章節 102: A Shitty Time
Thank you TheHumble_Dogge, Kebeckois, McBlazemor_FYW, nameyelus, Porthos10, Microraptor, ThisguyAEl and Mium for the power stones!
Here is a new chapter!
Enjoy!
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The flickering light of an almost completely melted candle softly illuminated a very simple wooden table, slightly wobbly and sticky from spilled alcohol. It reflected off the three bottles placed in the center, making them gleam like gold.
Adam, hypnotized, stared fixedly at the small dancing flame as if it would go out if he blinked.
The smell of alcohol dominated the air around them, competing with the stench of the many soldiers gradually falling asleep where they sat.
The innkeeper, his wife, and their son could finally catch their breath and had begun cleaning up, though they certainly wouldn't finish for several hours. First, they'd have to deal with all these grimy soldiers, most of whom were passed out drunk.
Oh, it's beautiful...
Adam's head swayed gently as if it were no longer as stable on his neck as before. He couldn't focus and barely noticed what was happening around him.
Thomas was nodding off while Albert tried to build a pyramid out of whatever he could find on the table. It looked more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, tilting dangerously to one side.
A loud crash woke Thomas and snapped Adam out of his daze.
"Ah, d-damn. I've dropped… dropped it all…" Albert muttered, barely reacting.
Wine stained his white-grey officer's uniform, which was now in the same sorry state as Adam. It looked like blood spilled on snow.
The three men sat on wooden chairs as simple as the table, slouching halfway, their backs partially resting against the rigid chair backs. Their faces were flushed, their breathing deep as if they were sleeping, and their minds as muddled as if they were lost in a thick fog.
Adam cast a hazy glance at his friend, who was already trying to rebuild his pile, as focused as if he were attempting some grand feat.
"Kukuku!"
A strange, stupid laugh escaped Adam's lips, and he nudged the table slightly with his right foot. Instantly, the pile toppled again.
"Hahaha! You're t-terrible!" Adam slurred, his mouth dry and his vision blurry.
"T-the table m-moved! H-hey, I n-need that!"
Adam easily dodged Albert's hand and grabbed a tin cup, filling it with wine from the third bottle. He couldn't even taste it anymore, let alone tell if it was good or bad.
He was just thirsty.
Taking big gulps, he drained the wine but couldn't refill his cup because Albert snatched the bottle from his hands to pour himself a drink. Downing it in one go, Albert set his cup down as if trying to make as much noise as possible.
"Ah, that hits the s-spot! H-hey, the bottle's almost e-empty."
"W-we can g-get anoth… another one, p-please?" Adam asked, turning to the couple working behind a wide counter that had just been cleaned.
The innkeeper approached, frowning, and threw a damp cloth over his shoulder.
"I think you've had enough to drink, gentlemen. Maybe it's time to head home, eh?"
"C-come on! P-please, just one more!" the young lieutenant pleaded, trying to speak as clearly as possible to mask his drunkenness.
"Y-yeah! Just one more!" Albert echoed, slapping the table with his palm. "Then we're d-done!"
The innkeeper clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, revealing muscles solid enough to command respect from most of the King's soldiers.
"Do you even have enough to pay?"
"Y-yeah, of course! Uh… W-wait…"
Albert fumbled through his belongings but only found a few coins—not enough to pay for another bottle of wine, not even the cheapest one.
"A-ah, I-I think I've got enough?" Adam stammered, unsure of the amount in his hand. He rolled a few coins around, trying to count them.
Damn it, I can't even think straight, let alone calculate…
To be fair, like measurements of distance or weight, France's pre-Revolution currency system wasn't easy to grasp: there were louis, livres, écus, sols (or sous), liards, billons, and deniers.
Making conversions in their current state was utterly impossible.
Adam handed the innkeeper what he had and asked if it was enough to cover a bottle for him and his friends.
"Barely, but it'll do," the innkeeper said, turning his back to the table to hide a sly, greedy smile from his clients. "I'll get one of my bottles—a fine wine."
"Th-thanks, mate! Ah, F-François, you're so k-kind! Sniff, hey, don't let anyone say you're not kind, okay? Nobody!"
"Y-yeah!
"You… You're the b-best, you… you know that, right?"
