Have either of you perhaps heard of the International Railway Construction Joint-Stock Company?”
“Ah! I have heard of it! It is quite the hot topic these days among the fat-bellied financiers of London.”
“Mhm. Naturally. If all one has to do is put in a little spare money and later receive several times that amount in return, there is no way those with money would not know of it.”
“…Several times, you say?”
When Hardy’s eyes lit up, Nathan nodded with a kindly face.
“Have the boss or I ever lied to you?”
“Of course not! Certainly not!”
“Does Major Arthur Wellesley have any interest?”
“Well, no one dislikes hearing about making money, but…”
“Haha, there is no need to buy anything. Just hear me out first. So then, when the railway is completed, the annual rate of return will be…”
It was that family-bred gift of persuasion that had led the once insignificant Rothschild family all the way to becoming the treasurers of a hundred realms. Nathan was now making full use of that inherited talent.
Slowly, so slowly that no one would notice.
Ears of the Nation, with Jews at the forefront, was beginning to put down roots all throughout Britain.
France.
Paris, Counterintelligence Command.
Though it was plainly broad daylight with the sun high overhead, one room inside the Counterintelligence Command was terribly dark.
Located underground, without even a single ray of sunlight, and with damp moss clinging here and there to the walls, the room smelled stale and musty.
In that room sat one man tied to a chair, and two soldiers watching him.
“Ghk…ghrrk…”
“…No progress?”
“We tried persuasion, threats, and beating him senseless, but he still refuses to open his mouth.”
“Tsk. This has become troublesome.”
Captain Michel Ney, a man with curly blond hair and a square masculine jaw, complained irritably as he held a cigarette in his mouth.
It had already been quite some time since they captured this British spy, yet they still had not discovered why he had come. It was maddening.
“If I report this to the Deputy Commander, he’ll be clutching his head.”
But what else could be done? Michel came out of the prison room and climbed the stairs.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Who is it?”
“Captain Michel Ney. I have something to report…”
“Ah, you may come in.”
“Yes, General.”
When he opened the door and entered, a young general, dressed impeccably in full uniform as though about to head somewhere, received him.
“Michel, can you keep this short? I have somewhere to go today.”
“That is…”
Michel hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth.
“The British spy bastard still will not talk.”
“…Ah, this is bad.”
Napoleon made a disgusted face and spoke as though exhausted.
“Then naturally the Police Department will start complaining that Counterintelligence has done nothing all this time and demand that the prisoner be handed over at once.”
“But what can we do if he will not speak no matter what we do to him?”
“Goddamn it.”
Napoleon frowned and muttered,
“I’m going to get chewed out to hell by the Commander again. For giving the Police Department an excuse.”
“……I am sorry, General.”
“Forget it. As it happens, I was just starting to forget what the pattern on the Commander’s office floor looked like.
…Now go on and see to your work.”
“Yes, General.”
Watching Michel leave the room with a complicated face after snapping a salute, Napoleon sighed and walked out as well.
As the general strode down the corridor in broad daylight, the Counterintelligence staff snapped loud salutes one after another, and each time Napoleon lazily waved a hand in reply as though utterly weary of it all.
“You used to grin every time someone called you General, but now it seems you do not feel anything at all?”
“Of course not. It’s been years now.”
Napoleon said that to his younger sister Pauline, who had been waiting for him at the building entrance, and opened the carriage door.
“Driver. To Grenelle Street, to Ears of the Nation.”
“Yes, sir!”
“But isn’t it still working hours? Is it really alright for you to be wandering around like this?”
“Don’t worry. I took a half day.”
Brother Napoleon said that while dropping himself onto the guest sofa I had bought at considerable expense.
“A man who’s already a general using half-days so freely. I really, really hate that someone works like that and collects his salary from my tax money.”
“Why? Are you jealous?”
“Damn jealous.”
“Then commit tax evasion.”
Good heavens. To think a public servant could casually say things like that. As expected of France, where in the twenty-first century soldiers, firefighters, and police would apparently take turns going on strike. Even now, public officials already had rotten attitudes.
This wouldn’t do. I needed to hurry up and crack the whip over Lavoisier, Murdoch, and Trevithick so that Lord AlphaGo could be born into this world as soon as possible—
“You’re thinking something strange again, aren’t you?”
“I’m not though?”
“With the way your eyes are darting around, obviously you are. …Anyway.”
Brother Napoleon cut himself off, rolled his eyes about for a moment, then slowly looked at me and said,
“Have you ever thought about dating?”
“Dating? You mean that thing you’re doing now with Miss Jane?”
“Yeah. Dating.”
“Weeell…?”
As I stroked my chin and answered that way, Brother Napoleon straightened in his seat and immediately launched into rapid-fire speech.
“I’ve tried it, and dating is really good for people in creative professions, you know? And if you look at it, business is… well, what was it. Right, I suppose it could also be called a creative profession…”
“It is a creative profession, I guess.”
“Exactly! That’s what I’m saying!”
What was with him? Why was he causing such a fuss all by himself? Had someone threatened him into matchmaking for them or something?
“Brother, be honest. Did someone take nude pictures of you or something? And now they’re blackmailing you with them?”
“What? What the hell is a picture, and what do you mean took one? And blackmail? Do I look like enough of an idiot to let that happen to me?”
Hmm. He was an idiot, but perhaps not that much of an idiot.
“Anyway, it’s not blackmail. Among the people I know, there’s one truly, truly decent person. And just so happens that person doesn’t have a match, which is worrying.”
“So you’re going to introduce that person to me?”
“Exactly!”
Dating, huh. Dating.
“Well, it’s not a bad idea. So who is it? Who is this person, and where do they live?”
“Pauline.”
“Her name is Pauline? Same as your sister?”
“Bonaparte.”
What the fuck?
“Hey, shit! Are you joking right now?!”
“Why, why?! What’s wrong with you?”
“You want me to date her when the last time I saw her she was toddling around?! Are you insane?!”
“What exactly is the problem? Look at that man Grouchy’s sister. She married Director Condorcet, and there’s more than twenty years between them!”
Th-this fucked-up French culture. The Confucian Taliban inside me was about to go berserk.
“Is this madman trying to throw me in prison?!”
“Why would you go to prison? She’s an adult now, an adult!”
“Gyaaaah! No! Absolutely not! Even if the dirt gets into my eyes, absolutely not!”
“……Brother, do you dislike me that much?”
A soft female voice. I slowly turned my head and looked behind me.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Oh wow, damn.
Come to think of it, maybe there were circumstances where some dirt could get into my eyes after all.