Chapter 262: Prison Tower?
"The southern wine has a decent aroma too."
Now that I had a rough grasp of the situation, I could breathe a little easier. The inner workings of the Hoenir were shrouded in mystery, and the only information I had was that the old man had handed the position of head over to Clara.
Which meant I could surmise that the Hoenir had ultimately fractured over a woman taking the head’s seat. And the defectors had gone over to the Duke of Radensdorf.
I felt like I finally understood why the Grand Duke’s army had been losing.
Information had been leaking through the defectors. It also explained how the Hungarian mercenary company hired by the duke’s army had struck the supply lines of the Grand Duke’s army with such precision.
"How many defectors are left?"
"Are they hiding in Radensdorf and the camp of the duke’s army?"
"Is your goal new power?"
"..."
The Hoenir sitting across from me glared at me as if I were a madman, putting on a one-man show. On a sheet of linen paper, I wrote out my conclusions based on everything I’d learned so far.
Once I’d written it all down, I slid it over to the Hoenir.
Full of wariness, he took a quick glance at what was on the paper.
His eyebrow twitched for an instant. It was unmistakably a startled expression, but he recovered so fast it lasted no more than a fraction of a second. A first-rate poker face.
"What do you think? Pretty accurate, isn’t it?"
"..."
"You don’t have to say anything. I already know everything about you anyway."
As if resigned, he closed his eyes.
His psychology was showing despair.
Interrogation in the medieval era was mostly physical torture, so I preferred a subtler, more sophisticated method. And my method was actually better at instilling fear than torture.
Because nothing frightens a person more than having a secretly buried truth dragged into the light. Through the Manager Scouter, I even knew his real name.
"There’s one last thing I want to ask, Niklas. Where is Marquis Bertheim?"
"...He’s in Radensdorf. The northern prison tower."
"A prison? Don’t tell me you bastards sold out your old man to the duke?"
"..."
Niklas held his tongue. Had they sold out even their former head, the old man, to the duke? Even the old man couldn’t have caught wind of these men’s conspiracy. To be betrayed by the very subordinates he’d trusted!
But why was he so readily giving up the old man’s location?
A final show of respect for a former superior? Don’t make me laugh.
Before I knew it, I’d clenched my fist tight.
"Every last one of you defectors will die by my hand."
"My only regret is that I couldn’t drag you down to purgatory."
I had Niklas thrown back into his cell. I’d probably never see him again. His psychology was hinting at suicide.
I had no further business with a prisoner who’d lost all value. The problem was that, thanks to these men’s machinations, the gunpowder shortage had worsened, casting even more doubt on the siege.
The crown prince had sent a man to Strasbourg, but making it back in time would be difficult. Just as my worries were mounting over the old man imprisoned in Radensdorf and our short supply of gunpowder, an unexpected guest came to visit.
"Commander! Wenzenberg of Strasbourg is here to see you!"
Wenzenberg was a Strasbourg merchant. We had a history going back to the old Euz-Épinay war, when, while protecting refugees, I had come across him being robbed by an enemy plundering party and rescued him.
And in Offenburg, I’d seen through the ambush by the Imperial Knights and the Hungarian mercenary company and used Wenzenberg to send a plea for aid to Michael, who’d been training in northern Breisburg.
You could say he was the merchant with whom I had the deepest connection.
In any case, what a delicate time to come visiting.
It seemed merchants had an uncanny knack for sniffing out money.
"It’s been a while, my lord. Have you been well?"
Wenzenberg’s face was considerably more gaunt than the last time I’d seen him. Had the journey here not been an easy one? He seemed to have had quite a rough go of it.
"Good to see you. I didn’t expect to run into a Strasbourg merchant here."
"Hahaha, isn’t a merchant someone who goes wherever the money is, my lord?"
"I suppose so. Did you come all this way to sell military supplies?"
"The risk is high, but military supplies have always been a good earner."
Wenzenberg showed me an inventory list written on linen paper. He’d brought all sorts of weapons, military rations, medicine, and gunpowder. I was startled to see gunpowder on the list.
To think he’d come to sell the very supply we needed most right now, and at the perfect moment. Wenzenberg’s resourcefulness as a merchant seemed greater than I’d given him credit for.
"I heard a rumor that the supply commander was dismissed and thrown in prison. So with things in disarray over there, I asked the person in charge, and they told me to go see you first, my lord."
"It’s true that I’m the temporary person in charge."
With Viscount Romberto sitting in prison, a bloody storm was naturally sweeping through the supply unit. A considerable amount of embezzled supplies had been discovered.
Troops and bureaucrats separately dispatched by the princes were currently taking over the supply unit, but with no suitable person to entrust it to, I’d ended up taking charge temporarily.
The one actually managing it was Baron Hornst, sent by Count Belfort, and he was the likely candidate to become the supply commander. Having a subordinate with a higher title was a first, and it threw me off.
Anyway, having lived in a capitalist society, I had a fair understanding of the nature of merchants. You have to understand supply and demand to deal with them. As things stood, our side was at a disadvantage.
So I deliberately focused on the weapons on the list rather than the gunpowder.
"Very well. We happen to be short on weapons, so I’ll buy the whole lot."
"Thank you, but wouldn’t you be in need of gunpowder?"
The rumor that the Duchy of Beren was operating cannons had already spread far and wide. For a merchant dealing in military supplies, it was a chance to sell gunpowder at a steep price.
He couldn’t have known the details of our internal situation, but Wenzenberg was confident about the gunpowder deal. Gunpowder was a consumable and hard to come by, so I’d have to accept some degree of price gouging.
But I couldn’t very well pay whatever price he named, so I plunged into haggling.
"We already stocked up on plenty of gunpowder at the start of the civil war, so we aren’t short."
"Hmm, is that so? But gunpowder is a consumable, so wouldn’t the more you have, the better?"
"Sorry, but as things stand, I can’t offer you an amount you’d be satisfied with."
In other words, knock the price down a bit. When I implied as much, Wenzenberg deliberated and then began to lay out his prices in earnest.
"All right. How about twenty gold coins per barrel?"
What was that? Are you out of your mind?
My expression must have gone rigid.
"...That’s four times the average market rate. Don’t you think that’s an outrageous amount?"
"The price of gunpowder and the transport costs have gone up. If I don’t get at least this much, there’s nothing in it for me. It’s only because it’s you, my lord, that I didn’t raise it to thirty coins."
Merchants really are a brazen, shameless lot. If you’d actually quoted thirty coins, you’d have already taken a punch from me. If I closed this deal as is, the crown prince would faint.
