Ten Thousand Rubber Tree Seeds

Andrew Jackson listened to his subordinates report on the enforcement of the Indian Removal Act. In his eyes, Native Americans should never have had legal standing in the first place; those weak, savage tribes deserved to be crushed beneath America's mighty army.

But the sight of Native American blood exhilarated him. It was a shame he couldn't personally scalp them; his skills had grown rusty.

Andrew Jackson thought of his predecessors. Whether George Washington or Thomas Jefferson, those great presidents had been free to slaughter Native Americans. Why, in Andrew Jackson's time, did killing Native Americans require an excuse? Damn it all.

But Andrew Jackson was the president, after all. Using the Removal Act to reduce the Native American population must have been a mission bestowed upon him by Heaven.

But whenever Native Americans came up, Andrew Jackson was reminded of that hypocritical, arrogant banker.

"Damn it, Biddle, you fool. If not for that damn Removal Act, the government wouldn't be so deep in debt. Damn it, Biddle, that bastard only repaid what he owed, and now he expects me to apologize to him!"

The Removal Act had cost an enormous amount, and many within the U.S. government resented it, including Andrew Jackson and his Kitchen Cabinet.

"But Biddle's reputation has now reached its peak. Everyone calls him the God of Fortune. Based on current revenues, the U.S. government's income this year will reach a historic high. Mr. Biddle's contribution to that has been immense," Martin Van Buren replied.

Even the Kitchen Cabinet members Andrew Jackson trusted most had accepted the fact. The profits from the land were simply too staggering.

"To hell with the God of Fortune! That fool even built himself a temple! Biddle ought to disappear from this world, just like the Native Americans. Martin, believe me, he'll destroy this country!" Andrew Jackson raved.

Martin Van Buren didn't answer, because even he now believed in Biddle's theory.

"As long as property prices are high enough, we could sell New York and buy all of Europe! I'll accomplish what Napoleon couldn't!"

However, for the Native Americans west of the Mississippi River, the Removal Act was an unmitigated disaster.

The Native Americans called their migration route the "Trail of Tears."

Thousands of Cherokees alone perished along the Trail of Tears.

Of the 45,000 Native Americans forced to migrate, fewer than 20,000 completed the journey.

What Andrew Jackson hadn't expected was that his policy of forced expulsion would keep America's land speculation fever raging.

At the same time, economic experts and speculators, including Friedrich List, joined the vast army of land speculators.

Land in Chicago had risen forty-fivefold. In other words, the land Franz had bought for $200,000 was now worth $9 million.

Although land prices elsewhere in the United States hadn't risen as dramatically as in Chicago, the entire country was gripped by extreme optimism. People believed that land prices across the nation would eventually rise just as high.

The most important reason Friedrich List joined the land speculation boom was that, while working in the Austrian cabinet, he had learned that Baron Bruck had received a sum of money, possibly from the royal family, to buy land in America.

As the United States' consul general to the German Confederation, Friedrich List was also in a position to know what was happening in America.

The land boom had spread across the country. Friedrich List had no reason to pass up the opportunity. He wagered all his savings and his American assets, and even took out a loan in Prussia.

In Prussia, this adviser was held in very high regard.

His method of preventing Austria from extending its influence farther into North Germany was considered nothing short of art.

But some officials were deeply displeased by Friedrich List's greed. A man like that had impure motives: today he might help Prussia for money, and tomorrow he might betray it for money.

William III, however, remained unmoved. He believed that although such men were mercenary, from another angle, it meant that with enough profit, they would be the most loyal subjects of all.

Vienna, Schönbrunn Palace.

Franz was writing a letter at his desk. This one was addressed to Archbishop Rauscher.

Although Rauscher thought Franz was a saint by nature, he still treated him like a child.

So Franz had to resort to the trick of divine revelation. He said he'd seen an angel in a dream, and that the angels had led him to a stone tablet, whose words he had faithfully transcribed.

Franz had already completed three letters: one sent to Brazil, one to Mexico, and one to India.

Of course, when writing those first three letters, Franz hadn't needed to pretend they came from Heaven.

The Church's missionary work was far too inefficient in this era, so Franz had no choice but to reform it and bring it up to date. This still couldn't fool him, of course, but to ordinary people of the time, it was a dimensional blow.

The adventurer Costa had finally met his mysterious sponsor. What he hadn't expected was that this generous benefactor would be a woman.

From her clothes and bearing, he could tell that the lady was very wealthy. If he could latch onto a rich woman like her, he'd never have to go back to that damned tropical rainforest to hunt for that damned treasure.

So he'd spent the journey lavishing Thalia with attention, but Thalia, an old maid by the standards of the day, remained unmoved.

For one thing, Thalia had no interest in marriage. For another, her family had cast her out, so there was no need for her to continue the family line. On top of that, she owed the royal family an outrageous sum, though Franz and Sophie might not actually make her repay it.

Most importantly, the vulgar man before her simply wasn't her type.

Thalia had been born into a noble family and later entered the palace. Her standards were terrifyingly high.

She liked a refined man, not a greasy old uncle.

How could Costa, an adventurer who'd spent years braving the elements, possibly be called refined?

Realizing he couldn't get her attention, Costa had no choice but to bring the conversation back on track.

"Madam, I've found the treasure of the City of Gold—"

Before Costa could finish, Thalia glared him into silence. He immediately realized his mistake. The lady before him wasn't married yet. He gave an awkward smile and quickly corrected himself.

"Miss, I've obtained a map to the City of Gold. There's a city there, built by the Inca out of gold. If we can bring back a few gold bricks, you'll recoup your investment. But we'll repay you a hundredfold—no, a thousandfold—and make you the richest person in the world."

The legend of the Amazon City of Gold had been told for hundreds of years. At least eight or ten thousand people had died chasing it.

But a legend was only a legend, and Thalia had no interest in it. She cut off Costa's boastful spiel.

"I want ten thousand rubber tree seeds. In return, I'll provide ten thousand florins to fund your expedition."

Costa looked surprised. "Miss, what do you want rubber tree seeds for?"

"To fill my garden."

Costa was at a loss for words. "You certainly have refined tastes."

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The protagonist will be able to go out and beat people up in a few more years.