Chapter 176

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 176
Chapter Title: Superiors and Inferiors
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"Please, I'm begging you."

Ariadne found herself in a rather difficult situation.

She had informed Petruccia that she would be canceling the purchase of the beeswax, which had yet to arrive in San Carlo, and would pay the penalty fee. However, Representative Caruso, unable to accept this, had come to see her in person.

Ariadne replied with a frown.

"You know I am by no means making an unreasonable demand of you, Representative. My decision to cancel is a right stipulated in our contract."

*Goods not yet delivered may be refused in exchange for a penalty of thirty percent.*

This was not only written in the contract between Ariadne de Mare and the Bocanegro Company but was also a customary practice in the commerce of the central continent.

"I am well aware. We are the ones being difficult, I know. That is why I have come to plead with you, my lady."

Representative Caruso looked up at Ariadne, his face etched with desperation.

"Our company has staked its very survival on this venture. We've used every bit of capital we could muster to procure the items you requested. We're on the brink. As things stand, Bocanegro will face solvent insolvency."

Ariadne furrowed her brow.

She detested people who went back on their word.

However, it was true that the Bocanegro Company and Representative Caruso had been more or less strong-armed into the contract by her.

Seeing her hesitate, Representative Caruso played his next card.

"When we divide the profits, I will reduce our company's share."

It was an offer made out of desperation. The worst kind. It was sacrificing future growth potential.

But without it, there was no guarantee the company would even exist next month.

"It's currently seven-to-three, but we can go as far as eight-to-two…"

Ariadne immediately understood what a painful decision this was for him.

At first glance, it was an incredibly good offer. But would it be beneficial in the long run?

A larger profit for her was a good thing, but if she squeezed him that hard, there was no telling if a bloodshot Representative Caruso might one day be waiting for her on a dark road with a club.

"How much capital do you need right now?"

"About ten thousand ducats should…"

*That's a large sum for someone just asking me not to cancel the beeswax contract.*

Ariadne's eyes narrowed. Seeing her expression, Representative Caruso flinched and corrected the amount.

"Actually, five thousand ducats should be enough to cover the most urgent expenses."

"...Then let's do this."

Ariadne began to speak.

"I will lend you the five thousand ducats."

She could procure that much from the funds managed by the de Mare family.

Of course, she would have to replace it before the Cardinal noticed.

But in two months at the latest, grain prices would skyrocket. Five thousand ducats would be nothing then.

"In return, we will adjust the profit share to seven-point-five to two-point-five."

*It's not without its risks,* Ariadne muttered to herself.

Representative Caruso looked at Ariadne, his expression one of profound gratitude.

He stared at her for a long moment before finally managing to speak.

"...I have never met anyone like you, my lady."

"Am I so strange?"

"That's not it…"

He gave a weary smile.

"One moment you seem like a born merchant, the next, a person of faith. But to see you as just that would be to ignore your incredible charisma."

*Is he saying I give generously, like a cleric?* Ariadne smiled silently.

*To be calculating like a merchant, yet at times selfless like a cleric, all while possessing charisma—isn't that the very makeup of a monarch?*

"I'll have it sent over by this afternoon."

She intended to conclude the conversation. She had a lot of work piled up.

As Ariadne prepared to see him out, Representative Caruso called out to her as if he had made a decision.

"By the way, Lady de Mare."

"What is it?"

"...There's a rumor circulating in our trade circles that I think you should know."

A rumor in trade circles? Ariadne tilted her head. Noticing her confusion, Representative Caruso added with a faint smile.

"It's about the tobacco smugglers."

Ariadne was growing more confused. What rumor among tobacco smugglers could possibly be important to her?

"I heard you recently lost your mother under unfortunate circumstances."

"Ah. Yes, I did."

*Why is he bringing this up?*

"And that vagrants were involved in the affair."

Ariadne gave a bitter smile and nodded.

"So I've heard."

"Actually... I heard it wasn't your mother who hired those vagrants."

This suddenly became very interesting. Did Lucrezia die while being falsely accused?

She had no particular desire to restore Lucrezia's reputation, so why on earth was Representative Caruso telling her this?

He was sharp enough to have noticed that she and her stepmother did not get along.

But there had to be a reason.

"Please, tell me more."

Representative Caruso leaned forward and lowered his voice.

