Holy Roman Empire - Chapter 293

Chapter 293: Chapter 42, The Big Deal

As expected, the newly minted Suez Canal Company stocks were not easy to sell. With everyone’s hands full of stocks they were stuck with, and eager to clear their inventory, who would want to dive into another pit?

Even if there were those with keen foresight who recognized the Suez Canal’s potential future, it didn’t mean they had money in their pockets.

The Suez Canal stocks were of little interest to anyone, yet the stocks issued daily were sold out. The astute Eugen quickly realized someone was sweeping them up.

However, he decisively chose to keep silent and quietly purchased a batch with his savings, preparing to make a fortune in silence.

Unfortunately, he miscalculated. Franz wasn’t manipulating the market this time; he was investing. The canal stocks were only being bought up, not sold, so there was no inflating of stock prices.

With no media hype, not even the most basic announcement, all everyone knew was that it was an official joint project between France and Austria. And that was all.

There was nothing to be done; the project hadn’t even started, and both sides were in the fundraising stage. Aside from a design blueprint released long ago, there was nothing else.

Normally, a project like this wouldn’t even qualify to list for equity financing. How could it gain widespread favor?

Especially now, with the canal’s investment far exceeding historical records for the same period, the project’s risk had significantly increased. The Paris stock market was also experiencing a chill, and if not for Franz sweeping goods, selling the stocks would be questionable.

To many, the project seemed like a political one, a joint endeavor pushed by both governments in an effort to shift a strategic disadvantage. Profitability was a secondary consideration.

This time, the stocks hadn’t gone into the London stock market. With the support of Austria, the Paris Government abandoned the attempt to court the London Financial Circle.

There were many like Eugen, but now was a time of economic crisis. Consortiums were busy buying out at the bottom, and big players were also sitting back, waiting to enter the market after the crisis ended. The few individual investors in the stock market couldn’t even stir a ripple.

The Port of Venice, although still ravished by the economic crisis, remained bustling. Thousands of people left from here every day, heading to Austria’s overseas territories.

Inside the tavern, groups of three or five gathered together, a barrel of beer, a few snacks. This was everyone’s cheapest form of entertainment.

Most were sailors from all over the world, earning a decent income, yet unable to save money, single men—the tavern owner’s favorite kind of customers.

Locals rarely appeared in the tavern; they couldn’t afford such extravagant spending. Those with families also departed from this group.

Despite a sizeable number of patrons, the tavern owner, Buck, couldn’t be happy. One look at the drinks and dishes on the tables explained why.

It was clear that everyone had cut back not just by one degree. The alcohol was the cheapest, the snacks the most affordable, and some tables even skipped the snacks altogether.

There was no choice, the economic crisis had erupted, and business had quickly diminished. With fewer trips out to sea, people naturally sailed less and their income was substantially reduced.

With less income came reduced consumption. The normally bustling casinos and brothels had grown deserted, so what about a small tavern?

At that moment, a man came in and said, “Mr. Buck, may your business thrive!”

“Mr. Anthony, what brings you here? Please, come inside! Hamm, quickly bring out our best wine and dishes.”

Buck was all nods and bows, his face almost split with a grin. The visitor clearly held no ordinary status; otherwise, Buck would not be welcoming him personally.

Having been around the docks for a long time, Buck had mastered the art of changing his face accordingly—telling people what they wanted to hear, catering to influential figures with utmost enthusiasm.

Once inside the private room, Anthony sat down and got straight to the point, “I’m not here for a drink today. I have a big deal for you, but it depends on whether you’re capable of handling it.”

Buck felt a sinking feeling. As a prominent shipowner active in Venice, Anthony was not the kind to frequent such a small place, and their relationship was merely an acquaintance. Buck did not believe there was any good deal for him.

Still, as an old hand, Buck smiled and inquired, “Mr. Anthony, may I know what kind of big business it is?”

Anthony said nonchalantly, “Recruit a thousand daring and combat-ready lads for me, and three hundred sailors, and I’ll give you a Divine Shield for each person as commission.”

