Chapter 172. Power Struggle (3)
Clarisse's study, in the Rosemore family's Villa. Only the crackling of firewood in the fireplace filled the quiet stillness.
Clarisse sat at her desk, reading through an intelligence report that had just arrived.
What the Queen had demanded of Penelope was an act of charity at the Birthday Banquet. To distribute the Braised Ribs — Y&P Trading Company's new menu item — to fifty thousand citizens gathered in the square.
The surface figure was fifty thousand. However, accounting for the number likely to gather in the square on the day, it could swell to as many as two hundred thousand.
"I cannot fathom her true intent."
The Queen's underlying motive could not be fully grasped. If she had simply wanted to set Penelope up as a Counterweight against Clarisse, she would not have thrown down a challenge of such reckless difficulty. Yet this was not a mission designed to be completed — it was a mission that all but said: take the hint and return to the North.
If this had been Penelope from just a few years ago, Clarisse would not have bothered to do a single thing.
Left alone, failure was inevitable.
But at this juncture. What had to be acknowledged, had to be acknowledged.
Penelope was no longer the little sister who used to play house. Together with a commoner named Jurgen, she had become a proper businesswoman. To the extent that Clarisse needed to act herself.
Clarisse rose from her seat and walked to the fireplace. The blazing flames danced within her eyes.
Clarisse reached out a hand and felt the warmth of the fire.
***
The night of the capital Albion is deep and brilliant.
The gas-lit streets of the city centre were crowded with nobles' carriages out to enjoy banquets well into the night. Beyond the windows of the fine salons, the clinking of champagne glasses and peals of laughter never ceased.
Yet the place where true power moved was not beneath the splendid chandeliers. The whispered dealings exchanged behind quiet closed doors and thick velvet curtains — those were the true driving force that moved this kingdom.
Near the headquarters of the Capital Security Bureau, a members-only, high-end social club.
Viscount Guttera, the Security Commissioner who oversaw the security of the empire's capital, was sunk into a plush leather sofa.
"You've come, Lady Rosemore."
Viscount Guttera set down the cigar he had been smoking and rose slowly.
He was a man of large build, with a soldier's bearing from his military background. With Hector Rosemore, he had shared the trials and tribulations of life and death on the front lines — a comrade-in-arms and a longstanding friend.
For that reason, the face with which he welcomed Clarisse carried a rough warmth, as though greeting a granddaughter.
"I apologise for asking to meet at such a late hour, Commissioner."
"Not at all. Is Lord Hector in good health?"
"Yes, my Great-Uncle often asks after the Commissioner too. He says you've been working hard bearing responsibility for the capital's Public Security."
"Ha ha, that old fellow saying something like that."
Viscount Guttera laughed heartily and knocked back his whiskey. Clarisse took a sip of the tea the servant had brought and moved directly to the matter at hand.
"I heard you've been run off your feet again with preparations for the Birthday Banquet."
Viscount Guttera cleared his throat with an uncomfortable air and adjusted his posture. He had realised that Clarisse had not come simply as Hector's great-niece.
"Don't remind me. It's always like this at this time of year. One small mistake and it comes back as reprimand. ……So then, what is your business?"
"There is something I find concerning."
"Concerning?"
"If a fire were to break out at Her Majesty the Queen's Birthday Banquet, it would be quite a grave matter, would it not?"
"A fire? Whatever do you mean by that, all of a sudden?"
"Y&P Trading Company."
Clarisse whispered in a low voice.
"I understand they intend to distribute food to the citizens in the square this time."
"Ah, I have heard of that matter. I had thought it a tremendous act of grace from Her Majesty the Queen."
"Consider it for a moment. A square packed tightly with two hundred thousand people. And in the midst of that throng, hundreds of furnaces and oil cauldrons installed by Y&P Trading Company, all boiling away furiously…… Is it not quite possible for it to spread into fires large and small?"
Viscount Guttera's brow furrowed. There was no need to spell out just how dangerous uncontrolled fire in the midst of a crowd could be.
"Certainly there is a risk factor there……"
However, Viscount Guttera did not readily agree, and idly turned his cigar between his fingers. His expression was sour.
That sort of matter was squarely within the domain he, as Commissioner, could manage perfectly well on his own. Without Clarisse needing to tip him off, at that.
And furthermore……
"From what I hear, is not the owner of Y&P Trading Company your younger sister, Penelope? That child too would be a great-niece bearing the blood of Lord Hector."
Viscount Guttera asked, making no effort to conceal his discomfort.
"Competition or not, using the power of a government office to obstruct a blood relation's business — Lord Hector would be saddened to know of it."
He had no wish to be drawn into this family quarrel. Taking either side sat uneasily with him.
"Commissioner."
Clarisse drew a thick envelope from within her coat and set it on the table. The Rosemore family's Seal was pressed in red on the face of the envelope.
"My Great-Uncle asked that I pass this along to you. He said that with an old comrade-in-arms toiling away in the capital, it wouldn't do to sit empty-handed in the North."
Viscount Guttera's gaze rested on the envelope.
"Please, open it. It is a small token."
"Ahem."
Viscount Guttera cleared his throat and carefully opened the flap of the envelope. The document that could be glimpsed inside was a Transfer Contract for a Northern iron ore mine.
A mine that Viscount Guttera had long had his eye on. Without needing to add another word — it was a bribe.
