Chapter 83: Everyone, Paris Is Safe! (2)
Chapter 83: Everyone, Paris Is Safe! (2)
“May’s almost over, and June’s about to creep in. It’s starting to get muggy now.”
In one corner of Paris at five in the morning, while everyone was still wandering in their dreams, the coachman Thomas spoke as he opened the front door and stepped outside.
As always, his destination was the eastern Paris carriage stand—where his two horses, nearly his entire fortune, and his carriage were carefully kept. Today again, a petty Parisian commoner set his two legs forward.
“…What the hell. Why’s everyone standing outside?”
To Thomas’s eyes, today’s carriage stand looked different.
Normally, the union head would be holed up in the office, clinking bundles of money for fun, but now he was outside, lining up carriages and coachmen and chattering at them.
“Union head, what’s all this?”
“That’s exactly why I called you all, so just wait a bit.”
When a few more coachmen arrived behind Thomas, the union head swept his eyes over them once, then spoke.
“Looks like everyone’s here. Right—everyone knows Ears of the Nation, the one our union’s close with, yeah?”
“Of course we do. Aren’t they the folks who bring us motion-sickness medicine?”
Nodding at the coachman’s words, the union head pointed to the cargo loaded on a carriage.
“Now, these are magazines newly published by Ears of the Nation, which is in a cooperative partnership with our union. From now on, every coachman here will carry them on his carriage and sell a copy to passengers—you’ll make a nice little profit.”
“Magazines? Like The Friend of the People?”
“Well, they say it’s different from other magazines and doesn’t deal with politics, so it won’t be like that.”
A few workers at the carriage stand came out and unlashed the cargo to show everyone.
Forbes with a black cover. Maxim with a red cover.
“…There are two kinds? What’s the difference? I can’t read letters…”
“Ah, I didn’t explain. The black cover, you can sell that to anyone. The red one—they said it’s an adult magazine, so sell it only to adults.”
“Adult magazine?”
“Supposedly there’s something sexy in it.”
“Then… how much do we sell one copy for, union head?”
One coachman fluttered the magazine in his hand as he spoke.
“They told us to sell it for about three sous, but can’t you charge a bit more? Just don’t go below five sous. Now, if you’ve all got your share, move it, move it! If you want to earn a lot today too, you’ve got to put one more chunk of bread into your brats’ mouths, right?”
“Haha, can’t argue with that!”
“Alright, sell a lot. Now get lost and go work.”
At the union head’s usual barked order, the coachmen snickered, climbed onto their carriages, and snapped their reins.
“Hey, coachman! Let me ride!”
“Welcome! Where shall I take you?”
Thomas took off his hat toward the passenger climbing aboard and spoke.
“Let’s go to Fontainebleau. And give me one motion-sickness medicine. I used it once, and now I can’t ride a carriage without it.”
“Yes, I’ll take you that way!”
As Thomas pulled out the box under the driver’s seat and took out a motion-sickness medicine, his eyes caught the bundle of magazines he had received that morning, set beside the medicine box.
“Ah. Sir, can you read?”
“Read? I can read, sure… Why?”
“These are new magazines. For something to pass the time, wouldn’t you like to buy one and take a look?”
At Thomas’s words, the passenger frowned and waved a hand.
“What magazines? No. I’m sick of politics now. Every day all I hear is that they fought and fought again in that Versailles Assembly. Damn it—it makes you want to throw up.”
“Well, I don’t really know the ways of the high-and-mighty, but our union head said this one’s different from other magazines, so why not read it once?”
“…If you insist that much… Fine. I’ll buy one and consider it getting fooled once. Give me a copy.”
“There are two, a black one and a red one. Which would you like?”
“Even buying a magazine is such a pain. Give me the black one. …Forbes? Did some English bastard make this? What kind of name is that?”
Looking at the magazine title Thomas handed him, the passenger frowned again.
“…‘Why the Habsburgs and Tatars Are Trembling Because France Did “This”’? What the…”
At the overwhelmingly intense headline of the first article, the passenger slowly began to get pulled in.
“…Sir! Passenger!”
“Huh?! Ah! What is it?”
Startled by the voice calling him, the passenger set down the magazine he had been reading.
“Are you not listening when someone’s talking to you? We’ve arrived at the destination—Fontainebleau.”
“……Already?”
“……We’ve been riding for nearly three hours. What do you mean, already?”
At Thomas’s words, the passenger pulled a pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time.
11 a.m.
It really had been three hours since departure.
The passenger stuffed the pocket watch back into his pocket, then fluttered the magazine in his hand and said,
“Ah—no. How much do you sell this magazine for?”
“Thre— ahem. No, five sous a copy.”
He carries a pocket watch, so he looks fairly well-off. Two more sous won’t kill him, right?
Thomas cleared his throat as he spoke.
“H-here. This is the money for the carriage fare and everything together.”
“Thanks. Then goodbye— …He can’t take his eyes off it.”