"N-no, I'm not the b-best! You're the best!"
"No! Y-you are! Sniff! Ah, why am I crying?"
For some inexplicable reason, Albert had started crying, and snot was beginning to drip from his nose.
"T-T-You know, everyone loves you," Albert stammered to Adam. "You're an e-exe... excel… uh, excellent captain."
"I… I'm n-not a captain, you know," muttered the young man, playing with his empty cup.
"Y-you are! It's just that… that you don't have the rank yet, that's all. They'll… they'll give it to you soon, for sure! Y-you really deserve it!"
"No! The officers w-won't want that," Adam mumbled, his face redder than a tomato.
"W-why not?! That would be so stupid!"
"Because all my m-men died because of me, sniff! It's my fault everyone's dead! Boohoohoo! I'm terrible! The worst! I'm so ashamed! If Captain Gilbert were here…"
Adam buried his tearful face in his arms and leaned on the table as if to fall asleep. His shoulders trembled as silent sobs wracked his body.
"D-don't say that! It's not true that it's your fault! Otherwise, y-you'd have been punished, d-don't you think? C-come on, don't cry! I-it's war, these things h-happen."
Far from being comforted, Adam cried harder, downing the remainder of the third bottle, which tipped and rolled to the edge of the table. If the tavern keeper hadn't intervened, it would have fallen and shattered on the alcohol-sticky floor.
"You're s-so kind, Albert! Sniff! It really is a shitty time!"
"P-perfectly! It's a s-shitty time! Sniff! Let's drink to that!"
"TO THIS SHITTY TIME!"
"TO THIS SHITTY TIME!"
Lieutenant Belmaison, slightly more awake, hadn't followed the conversation but joined in their toast to a shitty time. All three downed their glasses simultaneously.
Adam wiped his chin with his sleeve where wine had dribbled and leaned heavily against the back of his chair. His red eyes and unfocused gaze fixed on the ceiling of the tavern in a strange sort of reverie.
Yeah, it really is a shitty time. The future isn't perfect, but at least the continent isn't plunged into war every ten years…
"You know," Adam said, his tone suddenly thoughtful and sober, "I didn't choose to be here. It was an accident."
"You're not the only one in that situation, believe me," Albert replied, equally serious.
Adam turned clumsily to his friend, giving him a strange look.
"I doubt it."
"I swear. T-there are plenty of people who joined because they had no other choice. M-most probably thought they'd earn a good living based on the enlistment bonus."
"What a scam."
"Hmm? I don't know that word, but I think I get what you mean. You're saying it's a swindle?"
"That's right."
"Then yeah, it's a scam. But still, there will always be people who sign up, and do you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because there will always be poor souls ready to risk getting themselves killed on a battlefield for the chance to have something to eat. You see, even if we went hungry sometimes, we always had the option to pillage the enemy. But in the cities, you can only die in a corner and end up in a mass grave."
Adam said nothing. He had never known anything like that, so he couldn't truly grasp what his friend had been through. Famine had long disappeared. Food was everywhere. Like water, all one had to do was reach for it.
"Despite all our hardships, our situation didn't improve. We wasted away before each other's eyes. I lost a brother and a sister. My mother died of grief not long after. My father held out longer, but one afternoon, my brother and I found him hanging from a tree behind the farm."
"I-I'm sorry."
"Why? It was a long time ago, and it wasn't your fault," Albert said, brushing away a fly that had been buzzing around him for a while. "My brother, Jacques, was young and good with his hands. I found him an apprenticeship with a weaver. From what I hear, he's doing pretty well—married and even a father now. Can you believe it?"
A small, sad laugh escaped his chapped lips.
"But me… Ah, I didn't know how to do anything. And then there was the war. They promised me a bonus, two meals a day, the glory of serving in the King's armies. They gave me the right to proudly wear the white uniform and assured me I'd have the chance to distinguish myself. They promised me the world. Instead, I saw death, disease, and every sin under the sun. And you know what?"
"...What?"
"When the war ended, I'd gained nothing but a few ranks and a little money. I could've left, tried to start a new life. I made some good friends and even got partnership offers, but I turned them all down because I realized that after everything I'd seen, everything I'd done, I couldn't live a normal life anymore."
