How to Survive in the Roanoke Colony-Chapter 198: Exchange (1)

"Eleanor?"

"Yes?"

"Who operates that 'exchange' building?"

"Well... since the management committee maintains this shopping district, wouldn't the exchange be operated by the management committee too?"

As I looked around, a bell rang in the distance, its clear tone echoing through the cobblestone streets. Checking my phone, it was already 7 PM.

It was closing time for the shopping district.

As the sun hung low on the horizon, casting long golden shadows across the facades, stores gradually began to close their doors. Shop owners pulled down metal shutters with practiced movements, while spectators and customers started flowing out of the streets like an ebbing tide, their shopping bags swinging at their sides.

Just as in the carpenter's shop earlier, store clerks and owners everywhere were gathering their belongings and moving with purpose, clutching papers filled with meticulous notes and figures from the day's transactions. Their footsteps formed a synchronized rhythm as they headed in the same direction.

Straight to that 'exchange' at the end of the street.

It was a building that had appeared while I was away, as I hadn't needed to visit the shopping district for several months. Curiosity piqued, I walked toward the exchange, following the steady movement of people, careful to maintain a respectful distance so as not to intrude.

And from a slight distance, I observed how this so-called 'exchange' operated, fascinated by the orderly procession of merchants at day's end.

The exchange was a modest brick building, weathered yet dignified. It stood on the opposite side from where I entered, marking one of two main entrances to the shopping district. With its red roof tiles catching the last rays of daylight, it looked quite picturesque in the setting sun, like something from an old painting—a central hub of commerce bathed in amber light as shadows lengthened across the square.

"Here, Sir James Powell spent 0.611 Othello at Johnson's woodshop, so deduct that amount."

"Understood."

"Again, Sir James Powell spent 0.027 Othello at Mrs. McAvoy's flower shop, so deduct that amount. No, from now on, all the expenditures I'm about to mention belong to Sir James Powell."

"Understood."

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"0.240 at the pottery shop on the left, 0.002 at the accessory shop on the left, and 0.112 at the clothing shop..."

As the man recited data collected from various places, pens and papers moved ceaselessly, performing calculations.

"...Sir James Powell's total expenditure is 1.872 Othello!"

"How much did Sir James Powell deposit at the exchange?"

"3 Othello!"

"Record it. James Powell's balance: 1.128 Othello."

Scratch, scratch.

As expected.

The '1 Othello' they're talking about corresponds to 100 livres. And 1 livre equals 20 sous.

In Les Misérables, which I watched when I was young, Jean Valjean earned 24 sous after working hard all day.

That means Jean Valjean would have to save money without even breathing for just under three months to earn 1 Othello.

And that's the price in the 19th century, 200 years later... thinking about it again, 1 Othello is an absurdly high denomination. Of course it is, since it was created for large-scale foreign trade.

But now this currency is being used within our community. It's the only existing currency, after all.

For example, what if there was only one 1 million yen bill, no, a 10 million yen bill? It might be an absurd situation, but let's think about it.

How would people conduct transactions?

They would probably deposit that 10 million yen bill in a bank, record their purchases each time, and settle everything at once later.

That... is similar to the principle of early credit cards.

So is that exchange a bank?

Fascinated, I stared intently at the exchange building until I realized people were noticing me, so I moved away to avoid disrupting their work.

Huh.

An early form of credit card in the early 17th century.

That's really interesting.

"...Let's postpone issuing smaller denominations for now."

"What? Is that okay?"

When Eleanor cautiously asked me, I nodded.

Actually, the Othello chip seems to be a fine currency.

First of all, it's absolutely impossible to counterfeit with current technology. Although I'm no expert in economics... counterfeiting currency is bad, right?

If we were to create a currency of lower value than Othello, we would need to devise a unit that's 100 to 1,000 times lower in value. And that currency would probably be the main one used in daily life.

The problem is that there are hardly any consumables in my house that can meet the daily demand in sufficient quantities. Even if there were, they could be replicated, so there's no merit.

For now, it's probably best to leave it as is until we come up with an alternative.

...

...

...

...Perhaps?

Why didn't I have something like Mankiw's Economics at home? I'm a layman when it comes to economics.

Thinking this, I shook my head, and soon Eleanor hurried to the flower shop, which was about to close.

"Eleanor? What are you doing?"

"Ah, my father hasn't been going outside lately. I thought I'd bring him some flowers..."

"That's a good idea. White is now..."

"Sixty-six years old."

"..."

"..."

"...Is he not doing well?"

"Not yet... but..."

Anyway.

I saw Eleanor make a slightly sorrowful expression.

==

The response was enthusiastic when the first commercial complex was built. People from the community all took out the Othello chips they had been saving and flocked to the newly built complex.

Opechancanough, who had always considered himself a capable fox hunter, was among them.

He roamed the valleys around Chesapeake, which had become nearly uninhabited as everyone moved away, hunting wild animals.

As human presence diminished, foxes and weasels returned, only to fall one by one to his traps and arrows. He carefully skinned them to minimize damage and collected the hides.

That wasn't all.

He had succeeded, albeit on a small scale, in breeding foxes with his tribesmen, which allowed him to secure fox skins and meat much more stably than simply going hunting.

All these furs were sold to the French. The French were crazy about such furs and didn't hesitate to hand over Othello chips to him.

With the Othello chips he collected, he purchased better hunting tools, ventured deeper into the forests, and made even greater profits.