Chapter 152: William in English, Guillaume in French (6) October 13, 1792.
English Channel, first-rate 104-gun ship of the line HMS Victory.
"Dover Harbor in sight! Dover Harbor in sight!"
The sailor standing lookout atop the mast shouted at the top of his lungs toward the deck below, telescope in hand.
The navigation officer, dressed in the blue coat trimmed with gold typical of the British Royal Navy, pulled out a pocket watch from his coat and checked the time.
"Let's see. It's been about two and a half hours since departure, so we must be roughly three miles away."
He tucked the pocket watch back into his coat and stepped out onto the deck, which was shrouded in pale sea fog.
On a clear day, one could see Calais from Dover and Dover from Calais with the naked eye. But when had the sea ever been that accommodating? The sea was a place of maddening, unpredictable change.
"Sergeant, have the sailors prepare for harbor entry. We'll reach Dover soon."
"Yes, Captain. Fifteen minutes to harbor entry! Deckhands, prepare the mooring lines!"
Watching the sailors run back and forth carrying ropes as thick as a man's torso over their shoulders, even someone who knew nothing about ships would realize the destination was close.
Yet the vice admiral commanding the HMS Victory apparently wished to inform me personally of that obvious fact.
"Your Excellency the Controller-General, we will arrive shortly. Please prepare with your party."
"Thank you for informing me, Lord Jervis."
"It's nothing. I hope you enjoy your time in the British Empire. Ah, if I may offer a travel tip—there is a place in Covent Garden in London that serves excellent seafood. You should visit it once you arrive. It happens to be a favorite restaurant of mine, John Jervis."
"I should make a note of that."
Hmm. An admiral with three gleaming stars on his epaulettes had come personally to my cabin. It was… a rather strange feeling.
It felt like going grocery shopping at a large market and having the store manager walk beside your cart whispering, "The zucchini we received today is in excellent condition. How about making zucchini pancakes for dinner tonight?"
Truly, it seemed a person must first succeed in life.
If one compared the past—when I froze stiff before two officers with hibiscus insignia during a sudden patrol at the front-line fence—to now, when a naval admiral recommended a full course of restaurants, anyone would say the latter was better.
"Admiral Jervis, five minutes until harbor entry. It would be best to prepare now."
"Very well. Your Excellency, I wish you a pleasant journey."
At the adjutant's urging, the admiral rose and lightly lifted his hat. I bowed slightly in return.
"Let's see… five minutes until entry."
There was more than enough time for the company president to deliver a final message of love and concern to the employees of the
Revolution Is Also a Business G…
Ears of the Nation.
Marathon distance: 42.195 kilometers.
Distance between France and England across the Dover Strait: roughly 42 kilometers.
Floating in the middle of that strait—almost exactly the length of a marathon course—the employees of the Ears of the Nation Luxury Hall had been breathing the salty sea air for over two hours. Their reactions varied.
"Wow, so that's England?!"
"I heard English food tastes absolutely terrible."
Some were fascinated by the novelty of foreign lands.
"Good heavens! If I'd known it would be this humid, I would have brought extra cotton to keep the leather from getting damp!"
"Hm. Perhaps because it's a foreign country, the architecture seems different from ours in France. More straight lines, perhaps?"
Others were more focused on work than novelty.
"Damn it, England or not, I just want to step on land already!"
"Bleeegh! I'll never board a ship again!"
And then there were those who had ignored my warning about seasickness. I had personally sold motion-sickness medicine at seventy percent below the market price, yet they refused in the misguided hope of saving money—and were now suffering the consequences.
Honestly… when I offered it cheaply, you should have just bought it. You chose this seasickness yourselves. Endure it with sheer willpower.
In any case, the cabins of the Ears of the Nation employees were bustling for many different reasons.
"Monsieur Florian, Monsieur Boehmer, please gather everyone in my cabin. Let's conduct a final check before the ship reaches land."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
At our call, the craftsmen who had been busy with their own affairs entered my cabin one by one.
Some looked pale from seasickness, but most of them—men who had spent the past three years surviving on scraps and manual labor—looked flushed with excitement about the future.
