Chapter 103: Shine or Go Mad (7) "What… yeah. That's how it turned out."
"...Boss. Can't you just let me hit you once?"
"Mr. Florian? Let's talk after you put down the glass bottle."
Haha. Seriously, what a vicious prankster.
"And I'm not doing this to work you all to death. We're a family-like company, Ears of the Nation, aren't we? Soon, Finance Ministry staff will come and help, so don't worry too much."
"...Hmmm."
"Why are you looking at me like you don't trust me? When have you ever seen me lie?"
Mr. Florian shrugged silently, lifting his shoulders.
"Fine, let's say that's true. Then what are you going to do about dealing with the citizens, boss?"
"You know the stalls we used for the last festival, right? I think we can set those up in front, at the Champ de Mars, and fix a few things. The counselors can handle simple questions there, and anything sensitive or complicated, they can bring here, and I'll explain it myself. Doesn't that work?"
It wasn't like I could use clone techniques. How was I supposed to meet every single one of those people? I had to sort them and meet them selectively.
"It doesn't sound like a bad idea… but what do you mean by 'fix a few things'? Where and how, boss?"
"Like bank teller windows. Punch a bunch of holes, and make it so the counselors can sit down and do their work comfortably."
Punch a bunch of holes in a glass wall and go, "Hello, valued customer. This is so-and-so counselor from Nation Bank~." How great was that.
"...I can't really picture it."
"Ah, you know, like—"
I pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer and started sketching roughly with a quill pen.
Yeah. This was the kind of thing anyone would look at and go, "That's a bank counter."
The only problem was that the "anyone" was supposed to be 21st-century people.
"Oh, so this is the shape you wanted?"
"Well? Doesn't it look pretty convincing?"
"But… this looks less like a bank counter and more like a confession booth in a cathedral."
"Huh?"
Now that he said it, it kind of did.
Paris, Champ de Mars.
"Hello. Valued customer. Ears of the Nation. Customer Service Representative, François Noël Babeuf. How may I help you?"
"Um… So I can ask anything at all?"
A man in his forties sat down hesitantly in front of the counselor, Babeuf.
"Yes, that's correct. What are you curious about?"
"Next year, will the harvest be bad, or will it be good?"
"...Pardon?"
"Or tell me what crops I should grow so my farming goes well."
"...I'm sorry. I… can't answer that."
"What do you mean I can ask anything!!"
"Sir, we're Ears of the Nation. We're not God. I can't guarantee what the harvest will look like next year."
"N-no, but if it's the Finance Minister, you're basically the same as the ruler of the country, so why don't you know that?"
"...Th-the ruler is still a person. He can't know everything."
"What are you talking about? If it's the ruler, then of course he should know what will happen."
"I'm sorry, but farming… isn't it decided by how the climate changes—whether it's a bumper year or a bad year? How can a person predict that?"
"W-well, around this time of year, the priests always gave us guidance, didn't they? Like, watch out for this and that—like that."
"..."
"Anyway, you don't know, right? Tch. I just wasted my time. Goodbye."
"...Yes, take care."
Babeuf spoke to the man rising with an indifferent expression, but the man seemed not to hear a word of it.
"Damn it. If I keep doing this, I'm seriously going to go insane."
Babeuf wiped his face in frustration.
The first day was really good.
Wasn't the reason Babeuf came to Paris to find work that could actually help people more?
Of course… what he did at Ears of the Nation wasn't bad, but in the back of his mind, the urge kept wriggling—he wanted to do something more important, something that helped people.
So when the boss created a citizens' counseling desk—"Ask me anything"—he gladly volunteered.
"Th-that… are you sure you'll be okay with this, Mr. Babeuf?"
"Of course, boss! I really want to do it!"
"You already have quite a lot on your plate."
"No! I can do both!"
"Well… all right. Your resolve looks pretty firm."
"Like hell I could."
The more Babeuf remembered himself from a week ago, the stronger the urge rose up to go back in time and slap his own cheeks with everything he had.
What should he even call this feeling…
Yeah. "Misanthropy" sounded about right.
But again, the first day really was good.
"Um… Counselor sir? Is it true England attacked the Netherlands? My uncle works on a cargo ship that goes back and forth to the Netherlands…"
"Haha, no. There isn't a war between European countries right now, so you can relax."
"Oh, thank you! Sir!"
"I want to fight with Commander Lafayette too! Where do I go to enlist?!"
"That's admirable, but my little friend, you still look far too young to enlist. Come back after you grow five more years."
"Someone said the stock prices will crash. Does the Finance Ministry think the same?"
"There's absolutely no truth to that, so please don't worry."
"Phew! What a relief. Thank you, sir."
People calmed down and smiled at every single word he gave them. Those days felt genuinely rewarding.
But… starting on the third day, something started to feel off.
"I heard a rumor that the dead former king of Prussia, Friedrich, was homosexual. Is that true?"
"Ah… probably."
"Wahaha! Thanks to you, I'll win my bet! Much obliged! Paul, you bastard, pay up!"
"Is it true that Archduchess Antoinette really stole the diamond necklace?"
