Chapter 73. Knife-Ears (1)
Half of the gold bars received from the King of Fatima were sent to the Marcel branch of Rosso Bank.
They would be transferred to Veneto and used to help pay for the ships I had ordered.
Sir Pirel was still in Veneto.
He could handle the details.
Then came a meeting with the craftsmen producing Royal Marcel.
“So you want us to paint with gold?”
“Painting is fine, but I also want gold borders around every edge. Make it look luxurious.”
“Hmm. We’ll need to melt the gold or produce paint mixed with gold powder. Understood. We’ll try.”
I decided to use part of the gold to decorate noble-grade tableware sets.
Gold was the most aristocratic color in this world.
“And we are dividing the production process into specialized steps as you ordered, my lord. But there are still many mistakes.”
“It is essential for mass production. Do not neglect it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
After the whip came the carrot.
“If the factory expands, your wages, ownership shares, and positions will all rise. Work hard.”
“Even our positions? Oh, our merciful lord, thank you!”
Like stock options, I had promised additional shares to craftsmen who worked loyally until retirement.
Now that I had also promised higher positions, naturally they were motivated.
Reward good work properly.
In this world, simply following that principle was enough to make most subordinates work hard.
* * *
An envoy also arrived from the Berber Kingdom.
The King’s letter contained nothing special.
It merely announced that sugar sales had officially begun.
Since the letter lacked details, I asked the envoy directly.
“Have you secured sales routes for the sugar?”
“We established branches in major trading ports such as Veneto and Lisboa. There is one sales office in each important country.”
“Branches?”
“The royal family established a sugar sales company.”
Wait.
What about my ownership share?
“Do you know anything about dividend payments?”
“I personally do not.”
“When you return, send an official who can explain the dividend system.”
“Yes, Viscount.”
“And are you competing with Fatima on sugar prices?”
Had the chicken game already begun?
“No. The two kingdoms agreed to fix the sugar price through mutual consultation.”
“So you formed a cartel. With your enemy.”
“Ahem. We ‘consulted.’”
That is called a cartel.
The fixed price arrangement probably would not last long.
Money had pushed the two enemies into cooperation.
Money would eventually push them back into a price war.
Northern Continent nations were already crossing the ocean to establish colonies on the Western Continent.
At minimum, perhaps two years.
At most, three or four.
The moment they discovered land suitable for sugarcane, the game would begin.
“Um... Viscount. About Royal Marcel.”
“You want more?”
“Yes. And do you intend to apply for a patent on the manufacturing method?”
“Only a product patent.”
“May I ask why? If Berber could produce it too, we could supply more markets.”
I silently pointed through the window.
Yasmin Fatima was outside enjoying a garden tea party with Mother.
“She is wearing traditional Fatima clothing.”
“Yes. She came because the Fatima royal family wants Royal Marcel.”
“...I understand what you mean.”
In other words,
It is already being produced and sold successfully.
Do not interfere.
I planned to expand production inside Marcel anyway.
There was no need to build another factory in Berber.
High-value products are produced inside the territory.
That was my principle.
The antidiarrheal medicine, compass, and Royal Marcel would all be produced in Marcel.
“Viscount, there is also a question about the cattle bones. They asked what you are using them for.”
“Naturally, we burn them and use them as fertilizer. Doesn’t Berber also use bones as fertilizer?”
“Ah, I see. Many people wondered whether you were producing another new product.”
“They’ll be disappointed that it is nothing special.”
“Hahaha...”
He obviously knew I was lying.
Still, he could not question me further.
The disappointed envoy moved to another topic.
“The workers who will build the sugar factory in Marcel will arrive soon. After the barley harvest, we will gradually send workers who will cultivate cattle-feed beet. There are still around two months, so I would like to inspect the villages where our people will live.”
“The factory site, immigrant housing, and farmland are already prepared. Come with me tomorrow and inspect them personally.”
“It will be an honor.”
* * *
The next day.
I toured the future sugar factory, immigrant housing area, and planned cattle-feed beet fields with the Berber envoy.
Finally, we met the carpenters constructing houses for the immigrants.
The envoy had specifically requested the meeting.
“Traditional Berber houses use thick mud walls, which keep the interior cool even during the day. These wooden houses will be uncomfortable.”
Damn.
He was picky.
The carpenters began sweating nervously.
“The climate here is very different from Berber, sir. And if we build every wall from mud, how long do you think construction will take? We also lack suitable yellow clay.”
Actually, when building huge numbers of houses, wooden construction could take longer.
What the carpenter really meant was,
We have never built Berber-style mud houses before.
Learning through trial and error will take too long.
Then the envoy even wiped imaginary tears from his eyes with a handkerchief.
“If His Majesty learns that his poor subjects must live in houses like these, he will be deeply saddened.”
This was starting to irritate me.
Still, I understood.
If someone forced me to eat and sleep inside a type of house I had never lived in before, I would also worry.
And the immigrants arriving this time were not slaves.
They were free citizens.
They were probably gathered from poor districts.
Still, they were Berber citizens.
Their government naturally cared about their housing.
“This is the best Marcel can currently provide. We cannot do more. If you want improvements, send craftsmen who know how to build mud houses, along with the necessary materials.”
“Are you truly allowing that?”
Huh?
He answered way too quickly.
As if he had been waiting for exactly those words.
Suspicious.
I pulled the envoy aside.
“Yes. When you return, load everything onto ships and send it.”
“Thank you, Viscount.”
“But about those immigrants.”
“Yes?”
“Are any nobles mixed among them? A tribal chief, perhaps?”
The envoy jumped slightly.
His long elven ears turned red.
“Uh... Um...”
“It’s fine. I’m not accusing you of anything. Tell me. I need to know if I am supposed to ‘protect’ someone.”