When the last man entered and closed the door, I stood and began speaking.
"Is everyone here?"
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
"Excellent."
I placed a scroll on the wall so that everyone could see it.
Across the unfurled scroll were written several concepts along with an unfamiliar phrase for the craftsmen:
Catalog Sales.
I had already explained this many times in Paris, but repeating it once more would ensure it truly sank in.
Holding a quill like a lecturer pointing with a laser pointer during a presentation, I gestured to the scroll.
"As I explained earlier, our sales method will be catalog-based. We will not sell goods by directly displaying finished products to customers."
Catalog—also called a pamphlet.
The very thing that greets you hanging from your door handle every evening when you return home from work.
Sometimes supermarket advertisements. Occasionally outlet promotions.
A catalog allows companies to advertise products without bringing them directly to the customer, while customers can conveniently choose what they want from home.
"As you know, we lack materials. That means we cannot produce many items right now. Furthermore, transporting goods from France to England comes with considerable shipping costs. Do you understand so far?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Good. Everyone nodded obediently.
"So what should we do? We create sample products. Not items for sale—samples for promotion."
Though materials were scarce, we had scraped together enough from hidden personal stockpiles and my own acquisitions to produce one or two samples per craftsman.
"We will sell our products through pre-orders. But to do that, people must be able to see and understand what the product will look like. That is why we need samples."
Unlike the modern world, where catalog sales are common, this was still the eighteenth century.
If we showed up with only printed pamphlets and said, "We make products like this—would you like to buy one?" the obvious response would be:
"How can I trust you with my money? You're a fraud."
If we were still in France, I might say, "Don't you know Guillaume, the Controller-General of Finance?" and people would believe us immediately.
But England was a foreign country. My name might carry no weight here.
So at the very least, we needed tangible samples that customers could see and touch.
We would take orders based on those samples, produce the goods afterward, and sell them. That way, we could stretch our limited materials to the limit.
"Your Excellency, but what happens when the remaining materials are exhausted?"
"That is not something you need to worry about. Whether I persuade or threaten the British East India Company, I will secure the materials. You only need to think about how to persuade our proud English aristocrats to buy our products."
"Yes, Your Excellency!"
"Excellent. Now prepare to disembark."
British Empire, Dover Harbor.
"Salute for the guest of His Majesty the King!"
The moment I stepped off the plank onto the docks, men in skirts—Scottish Grenadiers, apparently—saluted me. I responded by waving lightly.
Once our entire party had disembarked, a few officers approached.
"Your Excellency, please board this carriage."
"May I speak with my companions briefly first?"
"Of course."
Leaving the officers waiting by the carriage, I called over Monsieur Florian.
"What is it, boss?"
"Once we reach London, I'll likely be summoned everywhere."
"Yes, that seems likely."
He nodded.
For reasons I still didn't fully understand, both the King of Britain and the Prime Minister had invited me as an honored guest. That meant they were curious about me. Until that curiosity was satisfied, my movements would be restricted.
But I intended to sell two things in England.
First, the foundation of the Ears of the Nation: convenience-meal chain shops.
Second, luxury goods.
Clearly, the gap between the two was enormous.
If I accompanied the king, the prime minister, and the high nobility, I could casually sell luxury goods—"I tried this recently; it's excellent. Would you like one?"
But convenience meals targeted commoners. That was a completely different market.
"So please investigate the living conditions of London's common people in advance."
"Understood. I'll write a proper report."
"Excellent."
After finishing my conversation with Florian, I returned to the waiting officers.
"Shall we depart?"
"Your Excellency, if you are ready, the Scottish Grenadiers will escort you safely to London."
"Thank you for your country's hospitality."
A bearded lieutenant colonel bowed and moved to the front of the formation.
"Scottish Grenadiers! Forward—toward London!"
"Yes, sir!"
"…I can't watch this."
Sitting inside the carriage, I covered the window with cloth so I wouldn't have to see the skirt-wearing men marching outside.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Read 254 more chapters ahead on NovelDex!
https://noveldex.io/series/revolution-is-also-a-business
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━