To Cure an Illness

"Frederick, would you like to build a glassworks?"

Frederick stopped cutting his rosemary-roasted chicken and looked warily at the Grand Duke of Mainz.

Dalberg said amiably, "Don't look at me like that. I'm Maria's godfather, and you're Maria's good friend, so you're practically one of my juniors. It's only right for an elder to look after a junior."

Frederick answered bluntly, "I don't have the money."

Dalberg was at a loss for words.

Frederick really was out of money. The gold beads his family had kept as their primary reserve were nearly all spent on digging the canal, and the goldware they had set aside as a secondary reserve for Weissenburg University, taking in refugees, and starting new factories was almost all sold off.

The commercial taxes from Wessen Territory were specifically used to pay the government staff, the Weissenburg City garrison, and employees. Even the year-end bonuses had come out of the gold coins Armand brought with him.

After doing the math, there wasn't much money left once they had put some aside for emergencies.

Glassware was profitable, but the initial investment was considerable. He couldn't spare the extra funds for this unplanned project.

Dalberg thought it over, then said, "It's all right if you don't have the money. I can lend it to you, interest-free. You can pay me back once you start making a profit."

There's got to be a catch. Frederick calmly raised his juice and took a sip. After setting the glass down, he said nothing, simply watching Dalberg in silence.

Seeing how guarded the boy was, Dalberg patiently explained, "I'm going to build a glassworks that makes mirrors, and Philip will be its governor."

"I have a distant nephew named George. He's loved making glass ever since he was little."

"But George and Philip don't get along very well, and George wants to make his own way in the world. I thought I'd send him to you."

Frederick picked up his knife and fork, cut off a piece of chicken, and ate it as he considered the situation.

Dalberg's words couldn't be taken at face value. When nobles spoke of a "distant nephew," they usually meant an illegitimate son. The supposed conflict with Philip was probably a pretext; the real reason was that he wanted to send his illegitimate son somewhere else. Otherwise, it made no sense to give Frederick both a person and money.

Judging by the name, the boy's mother wasn't local either.

Frederick had considered getting into the glass industry, but it wasn't a high priority. Nearby City of Nuremberg was a glassmaking center with a long history. Its workers' skills, raw materials, and sales channels were all beyond his reach.

Now that he had the Slime Gel industry, glassmaking was an even lower priority.

Just as Frederick was about to refuse, Sophia suddenly began coughing violently. She bent over so far that her head nearly touched the floor, both hands clamped over her cramping stomach, and she struggled to catch her breath.

Philip immediately took a medicine bottle from his wife's pocket. He helped her sit up and gave her the potion.

Maria jumped down from her chair and went to stand behind her mother, patting her back with a worried expression.

Shortly after drinking the potion, Sophia stopped coughing. She sat in her chair, gasping for breath.

Dalberg frowned and asked, "Is the medicine not working?"

Philip said with a worried look, "A bottle used to work for two days. Now it only lasts half a day."

Dalberg sighed. "Take her to rest."

Frederick frowned deeply.

At first, he'd thought Sophia had tuberculosis. Her symptoms were very similar, but the illness wasn't contagious, and she was the only one in the castle who had it.

Still, he wasn't familiar with this world's medicine and couldn't help.

Philip and Maria helped Sophia leave, leaving only Frederick and Dalberg at the dining table.

"Ah..." Dalberg sighed. "How could a fine baron end up with this poor man's disease?"

Seeing Frederick's confusion, he explained, "Sophia's family estate is right next door. She's an only child, and after she married Philip, the two family estates were combined."

"Her family had a copper mine, and she'd never wanted for anything growing up. Who could have guessed she'd get a poor man's disease like this?"

Frederick asked, "Is there no way to treat it?"

Dalberg only gave a slight shake of his head. He picked up his glass and drained the apple cider.

Frederick thought quietly for a while, then raised his head and said to the Grand Duke of Mainz, "I'll agree to the glassworks. I have one more request."

Dalberg asked, "What is it?"

Frederick replied, "I need a craftsman who can grind lenses—the kind used in telescopes."

To his surprise, Dalberg shook his head. "I don't have any craftsmen like that. Grinding lenses as small as olive pits takes a great deal of skill. You could try the Kingdom of Sardinia. Telescopes are imported from there."

Frederick could only say, "Thank you for letting me know, Your Grace."

He had just thought of the microscope. Perhaps he could use one to discover what was causing Sophia's illness.

As for glassmaking, under the current conditions, the only thing he knew was that adding arsenic and stirring the glass could remove bubbles.

Float glass was out of the question. The protective gas required for that process was beyond his abilities. At best, he could use a rolling-pin method to make flat glass with uneven thickness or a wavy surface.

On the other hand, it might be worth looking into pressing glassware such as bowls and plates in molds. Overall, the mid-range market wasn't less profitable than the high-end one.

He could ask Katie to help find a lens-grinding craftsman. If she could find one, he could consider making eyeglasses as well as microscopes and telescopes.

Frederick felt a little regretful. Light Magic currently focused on healing, illumination, and creating illusions. It would be convenient if he could develop a spell that refracted light.

Psyche hadn't yet explained how the Light Element stimulated cell growth.

After the two men finished dinner, they each returned to their rooms to rest. Their subordinates would take care of the glassworks.

Frederick wrote a letter to Katie in his room, asking her to help find a craftsman who could grind lenses.

After finishing the letter, he sat at his desk and fell into deep thought.

There was only a thin line between inventing the microscope and the telescope. It was only a matter of time before they appeared, so it probably wouldn't be a reliable way to make a fortune.

Sophia's condition was worrying. Her lung disease could worsen at any moment, and she might not survive. If he took his time developing a microscope, he might not be fast enough.

In the end, to develop a microscope as quickly as possible and give Sophia another chance at treatment, he decided not to pursue a monopoly.

When Tarot saw the Young Master enter his usual daze, she quietly prepared parchment, a pen, and ink for him. She also poured a cup of tea and set it beside him. She could clock off early today.

Frederick began trying hard to recall what he had learned about optics in middle-school physics. He planned to organize and expand the optical knowledge they already had, use mathematics to guide research into lenses, and propose the principles behind the microscope.

From his experience interacting with the scholars at Weissenburg University, the scholars in this world had a strong desire to investigate the unknown. He should be able to get them involved in researching the microscope.