Adam looked at his friend with sadness, unable to find words to console him. He could see Albert's pain but felt powerless to help.
Am I going to end up like that when all this is over? I've asked myself that question many times, but I still don't have an answer. Will I be able to return to my old life after everything I've been through?
"My hands are so dirty," Albert continued, staring intently at his palms. "I quickly realized something, you see? My place isn't in the fields, a shop, a factory, or a town—it's on a battlefield. I don't know how to do anything else. Luckily, I figured that out early. If I'd left at the end of the last war and re-enlisted for this one, I would've had to start my military career all over again as a common soldier."
Adam looked at Lieutenant Belmaison, whose expression was equally somber, his gaze fixed on the alcohol in his small iron cup. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps recalling his past.
"I don't think my place is on a battlefield," Adam murmured. "One day, I'll go home and pick up my life where I left it."
"If that's what you believe, then hold onto it. Don't lose hope, and don't lose sight of that goal."
"Yes!"
"But if you decide to stay in the royal army, I think you could go far. As I've said before, the men respect you more than you realize, François. You have a talent for command. Of course, you still have a lot to learn, but all you need is time. There are plenty of people who, despite having time and money, don't have half your ability to lead men. It would be a shame to waste it."
Adam once again fell into a deep silence. He watched as Captain Fontaine poured himself another glass of wine, though this time he drank it more slowly, as if savoring it.
The young man declined the bottle and left his chair.
Immediately, he realized he had no strength in his legs, and the floor felt as stable as the deck of the small trading ship he had boarded earlier that year to leave Germany and reach Brest.
Oh, damn! Easy, easy! Why is the ground moving so much?
Weaving between tables and chairs, he made it to the tavern's front door and realized he had stayed much longer than planned, drinking wine the entire time. And all that time, he hadn't eaten anything.
That had only made the alcohol hit harder.
He tried his best to walk straight, but it was almost impossible to hide his sorry state.
About a hundred meters away, near the church garden, he crossed paths with the Marquis de Bréhant. The latter spotted him quickly and approached.
Crap! The colonel! He's going to notice I'm drunk!
"Colonel," Adam said simply, giving a proper military salute.
"Lieutenant Boucher. I'm looking for Captain Fontaine. Have you seen him?"
"Y-yes, sir. He's inside that building, the one with the flowerpot. He's with his lieutenant and several of our men. Most of them are… well…"
"I understand. That's not a problem. We'll be staying in Quebec for a few days. Our men can rest. However, the governor informed us that not all of us can stay inside the city. There isn't enough lodging, and billeting with the locals would be too much of a burden."
"So, where are we going to sleep? Outside the city walls?"
"Exactly. He's provided us with materials to set up a proper camp. Our men have already started pitching tents. Go there now."
"At your orders!"
Adam stood motionless in the middle of the wide street for a moment, and when he was sure the colonel had left, he let out a deep sigh of relief.
Phew! He didn't say anything! I thought for sure he'd realize I was drunk!
創作者的想法 
Super_nugget
Super_nugget 1)
1 louis = 24/25 livres
1 écu= 6 livres
1livre = 20 sous (or sols)
1 sou = 12 deniers
1 liard = 3 deniers
This system was abolished in favor of a simpler one in 1795. French money then became the franc. That transition took some time, approximately 10 to 15 years.
.
2) An average worker in 18th-century France earned approximately 200 to 300 livres per year, with less skilled laborers making around 100 livres annually, based on roughly 200 working days per year. Skilled workers, such as carpenters or glassmakers, could earn 400 livres or more annually.
University college professors typically earned between 1,000 and 1,800 livres per year, while prominent doctors in Paris earned 8,000 livres or more annually. By contrast, provincial doctors often earned ten times less.
To maintain appearances in the nobility, a minimum income of 40,000 livres annually was required. However, princely incomes far exceeded this, sometimes surpassing 100,000 livres per year.
The salary of a soldier at the time, unchanged since 1713 despite rising prices, was 5 sous and 6 deniers per day. However, after deductions, soldiers only received 1 sou and 4 deniers per day, equivalent to 16 deniers. Even if working every day of the year, this would amount to only 25 livres annually, a sum insufficient to sustain a basic livelihood.
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