Ippolito… payment… direct orders…

Ariadne's eyes began to widen.

* * *

- "...She's so pretty."

- "She must be nice, right?"

- "Yeah? They say pretty girls are nicer."

- "There you go again, talking nonsense. She's the Cardinal's daughter. Unlike commoners like us, she must have great faith and a fine character."

- "Are you drooling?"

- "What?"

- "Know your place."

- "What's that supposed to mean, you idiot."

Listening to the whispers of the poor, Isabella stood in the garden of the Rambouillet Almshouse with a ladle in hand and thought.

*Charity work isn't so bad.*

While Isabella was often the subject of scornful glances in high society these days, the slums—especially when she arrived bearing plenty of food—welcomed her with an unexpected level of enthusiasm and cheer.

It was common for the poor to be wary and keep their distance when an outsider appeared in their neighborhood.

But Isabella had been carefully selecting only the charity locations where the "Silver Cross Ladies' Society" had long established a presence, so she faced no such issues.

Furthermore, an unknown plague was spreading through the southern breadbasket, delaying the autumn harvest of spring wheat.

The plague was confined to the south and might as well have been someone else's problem, but with the harvesters falling ill, there was no way to bring the ripening grain from the fields to the city. As a result, food prices in San Carlo were rising ominously.

Places like the Rambouillet Almshouse, which fed a large number of poor people on a minimal budget, had already given up on distributing grain and had switched to self-sufficient foods like turnips.

Thus, the welcome for the "Silver Cross Ladies' Society," who had brought proper food, was beyond imagination.

"Everyone! Please form a line!"

Isabella, dressed in a snow-white linen dress, raised her voice.

The poor then arranged themselves in a single file, just as they usually did for meals.

"Ahem! Did you not hear the noble lady's words? Listen at once!"

Ottavio de Contarini appeared with a pompous air, bellowing at the poor who had clumped together instead of forming a line.

Today's charity location was a public facility, not one attached to a convent, so Ottavio and even Ippolito, who had been so eager to come, were able to attend.

"Thank you, Ottavio."

"Don't mention it. It is my pleasure."

Isabella, with her flaxen hair tied back in a half-up style that made her look like a beautiful country maiden, smiled prettily, her violet eyes crinkling.

Ottavio prayed fervently to God that his blushing face wasn't noticeable as he tried to respond with composure.

Ippolito de Mare looked on with pity at Ottavio, who was so openly falling for his foxy little sister.

*What an idiot.* But there was someone who condemned Ottavio's foolishness with an intensity that made Ippolito's simple pity pale in comparison.

"Ottavio! Don't frighten these poor people like that."

It was Camelia de Castiglione, who had come along to keep an eye on her fiancé.

She glared at her fiancé, Ottavio de Contarini, and said.

"There's no need for a ruckus here. You men can go over there and read the *Meditations* to the sick."

With surprising strength, she pushed both Ottavio and Ippolito away from the food line.

Ottavio felt a flicker of affection wane as he looked at his forceful and spiteful fiancée.

Compared to the ever-gentle Isabella, Camelia was quick to raise her voice and seize any opportunity to corner him with various excuses.

"Isn't managing the line precisely a man's job?"

Ottavio, banished to a corner, grumbled to Ippolito.

Ippolito nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. A woman can read the *Meditations*. What if a riot breaks out while the ladies are all alone, serving food to these savage paupers!"

"My point exactly. Someone should be there to protect them…"

Unable to shake off his disappointment, Ottavio kept glancing toward the food line where Isabella and Camelia stood.

Today, Camelia had come dressed extravagantly, unwilling to be outshone by Isabella.

Her shimmering silk dress and lavish jewelry were entirely unsuitable for charity work at an almshouse.

In contrast, Isabella, who was focused on serving food beside a sulking Camelia, wore only a simple white linen dress.

With her sleeves rolled up, Isabella looked impeccably neat and pure.

Ottavio shook his head.

It was then.

"Are you kidding us?"

A rough voice boomed across the garden of the Rambouillet Almshouse.

"Who do you expect to feed with this pittance!"

A poor woman who had entered the almshouse with her three children was shouting.

A murmur of unrest rose from the crowd behind her.

- "Looks like they're out of food."

- "What? You've got to be joking. Even the people at the front of the line didn't get any."

