Paulo, the spy dispatched with great ambition from New Spain to infiltrate Virginia. A devout Catholic and a mercenary loyal to the Spanish Empire…
“H-His arm, what is that, wh-what was…?”
…he spent several months holed up in his house, terrified.
“…Good heavens, for three whole months?”
“He must have been greatly abused during his time as a slave. Perhaps it left a scar on his heart?”
“Oh, the poor man… Let’s just leave some food for him.”
He was able to survive, nonetheless, thanks to the constant gifts and charity offered to him by the Virginia government. It was only after several months had passed, thanks to the other freed slaves who would occasionally visit and talk to him, that he was able to more or less pull himself together. He was told that ‘His arm’ was a giant machine used for plowing fields.
‘Then why in the world did he say it like that?’
He also heard that the only person who could operate it was the Indian Emperor of this place. In any case. After he finally came out after nearly three months…
“Ah, you’re out! Here are your tools and materials. You can build your house with these!”
“Build… a house, you say? Whose?”
“Why, it’s the house you’ll be living in, Mr. Paulo Ramirez!”
“…”
Thump! Thump! Thump! Creaak. Squeak!
The entire place had become a construction site. And so, after being swept up in the mood and building a house just like everyone else…
‘They’re giving out land, fifty hectares of it? And fifty hectares is… one, two, three… uh…?’
His loyalty to Spain was wavering. His hands trembled. Becoming a landowner had been his lifelong goal, and it seemed that dream was about to come true in short order. As long as he just stayed put.
Still, there was only one reason he did not betray his mission.
‘N-no. If I stay here, I’ll go to Hell.’
It was his last shred of pride as a Catholic. The settlers had encouraged him to attend their church service once, and when he did…
“Nemo descended to earth for our sake, and thus he is the exemplar for all mankind! Praise our Lord Jesus Christ, who sent him!”
“A-aaah! The Lord!”
“Aaaah! Sir Nemo!”
“…”
Shockingly, they were worshipping some kind of angel.
“So, who is Sir Nemo?”
“Ah… He is the eternal leader of this place…”
What’s more, this self-proclaimed, and acclaimed, angel was the Indian Emperor of this place!
‘I-I have to get out of here…’
If he stayed here any longer, he was bound for Hell. He had almost let himself be blinded by land and lose sight of what was truly important. Yes. What was truly important was the faith deep in our hearts! Our pride as Christians…
“Where did the rest of them go?”
“Uh, they asked me to tell you they probably won’t be coming out again. But they said they won’t report you…”
“…”
…It seemed the other spies lacked such convictions.
“You lot! Do you want to go to Hell? Don’t you know you’ll go to Hell if you’re seduced by a band of heretics?”
“…”
“…”
He had practically dragged them out by the scruff of their necks to get their numbers back up, but their morale was at rock bottom, and there was nothing they could really do. The population of this colony, which the authorities had estimated at around 5,000, was now over 50,000.
Ten times the estimate. Just recognizing that overwhelming number was enough to crush his morale.
“That… was it called a tractor?”
“Yes. They say if you put firewood in it, it moves on its own and plows the fields.”
“…And that one?”
“That’s called a rototiller, but no one knows why it moves.”
“…”
On top of that, all sorts of bizarre machines and the strange atmosphere were eating away at his mental fortitude. It felt as if he had fallen into Purgatory. He was scheduled to make contact with the homeland in about a year, but honestly, he doubted whether it was even possible to escape this place. Methodically stripped of all hope, he had become completely worn down.
Then one day.
“H-hey! Does anyone here know how to play ‘Football’!”
“Why do you ask all of a sudden?”
“They’re holding some kind of tournament?”
Finally, a chance had come. That’s it. Paulo might not be good at much else, but he was skilled with his body. That was how he had survived as a seasoned mercenary in various remote lands. There’s always a reason for encouraging physical activity. Eight times out of ten, it’s for a military purpose. So, if he could somehow distinguish himself there, he would eventually come into contact with the military side of this place. Then he could gather detailed information on how the coastal batteries were managed, the number of firearms… and further, what if he could gain even a small amount of military command here? Wouldn’t that be a great success?
And so, Paulo entered the football match.
CRACK!
“Y-you’re ejected!”
“Well done! Using one weapon and getting ejected while neutralizing one of their players is a net gain!”
“Y-you’re ejected too!”
In his very first match, he got his head bashed in by a player on the team Raleigh was managing. It seemed the Spanish spy’s infiltration of Virginia was about to hit another snag.
***
…The introduction of sports was a massive failure. People here are incredibly cunning. I said using a weapon would result in an ejection, so one of them brings a wooden mallet, bashes the opposing team’s ace over the head with it, and gets himself ejected. It looked just like 21st-century professional sports, where they fiercely debate who will commit the foul and who will get sent off.
“Your name is Paulo, correct? Are you all right?”
“Ugh, uaargh! Aaaaaargh! Aaaaaaaaargh!”
“…What’s wrong with this man?”
“Who knows? It seems this was his first time speaking with Sir Nemo.”
“Still, I’ve never seen such a violent reaction…”
In any case, there was an incident where one of the injured people I visited went completely berserk, but it was resolved without any major trouble. Hooo… For now, it seems to have been handled, more or less.
Still, the settlements were beginning to liven up. In each settlement, grouped in units of several thousand, people were starting to enjoy football and other things, and the sound of home construction filled the air. There was no shortage of lumber. This whole place was surrounded by a primeval forest. We were steadily building tractors to reclaim that forest. Even as we built houses, built ships, used wood for firewood, and fueled the tractors, the surrounding forest stubbornly held its ground. It felt like I was raising an island, what with all the swamps and forests everywhere. The ten or so ‘islands’ where thousands of people lived were our Chesapeake settlement. We were in the midst of expanding those islands through constant drainage, logging, and reclamation.
