Chapter 65: A Strange World (4)
Chapter 65: A Strange World (4)
Clunk.
“I’m sorry, comrades. I failed.”
Georges Danton spoke as he set a heavy object he’d pulled from his pocket onto the table.
“It’s all right, Commissioner Danton. The fact you returned safely is a relief in itself.”
At Danton’s words, Jean-Paul Marat waved his hands and replied.
“…Tsk. This one even has rifling cut into it, so it hits well even from far away. What a shame. Comrade Danton—did you at least get a chance to shoot that pig Orléans from a distance?”
Hébert puckered his lips as he picked up the British pistol Danton had placed on the table, turning it over in his hands.
At Hébert’s behavior, Danton and Marat twisted their faces.
“…I’m sorry to say this to you, Comrade Hébert, but I had no such chance.”
“Well, if that’s the case, it can’t be helped…”
“Still, I can say we gained something. The Finance Minister and the National Assembly will probably start moving soon.”
“Oh! Is that really true, Comrade Danton?!”
At Danton’s words, Desmoulins rose to his feet.
“Yes. His Excellency the Finance Minister told me personally to trust him and wait. Once the National Assembly moves in earnest, Orléans won’t be able to do whatever he wants.”
“Oooh…”
At Danton’s continued words, Marat also bared his bright white teeth.
“Well. I think that’s too optimistic.”
Of course, the one to break the mood was Hébert. Desmoulins furrowed his brow and snapped at him.
“…Hébert—what is your problem? Do you only feel satisfied if you throw cold water on everything?”
Hébert stared at Desmoulins for a moment with a face that looked genuinely confused, then snorted and flared his eyes.
“Cold water? Looks like you all think Orléans is about the same as that cripple Louis-Auguste, but do you even understand what it means that he fooled us for more than ten years?”
Watching Desmoulins start chewing his lip hard at those words, Hébert kept going.
“That pig Orléans is a crafty bastard who hid his filthy insides from everyone for over ten years. He even fooled me, Jacques René Hébert!”
Fired up, Hébert kicked back his chair and stood. The flame reflected by the lamp on the table wavered across Hébert’s face, making his already murderous eyes burn red like a demon’s.
“And now that bastard even has a small army called the Royal Guard in his hands—do you think he’ll listen just because a few suit-wearing types sitting in the Assembly yap?”
Not a chance. Hébert added, twisting his face.
After running his mouth without pause, Hébert stopped, took one deep breath, then spoke again.
“The best move was to put a bullet hole in Orléans’s chest, but unfortunately, it misfired. So what’s left now?
We have no choice but to bring down a second Bastille. And if that doesn’t work, then we bring down a third and a fourth Bastille too!”
“…We can’t make the Paris citizens die again.”
At Danton’s voice, Hébert frowned.
“Then what—are you saying we should do nothing until Orléans cuts off all our heads and displays them in front of Notre-Dame?”
“No, that isn’t what I’m saying. For now, we should wait for His Excellency the Finance Minister.
If he fails, it won’t be too late to plan what comes after.”
Hébert let out a sigh like it was absurd, then dropped back into his chair and spoke.
“…Every other sentence, ‘Finance Minister, Finance Minister.’ Ha. In the end, isn’t he a noble and a bourgeois too? Have you ever considered what you’ll do if the Finance Minister has been hiding his insides all this time, just like Orléans?”
“What? Hébert, are you done talking?!”
This time, Marat sprang up, his face blazing with anger.
“Marat, did I say anything wrong? You always have to keep the worst moment in mind. To be blunt, I don’t believe everything people here say from one to a hundred either. To me, you lot are weak beyond words.”
“Weak? You’re the one who’s exceptionally insane! How is constantly stirring people up and holding people’s tribunals ‘for the citizens’?!”
“Then what—can a revolution happen without blood?! Anyone who sucked even a little honey out of the bottom has to die to open a new world!”
Bang!
“Enough!”
Danton shouted as he brought his palm down hard on the table. His hand trembled in pain from the impact, but he ignored it and continued.
“Hébert—I warn you in the name of Danton. I don’t care if you mobilize the workers under you or do whatever you want. But if you incite ordinary Parisians and make blood flow, I will not let it pass.”
Hébert stared at Danton for a moment with a dazed face, then grinned.
“…Hahaha! Yes! Now that is Georges Danton who brought down the Bastille! Fine. I’ll do as you warn. But if Parisians shed blood first because of Orléans’s vile schemes…”
“Then I will gladly listen to you.”
When I got to Paris, I had to meet the Marquis de Condorcet, ask Mr. Florian what happened with the printing press, and also… right, I needed to talk to DuPont about expanding the motion-sickness medicine business.
So much damn work.
Seeing me with my lips pushed out, Mathieu asked.
“Hey. Why do you look so dead?”
“…Because I don’t think I’ll even have time to rest once I’m back in Paris.”
“Once you go to Austria, you’ll be stuck there with nothing to do anyway.”
“That’s true, but resting at home and resting far away are different. And ‘resting’ in Austria—there’s no way I can relax. I can’t even understand the language, and on top of that, it’s the creditor’s house.”
“Mm. True.”