Buck’s face changed, and then he recovered. Usually, a big shot like Anthony wouldn’t lack manpower, and he wouldn’t need a middleman for recruitment.

Confused as he was, there was no reason not to make a deal that came knocking at his door. Serving as an intermediary was one of his business lines, after all, and the tavern was a place frequented by people from all walks of life, additionally handling the business of the Mercenary Guild.

Buck assured, “No problem, Mr. Anthony. Leave it to me, and I’ll have your men within a month.”

Anthony replied with a smile, “Don’t be so quick to promise. If I had a month, I wouldn’t need to come to you. I need the men within three days.”

Buck’s expression changed, realizing a thousand and three hundred men meant a thousand and three hundred Divine Shields in commission—a sum he couldn’t earn in a year under normal circumstances. To earn it in merely three days was clearly not going to be an easy task.

After some thought, Buck said with a wry smile, “Mr. Anthony, this really is beyond my capabilities. The time is just too short.”

Buck knew his limits and never made promises lightly. He now seriously doubted whether Anthony was just making fun of him. How could it be possible to gather so many men in just three days?

Anthony promised, “Whatever number you can gather will suffice. I’m looking to make a big deal this time. I’m short on manpower and have to ask for your help. If this deal goes through, you’ll have your share of the rewards later on.”

It truly was a big deal; he had set his sights on the Native Kingdom of Benin in West Africa. To plunder a kingdom, just the armed forces at his disposal were clearly insufficient.

For this operation, several partners had naturally been found, ready to join forces and carve up the Aboriginal African Kingdom.

It was not that they were recklessly audacious; there were far too many examples in this era that proved conquering a Native Kingdom was not difficult.

In order to increase his leverage within the Alliance, Anthony wanted to expand his military force. Other than keeping it secret, speed was essential.

With so many colonial forces on the African Continent, those eyeing the fat piece of the Kingdom of Benin were not limited to his group. If someone else beat them to it, all their efforts would be for naught.

Given the short time frame, Anthony had no choice but to lower his standards—even willing to accept the disorderly rabble he would normally disdain. No matter how useless, they could still be of use in an easy battle.

Hesitating for a moment, Buck spoke in a low voice, “Mr. Anthony, a contingent of three hundred Swiss mercenaries arrived not long ago. If you’re willing to pay a good price, I could connect you with them.”

Anthony chuckled, “If I could recruit mercenaries myself, why would I need you?

Your tavern sees guests from all over; surely some of them are daring enough for an adventure. You can recruit them.”

This was true; mercenary groups wouldn’t honestly hand over the finances they looted to their employer. They undertake a major operation for the sake of wealth.

If the spoils were swallowed up by the mercenaries, what would they gain? Surely not by profiting from selling slaves?

Clearly, Anthony had his eyes on the centuries of accumulation in the Kingdom of Benin, not just on becoming a slave trader for once.

Buck said anxiously, “Mr. Anthony, that’s against the rules. Most of them have employers. Poaching on a large scale is taboo.”

In this age, those making a living on the sea, licking blood off the blade’s edge, do not suffer in silence.

If only a few sailors were to be poached, that would be manageable, a normal fluctuation in personnel, unlikely to cause a backlash; but large-scale poaching would invite retaliation.

The older one is in the underworld, the more cautious they become. Buck was seasoned in this world and dared not engage in such activities.

Unfazed, Anthony said, “I understand that rule as well, and that is precisely why I came to you! You’ve been mixing here for so many years; you must have a lot of information, right?

The economic situation is bad now; many small boat owners are probably struggling to stay afloat. Negotiate with them, hire their men for a deal—that should be fine, right?

This task can only be negotiated by you. I’ll simply finance it without ever revealing that I’m the employer.”

Buck breathed a sigh of relief; he understood that Anthony didn’t want to reveal his involvement and thus wanted him to act as the intermediary.

What the deal specifically entailed remained secret; Buck wasn’t concerned with the details. He was just considering whether he could complete the transaction within three days.