"Th-this, I rather think this may be a gift of some excess……"
Guttera's voice trembled ever so slightly.
This mine was an inexhaustible spring that could sustain at least three generations of descendants after his retirement. However wealthy the Rosemore family might be, if they had prepared a gift of this magnitude, Viscount Guttera understood that he too would be required to accept a commensurate risk.
"It is not about obstructing blood kin. It is about preventing in advance the sort of accident an inexperienced younger sister might cause. As an elder sister, and in the name of Rosemore."
"I will hear your proposal."
"A radius of three kilometres."
Clarisse drove the point home in a bewitching voice.
"Please designate a Special Safety Zone within a three-kilometre radius of the square on the day of the Birthday Banquet. Outside of the designated Royal Kitchen, all use of open-air fire is to be prohibited. Not so much as a single matchstick to be lit."
"……"
Viscount Guttera fell silent for a moment.
Why was Clarisse asking for this? Guttera was a seasoned soldier and politician who had weathered every storm.
He quickly grasped the intent Clarisse had concealed beneath the surface.
The Queen had entrusted Penelope with distributing food at the Birthday Banquet. The menu was Y&P Trading Company's Braised Ribs.
To feed that many people, fire was an absolute necessity. Boiling, grilling, and simmering on-site was the only way to handle that enormous volume.
It seemed Clarisse intended to block the cooking altogether.
Meanwhile, banning fire on the pretext of safety was a perfectly legitimate exercise of a Security Commissioner's authority. There was even a flawless justification that no one could dispute.
And in return? A very certain gain.
In the brief time it took to stub out his cigar in the ashtray, the calculation in his mind was complete.
Penelope? A pity, but it couldn't be helped.
"Hmm, well, if that is truly my brother's wish."
Viscount Guttera smoothly gathered the contract from the table and tucked it inside his coat.
"Cooking pots in the midst of two hundred thousand people — it's madness. As Security Commissioner, it is a danger I cannot in good conscience overlook."
"Is that so?"
"I will announce the safety regulations early tomorrow morning."
"A wise decision."
Her business concluded, Clarisse rose from her seat. Viscount Guttera called after her as she departed.
"Lady Rosemore, what should be done regarding punishment for violations?"
"The harsher the better."
Clarisse added coldly.
***
The following morning, before dawn. Y&P Trading Company's temporary lodgings.
The reception room was a battlefield.
Snippets of cut paper were piled up like snow across the carpet, and the air was thick with the acrid mixture of glue smell and the scent of scorched paper.
While Penelope had gone out to procure additional materials. Jurgen and Serena had stayed up all night for what could only be called the 'Bowl Revolution.' As they could not immediately run a factory, what mattered was finding the final form for the Paper Cup.
The conditions were exacting.
First, the form must not collapse even when filled with contents.
This was resolved by rounding and folding the corner sections and fashioning a small arch at the base to hold the shape.
Second, it must not get wet. The paper had to hold up without becoming soggy even when filled with the thin broth and sauce of the Braised Ribs.
Connected to this second obstacle was the third problem.
The wax coating the paper must not melt.
It needed to hold freshly cooked piping-hot rice and boiling-hot meat, but ordinary coating agents could not withstand the heat and melted away.
"……I-I think I might die."
Serena muttered with hollow, vacant eyes. In her hand was one rough-hewn paper cup.
The result of mixing natural beeswax with birch sap — which raises the melting point — and letting it permeate through the paper fibres. A formula found after dozens of failures.
It was only thanks to the memory of having made the Grease-proof Paper Coating for CCC that they had managed at all. Had they been starting from scratch through trial and error, they would never have completed it.
"Let us check it one final time."
"Please…… please……"
Serena poured boiling hot tea into the cup with trembling hands, filling it to the brim.
One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes.
The water did not leak. The paper did not become soggy, and even in the fierce heat, the coating did not melt away. A bowl that was lightweight, stackable, and could withstand hot broth dishes was complete.
Which meant……
"Finally…… Finally!!!"
She could wrap herself in her plush down duvet and sleep soundly!
"Well, now that we've found the method — I can sleep, right? My eyelids are so heavy."
Serena rubbed her eyes and yawned.
However.
"Sleep?"
Jurgen's voice bored into her ear like a devil's whisper.
"Uuuurgh……?"
"Have we not just made a single paper cup?"
"……That's…… true……?"
"What we need to make is two hundred thousand paper cups. We had better get moving."
Jurgen grabbed Serena by the scruff of her neck and hauled her upright from the sofa.
"How much more are we going to do……?"
"Cut the moulds, modify the rotary press, install the heating plates, adjust the pressure, and lay the automated line — that's all there is to it."
"……I pulled an all-nighter……"
"Do not worry. I shall be with you so that Miss Serena need not feel lonely."
Jurgen smiled brightly.
He wasn't showing any sign of forcing her, particularly. Knowing Jurgen's nature, if Serena whined and complained, he would probably say 'then you stay here and rest' and carry on without her. That's the sort of person he was.
And yet……
"……"
There exists in this world a thing called social consensus — an unspoken rule.
For instance: when one's towering superior or employer leads by example and works diligently, the employee may not collapse and sleep. One must at least make a show of doing something alongside them.
"……Shall we be going then?"
"As expected of Miss Serena. I knew you'd say that."
Serena, doing something she had no wish to do, grudgingly gathered up her blueprints and tool bag.