"It's nothing more than a rumor."
"Hey, I think that vicious bitch definitely stole it!"
"…I'm telling you again—Archduchess Antoinette was already proven innocent."
"They say a man named Guillot is giving people something called a vaccine, and it's pus that comes out of cows! If you get it, you turn into a cow!"
"…It's true that the vaccine comes from cowpox, but the claim that people turn into cows is a baseless rumor."
"No, it's true, sir!? People said they saw someone in Nantes in broad daylight go 'moo!' and transform for real! It's definitely that vaccine, and that English bastard Edward Jenner who made it is obviously trying to turn all us French into cows! If we all become cows, the English will drag their fleet over and burn Paris down!"
"..."
Once the great anxiety called "war" eased, people started picking up endless, nonsensical stories the way you ate junk food.
How did the level of their questions fall below even the ten-year-old kid from the first day?
The counselor at the next seat over—sent from the Finance Ministry—almost got assaulted, too.
It was truly horrific.
"According to what the administration investigated, citizens' anxiety dropped quite meaningfully, boss."
"Keuh. Like I said, I'm amazing."
"...Yeah, well. You are."
"Anyway, Mr. Florian, you're way too stingy with praise."
If someone does well, you should pump them up a little. That was how you made life feel worth living.
"Aaaas expected! You are the Finance Minister! That wise insight! That generous heart that cares for the citizens!"
"...Maybe being stingy with praise isn't so bad. Hey. General Dumouriez. This is the Ears of the Nation office. No entry without authorization, employees only. Don't you know that?"
"No! Of course I know! However, the light you emit, Finance Minister, is so dazzling that I had no choice but to open the door and come in without realizing it!"
Dumouriez—the former Royal Guard commander who sold out Orléans at Versailles, and now a brigadier general in the National Guard—said as he rubbed his hands together obsequiously.
From what I heard, his home was Nantes, so he had nowhere to stay in Paris.
No. If he had nowhere to stay, Versailles had plenty of rooms. Why not stay there? And you—if you're a brigadier general and a former Royal Guard commander, you have money too. Live in a mansion. Why did you have to, specifically, go and lodge in the house directly across from my office?
"...Should I throw him out, boss?"
"Sigh, forget it."
"That ocean-wide generosity! Truly worthy of being the savior of the French people!"
Fuck. At this rate I was going to get hemorrhoids. Seriously.
"Mr. Florian? Can you step out for a moment?"
"Yes, boss."
Mr. Florian opened the door, left the office, and went out, leaving only Dumouriez and me.
"General Dumouriez."
"Yes! Finance Minister!"
"What did you want to say to me that you came barging in during working hours?"
"Haha, what do you mean, say? I, Dumouriez! I came with no ulterior motives whatsoever!"
"...If you didn't come with ulterior motives, then you did come with some kind of motive, didn't you?"
"H-hahaha…"
Commander Lafayette said this man was highly capable, but when I looked at the way he talked and acted, it felt like he earned his stars not through merit or ability, but through political maneuvering.
"Handing Orléans over to our National Guard was a good choice."
"Of course it was! What France needs is not pigs whose heads are filled only with lust for power, but true great men like you, Finance Minister, and Commander Lafayette!"
"Ah, fuck. Stop. Please."
"Yes. Yes, Your Excellency."
The only people who made me crave a cigarette like this were Lavoisier, and—ah, one more. Mr. Goethe. What was he doing these days? If I could, I wanted to try scouting him for our magazine company.
"Anyway, you've praised me enough. Tell me what you want."
"Th-that… perhaps p—"
"No promotions."
Was he kidding? Why would we hand you a major general's rank? You saw the board turning against you, so you tossed Orléans to our side and waved the white flag, didn't you?
"H-haha! O-of course, Finance Minister! I, Dumouriez! I never cared about rank insignia at all!"
"Then what starts with 'p,' if not promotion?"
"Of course not promotion—what I meant was that I also want to attend this 'victory event'!"
"...Victory event?"
"Yes, that's right! Commander Lafayette won a victory and is returning to Paris, isn't he? I am a lowly man, but at that glorious place! I want to attend, no matter what!"
"Hmmm."
Attending something like that was fine.
"Instead, just in case, we'll confiscate all your weapons."
"Naturally! I will follow wherever you lead, Finance Minister!"
"If you're willing to go that far… all right."
"Thank you! Thank you! Your Excellency!"
"If you're done, you can leave n—"
"Yes! I will leave, Your Excellency! Please enjoy long life and good health!"
"...Ah. Yes."
Dumouriez silently celebrated.
"Right, the capable Dumouriez can't just disappear into some worthless back room! Hahaha!"
If he stood side by side with Lafayette and Guillaume on victory day, how easy would it be to imprint on the citizens that Dumouriez was revolutionary army?
Yes—he wasn't royalist at all. He was just a lackey the revolutionary army planted.
"Citizens! From the very beginning, I was a true revolutionary, a red Charles-François Dumouriez! Wahahaha!!"
Dumouriez laughed loudly as he stepped outside.
The top of his head, with only a few strands left, shone prettily under the bright summer sunlight.
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