Watching the passenger walk down the road after getting off, still keeping his gaze fixed on the magazine, Thomas grumbled so softly no one could hear.
Early June, 1790.
Paris, Ears of the Nation magazine office.
“Me! Give me one copy!”
“No, damn it—if you cut it off at ‘Why the Tatars Are Trembling After the Habsburgs Fear France,’ what the hell is that supposed to mean?! Put out the next part right now! Aaaaargh!!!”
“Why the hell isn’t our shop’s product in ‘Top 5 Best-Selling Items in Paris’?! You bastards rigged it together!”
“W-wait, everyone, please calm down… We have plenty of stock, so please line up and take them in order!”
“I’m sales, not editorial! Even if you do this to me, I can’t do anything for you!”
“‘Top 5 Best-Selling Items in Paris’ is a fair result obtained through author Donatien Sade’s impartial judging and a survey of some of the citizens of Paris!”
Those trying to break through, and those trying to hold them back.
The sales department of Ears of the Nation’s magazine office was barely holding back the enormous crowd pouring in.
Along the way, there was even an unfortunate incident where someone grabbed an employee by the collar and shook him, demanding the next installment immediately—but if you thought about it, didn’t that just mean it was that popular?
In any case, after only one week since publication, the magazine Forbes had ended up occupying every corner of Paris.
Even in factories and offices.
“Did you see yesterday’s Forbes?”
“Of course I did! You mean ‘France’s Pride! Why the Habsburg Bastards and Tatar Barbarians Covet Onion Dishes,’ right?”
“That’s the one! After reading that, I decided on onion soup for dinner. After only seeing magazines lately where they just tear at each other every day, reading Forbes actually made me laugh for the first time in a while. I’m going to sign up for a Forbes subscription from now on.”
“Oh, right—if you do that subscription thing, they deliver the magazine to your door every day, right? I’ve been debating whether to do it…”
“Do it! They say with a subscription, three issues a month are delivered free. Three issues—that’s saving almost six to seven sous, isn’t it? It’s not like money comes out of the ground. That’s ‘eat the pheasant and get the egg’!”
“‘Eat the pheasant and get the egg’? What does that mean?”
“Come on, my friend. You haven’t read today’s Forbes yet, have you? They said it’s an Eastern proverb! Doesn’t it make you look educated?”
Even places where neighborhood housewives gathered.
“Oh my, how do you make this?”
“I tried it the way Forbes said in last Wednesday’s ‘Recipe of the Month.’ How is it?”
“How is it?! It’s so good! Please tell me how too, ma’am!”
“Alright, first gather up all the small trash fish…”
Paris was noisy all over with talk from Forbes.
And though it was overshadowed by Forbes, Maxim was also doing well in its own way, showing considerable sales.
“Hey, hey—you really brought it?”
“Of course! Do you know how hard it was not to get caught by the dorm supervisor?”
“Where, where—let me see too!”
“‘Dieudonné smiled gently at Eugène, who had returned after a long time.’ Whoa, it’s real?”
“Hey, who do you think I am? Of course this is the new Maxim edition!”
“No, how did you get this? You can’t buy it unless you’re an adult.”
“Obviously I stole it—my older brother had it hidden in his room!”
For French people exhausted by a year of chaos, Forbes quickly became a shower of rain that visited their dry daily lives.
“How is that possible?”
“Huh? What is?”
“This is an entirely new attempt, completely different from existing magazines, isn’t it? What on earth did you think would happen?”
“…Hmm.”
Why? Because magazines were like that in the future.
If I said that, he’d look at me like I was insane.
I sat with a perfectly rational face and spoke to Mr. Florian.
“Mr. Florian, as a Parisian, think about it once. Killing people, sparing people, the king changing, citizens storming and taking the Bastille fortress. How hard have people had it over the past year?”
“…That’s true.”
“No one in this world wants to hear only bad news. Think of it as exploiting that gap well. And, well, it might be self-admiration, but didn’t I at least help people breathe a little?”
In this world, even though it’s livable and it feels like the world is changing quite a lot the way people want, there are only two kinds of people who spew nothing but curses.
Those trying to climb to the top through chaos, or reds.
For the record, I’m a thorough capitalist and a person full of altruism.
Ugh. Reds. I hate that.
“You’re saying it as if it’s extremely logical and rational.”
“Right?”
“Yes, well… fine.”
That’s too much.
“…How did you secure a potato farm?”
To quickly forget my gloom, I changed the topic and spoke to Mr. Florian.
“As you said, I did acquire a potato farm, but what are you trying to do with it?”
“Fry them, then add them to Ears of the Nation convenience meals and sell them.”
“Ha… More work?”
“If you try it, you won’t say that. Oh—and since I need to make a sauce with tomatoes for that too, look into tomatoes as well.”
French fries with ketchup were the truth, weren’t they.
It was a bit of a shame there was no cola yet, though.
“Tomatoes? Boss, aren’t those poisonous plants? How do you eat that?”
“…What?”
Tomatoes are poisonous plants?