Many say that music is the only drug sanctioned by the state.
But that’s just the delusion of a pretentious adolescent who thinks they have a deep artistic soul and are different from the rest. There’s a 99% chance that soone spouting such nonsense is in the midst of a full-blown teenage angst phase.
In reality, the only state-sanctioned drugs are tobacco and alcohol.
They’re addictive, sure, but rarely to the extent that they completely ruin one’s ability to function in daily life. Most cases result in nothing more than chronic dependence.
Rather than banning them outright and dealing with the inevitable consequences, most governnts simply tolerate them.
"During Russia’s Prohibition, people diluted hand sanitizer to make alcohol, didn’t they?"
“As you may have already expected, my lord, cochineal and tobacco have taken the empire by storm. Nobles and rchants alike are sending people to the Maasai Confederation in search of a tribe they call the ‘Cherokee,’ believing them to be the source.”
“Are they looking for Prester John or sothing? They won’t find anything.”
“With cochineal and tobacco in such short supply, they think that making contact with the Cherokee will make them rich beyond their dreams.”
“To an outsider, it must look like there’s a gold mine over there. In reality, there’s nothing at all.”
“The fools who fall for the deception deserve to be swindled. Ignorance is a cri in its own right. So why don’t we sell them fake information on the Cherokee and, at the sa ti, sell them overpriced supplies necessary for their expeditions into Ifriqiya? They’ll never find cochineal or tobacco anyway, and they’ll all go bankrupt sooner or later. It’s only fair that we put their wasted money to good use.”
Sebastian is getting quite devious.
I had only made a passing joke about the gold rush, yet he imdiately recalled the tactics used by those who actually profited from it.
Gold rushes never truly yielded gold for those who sought it.
But the prospectors were so desperate that they recklessly bought supplies at exorbitant prices.
rchants made a fortune by marking up their goods fivefold, and while 99.9% of the miners ended up destitute, the ones selling them tools and provisions walked away as millionaires.
“Let’s do it. Contact Ericsson in Soros and instruct him to sell the essential survival equipnt and livestock at a ‘reasonable’ price.”
“Yes, my lord. But what if their guides fail to locate the Cherokee tribe?”
“That doesn’t matter. They’re the ones choosing to go off and die on their own. It has nothing to do with us.”
“You’re absolutely right, my lord.”
In Korea, if you sold a life jacket to soone intent on jumping into the Han River, you’d end up in prison for aiding and abetting a suicide.
But in the Toscani Empire? Selling a suicidal man a gun or a dagger wasn’t considered a cri. Nor was it seen as an ethical issue.
If soone was foolish enough to die because they fell for a fake lead, that was on them.
Sebastian placed a stack of letters before .
“These are requests from various nobles, including His Grace the Duke of Visconti and mbers of the Sforza faction, all pleading for information on the source of cochineal and tobacco. They assu that our family must be involved in the trade.”
“This is ridiculous. The Maasai Confederation is only exporting small amounts—why are they coming to us?”
Under normal circumstances, such a request would be utterly aningless.
But in this particular case, the actions of these tobacco and ‘red fever’ addicts were entirely justified.
After all, both cochineal and tobacco were being carefully controlled by .
But here’s the thing—
If I refuse to tell them where I’m getting it from, what can they possibly do?
Absolutely nothing. If they’re so frustrated, they should have charted a route to the New World themselves.
“Knowledge is power.”
“The butler who delivered His Grace the Duke of Visconti’s letter ntioned that the duke wants you to deliver cochineal and tobacco to him as soon as possible. It’s not certain, but if you don’t hand over the tobacco within a month... he might just co here himself.”
“This is madness. I already told them I don’t know anything.”
“My lord, whenever sothing new and suspiciously lucrative hits the market in the empire, 99 tis out of 100, it turns out to be sothing our family introduced.”
If you are reading this translation anywhere other than Novelight or SilkRoadTL, it has been stolen.
“...I can’t even argue with that.”
I had once sold seaweed as an aphrodisiac.
I had scaled up the textile industry by thirtyfold using advanced weaving, spinning, and cotton-processing machines.
I had set up large-scale poultry farms, cutting the empire’s chicken prices in [N O V E L I G H T] half.
Given all that, it was only natural for people to assu that I was behind this latest economic phenonon.
That was precisely why they were rely sending letters and assembling exploration parties instead of outright demanding that I disclose the source.
I took the letter from the Duke of Visconti and began reading it.
[To my dear Baron Rothschild, my grandson-in-law,
Fabio, I recently ca across a company called the Louis Vuitton Trading House, which introduced a dye called cochineal and a product called tobacco.
I have spent a great deal of money acquiring so, but it’s not nearly enough to et my family’s needs.
Since you are the greatest rchant in the empire, I hope you can personally secure more for .]
At first glance, it seed like a completely ordinary letter.
But the handwriting and tone told everything I needed to know.
A noble of the duke’s status rarely wrote his own letters—his secretaries handled all correspondence, which ant his handwriting was never consistent.
Yet, this letter was unmistakably in his own hand.
Moreover, the tone was unusually gentle.
Even when the duke addressed affectionately, his writing always carried the arrogance and dignity befitting a noble.
This letter, however, read like a warm request from an old grandfather to his grandson-in-law.
As the saying goes, when soone suddenly acts out of character, it ans one of two things—either they’re dying, or they desperately need a favor.
[I’m getting old, and these days, my only small joy cos from smoking tobacco. I’d greatly appreciate any assistance you can provide.]
The underlying threat was clear: If you don’t help , I will personally co and make a scene.
Deus, have rcy.
I knew tobacco addiction was hard to break, even harder than alcohol.
But for a man as proud as the Duke of Visconti to go this far...
“The other nobles’ letters must all be similar.”
“They are, my lord.”
“Sebastian, what do you think would happen if I publicly announced that I was monopolizing the tobacco and cochineal trade?”
“As long as we obscure the true source—just as we do when concealing the origins of our gold—it should be manageable. If we stage so transactions in the Maasai Confederation and allow so gold to exchange hands, people will simply assu that a specialized tribe within the confederation is the supplier.”
“And if I keep the monopoly entirely to myself?”
“Everyone knows about the close ties between the Rothschild family and the Maasai Confederation. If we alone controlled the trade, there would be no imdiate cause for suspicion. Of course, political and economic pressure on us might increase, but...”
Sebastian grinned at .
“My lord, you needn’t dirty your hands with such trivial matters. If you allow it, I, Sebastian, will ensure that anyone who dares to challenge us regrets ever being born.”
So say revenge is aningless.
They’re wrong.
If you let yourself be trampled on without retaliating, people will take that as a sign of weakness and pile on even harder.
Even in a workplace, once you’re seen as a pushover, you’ll end up doing all the grunt work while soone else steals the credit.
And in politics?
If I appear weak, I’ll be on the guillotine in a matter of months, and my wives—except for Erica—will be sold off to who knows where.
“We also need to introduce new food supplies—especially potatoes, sweet potatoes, peanuts, and corn. Those crops will be crucial to the empire’s developnt.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I’m going to host an extravagant banquet and serve dishes made from those ingredients.”
First, I had to make the nobility associate these foods with luxury.
“Tell Baron Conte to have the chefs from Restaurant Rothschild prepare the finest cuisine. And let him know—if he fails, he’ll pay dearly for it.”
I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t ss this up.
Reviews
All reviews (0)