Chapter 179. Cup Rice (3)
And so, the day of the Queen's Birthday Banquet had arrived. The moment of the decisive battle was at hand.
Whooooom!
In the sky above, the Imperial Airship Corps performing a celebratory flight drifted through the air, trailing plumes of coloured smoke, while confetti drifted down over the city like snowflakes.
Throughout the streets, bands in full uniform marched in procession, playing the grand national anthem. Through the gaps in their ranks flowed a diverse tapestry of humanity, converged from every corner of the kingdom.
Northerners wrapped in thick furs against the last lingering chill, the wealthy of the South flaunting brilliant jewellery, and merchants from the Eastern Continent draped in exotic silks.
The heat and noise they radiated were stoking the atmosphere of the Birthday Banquet to an ever greater pitch.
"Aaaaah!"
A roar surged through the crowd like a wave.
For at the far end of the boulevard, the dazzling parade procession had come into view. Led by a cavalry march blazing under the sun, a military band in red uniforms blew their horns in step.
Boom, boom, boom! The thunder of boots and the sound of brass instruments shaking the very ground.
Yes.
In Britannia, the Queen's Birthday Banquet was not merely a monarch's birthday.
It was the one day each year when the kingdom's power was displayed before all, within and without. A sacred holiday on which the Queen — the heart of the kingdom — met the eyes of her people.
The most magnificent and solemn of ceremonies, it was……and yet.
"Wow, there are absolutely loads of people."
"Seems like even more than last year."
"I wish every day were a holiday."
In truth, the great majority of the citizens filling the square had no interest in any such grand significance.
Displaying national power, sacred holidays — that was all the concern of those above. For them, today was simply a break from the tedium of daily life. A day off to enjoy themselves and revel, for free.
And so the collective interest of those hundreds of thousands of people converged upon a single matter.
"So, what are they giving out for lunch today?"
"Who knows? Last year it was rock-hard bread and watery soup, wasn't it?"
"The year before that it was boiled potatoes. I nearly choked to death."
People chuckled and gossiped, making sport of the dreadful food from festivals past.
Of course, this was Britannia. No great expectations. But free food was free food.
"They say it's different this time, apparently. Word is they're giving out meat."
Among the crowd, some had caught a peculiar rumour.
"Come off it, how are they going to give meat to this many people? That's nonsense."
"It's true, I'm telling you! Y&P Trading Company, or something like that — I heard they're handling it."
"Y&P? Where on earth is that?"
"I don't really know either. Apparently they're famous up North."
"Obvious what it'll be. Forget meat — they'll serve some thin gruel that just had a bit of meat waved over it."
As everyone chattered noisily, each saying their piece —
—Blaaaaaat!
The trumpet call of the Royal Palace Guard swallowed every sound in the square in an instant.
"They're coming out!"
"Her Majesty is ascending the podium!"
The two hundred thousand strong crowd filling the square held their breath as if on cue.
The very centre of the square. A massive crimson podium, soaring up as though to pierce the sky.
Escorted by the Royal Guards, a woman appeared.
Britannia's iron-willed Queen, Mathilda Alcaion.
A crown resting atop hair streaked through with silver.
As the Queen stood on the podium and looked down over the crowd below, all heads bowed at once.
Half out of respect for the royal family. And half because lifting one's head at this precise moment would mean being hauled away by the police stationed throughout the crowd and charged with Lèse-majesté.
At last, the Queen's lips parted.
"To those of you who have filled this place for us, We extend our gratitude in the name of Britannia."
The Queen slowly swept her gaze across the assembly, as though meeting each of the two hundred thousand people spread out below her feet, one by one.
"We know this. That the sun of the kingdom never sets not because of Our crown, but because of the sweat of your brows — those of you who have laboured quietly in service to the nation, unseen."
The eyes of citizens reddened, and the nobles arrayed below the dais bowed their heads low.
"Therefore, today We throw open all the storehouses of the Royal Household."
The Queen raised her hand.
"Your full bellies and your laughter. That shall be the greatest tribute you can offer us."
"Waaaaaaaah!!!"
"Long live Her Majesty the Queen! Long live the Britannia Kingdom!"
The cheers shook the earth like a tremor. Citizens flung off their hats and roared with exhilaration, while nobles bent deeply at the waist in reverence.
The Queen answered the rapturous cheers with a brief glance, then withdrew from the podium under the escort of the Royal Guard. In her wake, the Head Attendant in magnificent ceremonial dress walked out to the centre of the podium.
"Her Majesty has spoken."
The Head Attendant's solemn voice rang out across the square.
"The distribution of today's Birthday Banquet has been entrusted by the Royal Household to be carried out here, at the Central Square, by Y&P — a rising trading company of the North."
The reactions were varied.
"Here?"
"There's nothing out there yet."
"See, I was right! Y&P Trading Company!"
As citizens murmured amongst themselves — the air in the VIP terrace was quite different. Nobles with good sources of information already knew that Y&P had been selected.
"Ha, it's beyond belief. To think it would actually come to this."
"Y&P? You're telling me they gave this glorious opportunity to some upstart trading company without a pedigree to their name?"
"Even granting that they received the Royal Warrant……"
"When our Count Family expressed our interest in sponsoring last month, we were refused……"
"You don't think money changed hands, do you? Letting merchants into an occasion that should be displaying the dignity of the kingdom — is that any way to do things?"
