Two of the other noblemen chuckled. “You think your cousins are bad?” demanded one. “My brother-in-law . . .”
Hesse-Kassel interrupted. “What do you think, Admiral?”
For a moment, Simpson froze. (And, fortunately, because of his wooden face, was able to hide the moment.) He had a flash of memory; being asked a question, once, at a stockholders’ meeting, for which his staff had not prepared him. He’d gotten through the question, fumbling his way—he hated to fumble—and had then stripped the hide from his staff the next day. Rubbed salt into the bleeding flesh, in fact.
But . . .
I can hardly blame Dietrich for this, after all. Not as if he hasn’t tried. John Chandler, you’ve been goofing off on your homework. An ‘Admiral,’ you stupid jerk—how much time did you spend in the Pentagon?—has to be a political animal also.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been so preoccupied with my own naval affairs that I haven’t paid as much attention to this matter as perhaps I should have.” The pro forma apology issued, Simpson glided forward smoothly. He had, after all, gotten through more than one bad moment at a stockholders’ meeting.
“But it seems to me that you need to step back and consider the long-term—ah—” His lips tight, he fumbled for the word. Wilhelm, sitting next to him, leaned over and murmured: ” ‘Consequences,’ I believe, is the word you’re looking for.”
He flashed Saxe-Weimar a grateful glance. “Yes, consequences.” He swiveled his head and looked at the nobleman who had complained about losing his tolls. “Let me give you an example, using a subject I am very familiar with. The matter of the tolls. Yes, immediate revenue will be lost. Although I should point out that the emperor has no objection to tolls levied for works which are actually being maintained—such as locks, for instance. It’s simply the endless bleeding of money from the merchants for a thousand fees that he wants removed, most of which—let us be honest—are simply a monopoly surcharge for no service rendered. Add it all together—which I have done—and you will find that, as a rule, those tolls wind up adding a third to the price of something shipped simply across half of Germany.”
The nobleman scowled, but did not try to object. And you’d better not, buster. On this subject, I’ve got the facts and figures damn well memorized.
“What this will produce in the long run, however—and much sooner than you might think—is a rapid increase in Germany’s internal trade. Foreign trade as well, for that matter. That, in turn, will produce an accumulation of money in the hands of Germany’s commoners. Some of them, at least. What will they do with it? Reinvest, that’s what. And where will they do so? Many of them, of course, in the same place where they exist already. But many of them will look for opportunities elsewhere. Especially—”
He swiveled his head, giving all the noblemen in the room his very fine and well-polished confident CEO regard, lingering for an extra moment on the count of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt. “Especially in the lands of those territorial princes who have the good sense to encourage them to come. And there are a multitude of ways to do so. For instance—”
Simpson spoke steadily for half an hour, interrupted only on occasion by the need to determine the right word, or to clarify a few terms for the noblemen. The concept of ‘tax-free enterprise zones’ was especially challenging for some of them. Although Simpson was ignorant of most of the specific circumstances, the subject in general was one on which he was a genuine expert.
When he was done, the room was silent for a moment. Then Hesse-Kassel started chuckling.
“So. We are not doomed after all, it seems.”
Wilhelm, the former duke of Saxe-Weimar, started to say something. Then, pursed his lips and remained silent. Simpson glanced at him, and for an instant a look of complete understanding passed between them.
God, he’s a smart one. Saxe-Weimar knows the truth. No, Hesse-Kassel. As a class, you are in fact doomed. Sooner or later. But as individuals, as families . . . If you’re smart—and that’s a big “if”—you could wind up better off than ever. So what do you care?