Mathieu nodded and went along with what I said.
“Oh, right. There was something I wanted to give you.”
I dug out three small bundles—each small enough to fit in one hand—from among the luggage I’d brought from Versailles and handed them to Mathieu.
“…What is this?”
“Gongmyeong’s strat— no. Guillaume’s bag of stratagems.”
“Stop saying shit only you understand and tell me what it is.”
“I told you, Guillaume’s bag of stratagems.”
At my words, Mathieu shot me a look and spoke like he was dumbfounded.
“…You watched some weird Eastern pamphlet again, didn’t you?”
“Hey—pamphlet?!”
Calling Master Na Gwanjung’s masterpiece a pamphlet!
Tch… you people… do you even know Romance of the Three Kingdoms…? This is why you Westerners are no good.
I looked at Mathieu with a strict, solemn face and said,
“I scribbled a few things down on paper just in case. It’s absolutely not some pamphlet.”
“…Couldn’t you just say it out loud?”
“What are you even saying right now?!”
Say it out loud—what kind of heresy is that?
“Ah—no? So there’s some deep meaning?”
“It’s not stylish! No style!”
Mathieu opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before looking at me again.
“…Hey. Are you Grouchy?”
“What do you mean, am I Grouchy? That’s a bit much. And why can’t you take a joke?”
“Then what is it for?”
“Well, for the next few months I’ll be stuck living in Vienna, and it’s obvious they’ll have me under surveillance twenty-four hours a day. It’ll be hard to talk. And even if I do talk, people can forget things in the middle, right?”
Only then did Mathieu nod a few times as if he roughly understood.
“…But if it’s ‘stratagems’ or whatever, why are you handing them over all wrapped up tight? Is there a reason for that too?”
Shaking the three colorful bundles I’d given him, Mathieu asked.
“Oh, those bundles?”
“Yeah.”
“That one really is just for style.”
“…”
“You don’t know romance? Romance?”
“This m—”
Just then, the carriage’s front window slid open, and the coachman peeked his head out and spoke.
“Um… sirs, we’ve arrived.”
“Ah, yes. Here’s the money.”
I opened my wallet, took out five silver coins, and handed them to the coachman. The coachman grinned broadly and bowed his head.
“Oh, thank you kindly. Both of you, please go in safely!”
I gathered my things, got down from the carriage, and looked up at the familiar building ahead.
[Ears of the Nation: Grenelle Main Branch]
The sign I’d hung myself—now nearing six years—pocked and worm-eaten in places, was welcoming us.
“Wow. It’s been almost four months, hasn’t it? Feels like I’m coming home after a long time.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m starting to barely remember what the office even looked like.”
“…Come on. What are you—some old man? You’re nineteen. Anyway, see you when we leave in three days, Guillaume.”
With those final words, Mathieu picked up his luggage and walked away.
I also gathered my things, opened the building’s door, and stepped inside.
But what the hell is this noise?
Voices I didn’t recognize were buzzing from the office down the corridor.
“So please, just let us meet the Finance Minister once!”
“No, I’m telling you, if you want that, go to Versailles! How many times do I have to tell you the boss isn’t here?!”
What is this—why is it so loud?
Knock, knock, knock.
I lightly knocked on the office door, then opened the handle and went in.
“Mr. Florian, I’m back.”
But Mr. Florian wasn’t inside. Instead, two people I’d never seen before were shouting at each other at the top of their lungs.
“…Who are you? Where did Mr. Florian go—”
Don’t tell me they’re assassins Orléans sent?
At my words, the person seated at the desk looked at me briefly, then came over, beaming.
“Ah! Boss! It’s my first time meeting you. I’m Alexandre Pétion, newly hired at Ears of the Nation. Senior Florian stepped out briefly for work.”
“Ah. So you’re the one Marquis de Condorcet recommended.”
“Yes! That’s right! It’s an honor to work under someone like you, Boss!”
“Good. Let’s work well together from here on out.”
I held my hand out to Pétion. But when he saw my hand, Pétion only made a small “Ah—” sound and didn’t take it right away.
“I… my hand hurts a bit.”
“Ah! Yes, yes! Sorry.”
Only then did Pétion clasp my hand and smile brightly.
“I suspected it, but Boss—you really aren’t the kind of person with prejudices.”
“Hm? Ah.”
Only then did I notice Pétion’s dark skin. Skin I hadn’t registered in the sudden situation.
“What does skin color matter? We’re all the same people anyway. As long as you do the work well.”
Pétion’s face brightened again.
Then a voice came from behind Pétion.
“…As expected!”
“…And who is that person, Pétion?”
That guy’s nose is something else.
At my question, Pétion began to speak slowly.
“Ah, that is… someone named Saint-Just, who came up from the provinces—”
Cutting Pétion off, the young man about my age with that truly impressive nose rushed at me, grabbed my hand, and shook it hard as he spoke.
“Gu—Guillaume, sir! I ran a long way to meet you!”
“…Pardon?”
“You’re truly, truly great, sir! I read and reread everything you said in your speeches at the Assembly!”
What is wrong with him? I’m scared.
“I cried so much reading your speeches! You are truly great, sir!”