Moi, c'est l'État – Something's Terribly Wrong
Something was seriously wrong. I'd thought Mont Blanc was a mountain north of Montpellier or south of Lyon, but it turned out to be in the Kingdom of Sardinia? This was definitely a mistake. Mont Blanc was where the National Intelligence Agency headquarters was located—how could we have placed it in foreign territory? What a blunder. No blunder like this had ever happened before.
Why had we even created the National Intelligence Agency in the first place? Oh, right—to stash the money siphoned off through the MEPO bills. But why Mont Blanc? Hide it in some mountain... Ah.
"Terray."
"Yes, I'm listening."
"It seems there's quite a bit I need to hear from you."
"From where to where shall I begin?"
"Until I'm satisfied."
The proposal to establish the National Intelligence Agency at Mont Blanc had come from Terray himself. I didn't like being played by others, but if it was Terray, that was different. During the MEPO bills operation, he'd served as director and executed the plan flawlessly—a proven loyalist. Not only that, but he'd commanded the state of emergency, the Lorraine operation, and the New Spain operation without a hitch. He was my closest confidant. I could trust Terray.
But why had he deceived me?
"At that time, it was hard to trust Your Majesty."
"Then why haven't you betrayed me yet?"
"Because I've come to trust Your Majesty."
Trust, he says.
"Trust..."
Personally, I didn't like distinguishing between trust and credit. A business-like contractual relationship—trust but verify—felt too cold, and besides, I never extended credit to those who couldn't be trusted. If I was going to trust someone, I trusted them to the core; if not, I prepared countermeasures from the start.
"I've trusted you from the beginning. It was a gamble, but looking back, it was the biggest payoff of my life."
"Thank you."
"Of course. Now speak. No more delays. If there's anything you haven't told me, say it now. I'll assume you knew it from the start."
"...At that time, mentioning Mont Blanc was impromptu. France has so few mountains that I named a famous one I knew, never expecting Your Majesty to approve it."
A border incursion born of a mistake.
"If this escalates to war, what will our descendants think of us?"
"It's fine. Wars have started for even stupider reasons."
True enough.
"How did you avoid the locals' eyes?"
"With MEPO bills."
The most straightforward method, indeed.
"Must have cost a fortune."
"We didn't actually spend half an écu. A few 2,000-zecchino notes to the Sardinian counts and marquises, and it was all settled."
"And?"
"After that, there's been no intentional deception."
"I see."
A paranoid monarch would have flown into a rage at those words and started a purge. But I'd already purged enough power players. I didn't want to kill any more of my own people. If it had been necessary, I would have, but Terray's talents were too valuable to waste on my suspicions and obsessions. I'd just have to live with the nagging paranoia, like leaving the fridge door open or the AC on.
"Thinking you could fool a king. You've got some guts."
"I wasn't always this bold. After the coronation, you dismissed Comptroller-General Terray and even Navy Minister Turgot, who was next in line, and handed finances to me."
"An impulsive decision."
But there was no choice. I'd just become Louis XVI, facing the Great Revolution head-on—I couldn't leave its causes in those men's hands. If I had, it would have been straight to the guillotine.
"And that impulse brought us here."
Frankly, France's current revival wasn't normal. It was a freak phenomenon from betting everything on a single gamble and winning.
"That's why I follow Your Majesty's words faithfully."
"Ha, gutsy indeed. A reason to follow the king."
"Call it what you will. Unlike the outdated Second Estate, I think for a living. And I'm loyal to France."
Loyal to France, not the king...
"Repetition of synonyms is poor grammar. Moi, c'est l'État—France is me."
"I think so too."
* Afternoon, council chamber.
"Resume the cabinet meeting. Proceed with the Sardinian border uprising as discussed this morning, and have on-site commanders report preliminary actions as they see fit."
"Understood."
Popular uprisings were inherently uncontrollable, so ordering preliminary actions and reports was far easier than micromanaging with daily edicts. Better to back the field officers than wait for public sentiment to explode beyond repair.
"Next item."
"Yes. Finance director reporting. The deficit from the France-Spain free trade agreement signed last July has ballooned beyond imagination. We're minting funds at mints across the realm and covering shortfalls with stamped exchange certificates, so no cash shortage has occurred, but Spain's arrears are snowballing at an insane rate."
"Wasn't it settled with merino sheep?"
"That was the first payment—and even then, the pure value of those merino sheep was tens of millions of francs. Last year's five months of arrears, unpaid grain, and this year's full grain payment total 3.0392 billion francs. Thousands of merino sheep are worth a mere 800,000 livres. This is a matter of trust. Even trading surplus production, forgiving payments without cause would tank Spain's and France's credit ratings."
True. Spain wasn't a nation you could arbitrarily forgive or that would play chicken until you did. Not trustworthy.
"But how do we collect? Excluding this year's 2.12 billion francs, last year's grain debt is 920 million francs. Can't we offset it against merino breed purchase costs? We bought the sheep for 800,000 francs and the breeding rights for 920 million. That saves Spain's face."
"Last year's can work that way. But this year's is the problem."
Still only January, but better to discuss early than in December.
But beyond personal feelings, this was a grave issue. Spain had no money; France had no pretext. We had one, but the goods supplied far outweighed it. Even bartering would yield at most hundreds of millions of francs, and taking too much could spark uprisings like in western Sardinia. Given France-Spain relations, that wasn't even worth discussing.
"Don't just look to me—think of solutions yourselves. Isn't that why we're here?"
"Mediterranean Fleet Admiral speaking. What if we take it as debt?"
Bonds, probably.
"Deputy Finance Minister speaking. Spanish bonds have no value yet. Since the economic collapse four years ago, European bonds and reparations claims are worthless scraps. Even if Spain issues them, real value would be a fraction of a percent. Moreover, 2.13 billion now, 8.52 billion by contract end—Spain can't pay the interest. At 1%, that's 85.2 million francs yearly; just this year, 21.3 million."
Meaning bond prices drop below face value if credit tanks. I didn't know the details, but bond markets had such talk. Interest rates or short-term yields—traders went clownish over it.
"Foreign Affairs Director speaking. Shall we use this to fully seize Atacama Desert nitrate rights?"
Early imperial era bred imperial minds among bureaucrats.
"Rejected. Can't overturn a signed agreement. And pure monetary value isn't negotiable. We'd end up with equivalent exchange anyway. Didn't I say that?"
Apparently not.
"This discussion starts from Spain's inability to pay. Set aside monetary talks. If we insist on money equivalents, Spain must offset 1:1 to save face."
Which made it trickier. Like the merino breeding rights at 920 million francs—intangibles were nose rings or earrings. Merinos were so superior no one quibbled; anything else would draw "Was it really worth that?" pushback.
"Other ideas?"
After exhaustive debate, as exhaustion set in, someone muttered under their breath.
"Who just said that?"
"Yes! Senior military doctrine researcher!"
I glared at him.
"Your Majesty, that was my personal sentiment, not representing the institute..."
"Good idea."
Appoint him bureaucrat of the year.