- "Without that, we're stuck with turnip stew today."

- "I hate turnip stew!"

- "Hey. There's no turnip stew either. They said these people were bringing food, so they didn't cook any today. We'll have to starve until tomorrow."

- "What?!"

Until now, only the woman whose serving had been cut off right in front of her had raised her voice, but as the realization that they would go hungry spread, sporadic complaints began to erupt throughout the line.

- "Is there really no more food?!"

- "Are they crazy?"

- "Did these rich bastards come here to mock us? They have all that money, and they bring a pittance of food?"

A flustered Isabella waved her hands defensively and said.

"We wanted to serve you all high-quality food, and it seems we underestimated the amount needed!"

The "Silver Cross Ladies' Society" was less a charity and more a volunteer organization.

In other words, its main purpose was for noblewomen to feel a sense of accomplishment through manual labor, not for nobles to feed the poor out of their own pockets.

However, doing things 'shoddily' did not suit the ladies' dispositions.

- "Turnip stew? Who would eat something so dreadful?"

- "To make such low-quality food with our own hands… Even if they are commoners, we should still provide them with something edible, shouldn't we?"

- "We have two ducats and thirty florins left in our budget."

- "Then let's use that to prepare corn soup and oat bread. The poor don't need meat, do they?"

And so, they had donned aprons and prepared for the charity event like it was a children's game, cooking with their own hands for what was likely the first time in their lives.

- "This is the first time I've ever prepared so much food!"

The ladies of the "Silver Cross Ladies' Society" were proud, but they had prepared only about 120 servings at most.

This was because part of their budget had been spent on the ladies' own refreshments, meeting fees, and the cost of new custom aprons.

Meanwhile, the number of poor waiting for a meal at the Rambouillet Almshouse easily exceeded five hundred.

Perhaps even eight hundred, and if you included the sick inside who were just waiting to die, the number might be over a thousand.

- "Give me my food!"

Rough shouts of unfiltered anger began to ring out.

- "Give me the soup and bread for my child!"

- "My kid's been waiting for this since last night!"

- "Give me the meal I'm owed, right now!"

- "Who's the empty-headed idiot who prepared this mess? Take responsibility and give us food!"

- "Bring her out! Come out!"

Isabella was left alone to face the enormous crowd. Her pretty lips trembled.

It had been Countess Balzo who had insisted on making 120 servings of corn soup and oat bread, refusing to serve something like turnip stew with her own hands, but Isabella was not in a position to throw the countess to the mob.

If she threw the countess to the angry crowd now, she might escape the immediate danger, but starting tomorrow, she would once again become the ugly duckling, ostracized from high society.

Countess Balzo was hiding in a tent at the back, where the few remaining ingredients and cooking utensils were temporarily stored.

She was fuming, muttering "Ungrateful beggars!" but seemed to have no intention of coming out to face the poor herself.

- "Is that her?"

The front of the line had dissolved into a protesting mob.

Standing closest to them was Camelia de Castiglione.

Moreover, her shimmering silk dress made her stand out.

- "Give us the soup for our children!"

A startled Camelia stumbled backward. She slowly retreated, inching closer to Isabella, who stood behind the serving table.

- "Look at what she's wearing!"

- "Jewels…!"

- "She must have stolen all that from us, right?"

"No, that's not true!"

Camelia tried to explain that everything she wore had been earned honestly by her father.

But such facts no longer mattered.

- "The jewels!"

A hungry pauper, his eyes wild, lunged at Camelia.

The man's hand scratched Camelia's cheek, and she screamed.

"Ah!"

But no one came to her aid.

The scream only incited the crowd further. Now, three or four people rushed at her at once.

If trouble arose, the first person to attack would be the one held responsible.

But now that blame was diffused, it was first come, first served for Camelia's earrings and bracelets.

As several people lunged at her, Camelia panicked and grabbed a nearby Isabella, shoving her forward like a shield.

"Aah!"

Isabella's high, shrill scream echoed.

- *Shing!*

And the harsh sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath rang through the garden of the Rambouillet Almshouse.

"Take your filthy hands off her!"

Ottavio de Contarini stood with his sword drawn, glaring at the poor.

"Ottavio!"

"...Ottavio."

The two women uttered Ottavio's name at the same time.