Their displeasure was not mere concern.
This was an occasion for feeding two hundred thousand citizens in the name of the Queen. A prime marketing stage. A stage of opportunity.
Watching that slip straight into someone else's hands was galling.
Thus far — the impressions of nobles who knew only the surface of the affair.
Those who knew that the representative of Y&P Trading Company was Penelope Rosemore, and moreover understood the relationship between the Rosemores and the Royal Household, viewed the matter from a rather deeper perspective.
Several sharp-witted lower nobles, sensing their chance, flocked around Clarisse.
Their aim was to talk down Y&P in front of Clarisse — the true power behind the Rosemore family — and score some points.
"It is truly a lamentable state of affairs. Don't you think so, Lady Rosemore?"
"Indeed. Had you been overseeing it, Lady Rosemore, we would never have had this sort of noise."
"Ah, now I understand. You stepped aside out of consideration for your younger sister."
One viscount clicked his tongue and remarked snidely.
"……Is that so."
Clarisse gave cursory replies to every one of those flatteries.
Stepped aside? As if.
She had met with Penelope to intimidate her, tried to snatch the fire from her, attempted to poach her people, and had enlisted official authority and connections in an effort to interfere.
Even up to this very moment she had continued her interference operations without relenting. Y&P Trading Company had simply broken through all of it to arrive at today.
Just then.
"Oh, it looks like they've arrived."
"What an elaborate setup they've put together."
Clatter, clatter.
Through the murmuring of the square, a dull rumbling of wheels spread through the air. Nobles and citizens alike turned their gaze toward the source of the sound.
A vast tent erected at the corner of the square. Through the entry route at its rear, a procession of several hundred carriages was streaming in, one after another.
In every cargo hold, square silver metal cases gleamed and were stacked high as a city wall. Hundreds of cooks in white chef's whites poured into the tent in flawless formation.
The citizens stirred.
"Is it over there? They must be doing the distribution over there!"
"Quick, get in line! If you're late you won't get any!"
The sharp-eyed began rushing toward the front of the tent. Not a smell nor the shape of any food was visible yet, but the faces of the people were filled with anticipation.
"Her Majesty said all that — surely it won't be a disaster, will it?"
"She said the Royal Household's storehouses were opened! We can look forward to this!"
Clarisse knew. She knew where those carriages had departed from.
A disused printing house converted into a kitchen, three kilometres away.
Even driving the carriages at full speed, it would take time to reach this place. And adding the time for unloading, setting up, and distributing on top of that?
It would have gone cold.
Clarisse was certain. Food was all about temperature. However delicious the meat, once it had gone cold and the fat had congealed into something hard and white, it was inedible.
And besides — had she not had this square designated as an Open-flame Prohibited Zone?
Reheating it would be impossible too.
This was the work of human hands. Two hundred thousand portions. There would inevitably be cracks.
Even as she thought all this, Clarisse could not conceal her unease.
She knew it herself. All she could do at this point was pray for Y&P Trading Company to fail.
"……"
To confirm with her own eyes how things unfolded, Clarisse leaned her body forward.
The coachmen opened the carriage holds and began lifting down the silver cases stacked inside, one by one.
— Thud.
The moment a case was set down on the ground.
Ssss……
Clarisse's eyes went wide. For from the gaps in the case, something white and warm was rising.
It was not smoke. It was the kind of steam that would rise from piping hot food.
The entire silver case was radiating a scorching heat.
"Ah, it's hot!"
A heat so intense it made even the cooks wearing oven gloves flinch.
Clarisse could not have guessed the principle, but it was quite simple.
The rectangular metal steamers used to steam the rice at the factory — they had simply been covered with lids and stacked neatly one on top of another. When dozens of scalding metal containers interlocked and formed layers, they became, in themselves, a single enormous insulated lunchbox.
"Begin service!"
At the head cook's command — the cooks all at once flung open the lids of the topmost compartments.
White steam billowed up and filled the square. Meeting the cold air, those plumes grew all the more vivid — the sight of them alone steadily chipped away at Clarisse's will to fight.
Sniff, sniff…… wait, what is that smell?
And then, riding that steam, a heavy fragrance spreading out above the heads of the citizens.
The deep, meaty aroma of ribs that had been slow-steamed until fall-apart tender. The scent of the savoury-sweet Braised Ribs sauce.
A smell that stirred the most primal of human instincts — hunger.
"Wow, smell that. Incredible."
"It's meat! It really is meat!"
"Look at the steam rising! It's warm rice!"
A cheer erupted from the orderly queue that had already formed.
"And besides…… this smell is no ordinary thing."
"They're really giving that out for free?"
"Phew…… thank goodness I was lucky enough to be near the front."
"But won't it take all day to hand all of that out?"
Amidst the many questions, the distribution finally began.
"Distribution begins!!!"
The scruffy-looking young man who had had the good fortune to be standing at the very front of the line stretched out a trembling hand.
The cook stirred the steamer with a large ladle. In less than five seconds the dish was placed in the young man's hands.
"Here you are. Mind it's hot."
"Oh, yes, yes!"
Inside a white paper cup — steaming white rice. Atop it, a generous piece of meat soaked in a deep brown sauce, with sautéed vegetables arranged throughout to provide colour.
The completed form of the Braised Ribs Cup Rice.
It was the moment a historically unprecedented distribution began — one that would never be seen again in the entire history of Britannia.