In any case… the internal problems were gradually being sorted out. The residents were finishing their transition from tent life, and the internal conflicts had been patched up for now… It was time to fill in what we were lacking.
“Walter, could you ask Queen Elizabeth if it would be alright to bring over more ironworkers?”
“Of course. As long as they’re not cannon makers, Her Majesty will surely approve.”
Expand the ironworks and forges in Roanoke. And get more resources circulating.
***
Paulo, having recovered from his injury, went back into seclusion. He still couldn’t forget the situation from that day.
—“Are you all right?”
That one phrase, endlessly echoing in the language of his long-lost African homeland that his mother and father had used, and in Spanish… that memory.
‘…Is he a demon?’
For a demon, he had seemed too kind… No. Get a grip. Demons originally change their appearance at will to tempt humans. They don’t appear in ugly and terrifying forms, but in beautiful and sweet ones, pretending to be messengers of God to lure and deceive mankind. He is surely doing good deeds, freeing slaves without compensation, and handing out land and housing without cost, but there must be some wicked plan hidden somewhere…!
As he steeled his resolve, Paulo stood up.
“…Wait. Then how do you tell the difference between a demon and an angel?”
“What?”
“I-if he pretends to be kind and does kind things, and doesn’t do anything particularly bad, and even frees slaves, isn’t that an angel?”
“…”
“…”
‘He’s got a point.’
He was met with a rebuttal. Paulo thought for a moment and barely managed to come up with a counterargument. “…They are not Catholics, are they! From this, we can know that it is a trick of the devil, trying to bewitch people with the teachings of a false church!”
“…Is that so?”
“…Probably.”
“…”
“…”
The number of spies Spain had dispatched to Virginia was exactly twenty-five. The number gathered here now was five. It was obvious what the other twenty were thinking, but even the five gathered here were wavering like this. Just as Paulo was beginning to realize that something was going seriously wrong…
Knock, knock.
“Wh-what is it?”
Creak!
“Is a Mr. Paulo Ramirez here? The man who injured his head in the football match the other day.”
“…I’m here.”
“Sir Nemo was worried and sent a gift. Please, take it.”
The items he received in a daze were… Shine Muscat grapes. A cast-iron pot and various other equipment. Assorted pieces of furniture. And…
“G-glk… ghk… Guk…”
A small ingot of aluminum.
“You can trade the aluminum for other goods with Sir Raleigh later.”
Thump.
The door closed again.
“…”
“…”
“…”
Silence hung in the air. And so, the last remaining Spanish spies converted to the Nemoist faction.
And they were not the only ones. Countless native peoples, enjoying all sorts of luxury goods, began to awaken to the concept of ‘wealth.’
***
I gave them houses, and I gave them various things to decorate their houses with. For now, the residents’ economic difficulties were solved. It was thanks to actively moving the English merchants to transport resources during the period when there was no threat from Spain. Thanks to that, in Virginia, where the food problem has been somewhat resolved, various spices, metalware, and luxury goods are now flowing everywhere.
Of course, the plan to boost the will to work by distributing such luxury goods as a reward for labor or barter, while simultaneously increasing the luxury goods to be sent to England…
“We’re in the red again this time…”
“Even after selling the Shine Muscats and wine?”
“Yes. It’s been a few years since the Shine Muscats were introduced, hasn’t it? The trend hasn’t died down, but as people have become more accustomed to them, they’re no longer willing to pay as easily.”
…had failed. Hsss. I think the problem was that we expanded the ironworks and forges so much because of the tractor. The cost of bringing new iron specialists and casters from England was much higher than I had anticipated. ‘Well, it’s a country at war… the price of an ironworker is bound to go up.’
Because of that, the amount of gold and silver we have stored up is now gradually decreasing. We had always managed to turn at least a small profit in our trade with England… On top of that, it has become difficult to obtain furs or gems due to the great migration of the native peoples. The existing gift-trade network had completely collapsed, and its members had flocked to us. Occasionally, a few natives go hunting and bring back foxes and the like, but that’s not nearly enough to meet the demand.
In the end… is ‘that method’ the only one left?
I called Walter and Vicente over and whispered with them. Their faces lit up.
“Just leave it to us. We can handle that task splendidly!”
“Haven’t they already recognized you as their Great Chief? We will move at once!”
“For now, trade must be the focus. For gifts, we should give some of our surplus food, and things we have in abundance, like aluminum and polycarbonate sheets…”
“Of course!”
The early North American colonies of the English often had populations in the hundreds, while the majority of France’s early North American colonies were settlements of only ten or so people. The English separated themselves from the natives and put up fences when colonizing, while the French were deeply integrated with the native peoples. A rather large difference. And that difference arose from the difference in the two countries’ objectives for colonial management.
The English developed their colonies with the aim of sending out their overflowing population and solving their food burden. That is why they needed large farms and residential districts. But the French were different. They wanted to trade for luxury goods like furs. That is why they only needed small-scale trading posts. So, while the English colonies grew larger and larger, the French colonies moved in the direction of making large profits on a small scale.
What we are about to do is, so to speak…
“Sir Nemo! We’re heading out! We will be sure to plant the flag of Virginia in that land called ‘Canada’!”
“…There’s no need for that. Just have a safe trip.”
…the ‘French-style’ of development.