I'm just mad about Saffron

Saffron's mad about me

I'm-a just mad about Saffron

She's just mad about me

They call me mellow yellow

They call me mellow yellow.

– Donovan Leitch, 1967

If you want them to think you are who you say you are you have to walk the walk and talk the talk. I had hoped for the opportunity and the bank primaries and their backers were here giving me exactly that. My preparations included a bit of a smoke screen, most of which I wouldn’t be able to back up over the long term. I had other plans which should do instead of what I was selling today, today I was selling gold and the ability to import rare and expensive spices directly. That was what was needed, just a bit of subterfuge to get the ball rolling and I had the examples to hand out as proof of product.

Matilda had been miffed when she found out I had a stash of high grade herbs and spices locked away, I didn’t care, my everyday selection was better than most top of the line restaurants offered and she had those at her disposal. With La Mancha Saffron priced at five times the gold rate per ounce I kept tight control over it, getting more of these spices now would be extraordinarily difficult. High grade, bee pollinated Salvadorian Vanilla was a very rare commodity at any point in time. I also had aged Balsamic Vinegar, again the stuff that bends your mind when you taste it, you thought you knew about it until you tasted the good stuff.

So yeah, I hit the lottery and had splurged simply because I could, these were things I could barely afford even on the pay scale I had before. A tenth of a gram of high grade saffron cost me almost fifty dollars and I bought it back then when I collected a paycheck. When I got the ultimate pay check, I bought the best of the best and I bought it in bulk. I brought a little of that here to serve as sales tools. I split out my display cache with Sheriff and explained that he was offering these for trade as part of my pitch. We had small samplings of each so every bank executive could have a taste but noting the expense the emphasis was on small.

One we got them to bite on our ability to generate revenue and having seen our cash deposits thus far good tidings would flow our way. For a while at least. I knew that in 1822 investors were getting hungry for risk again, I intended to extend them an offering. I knew my money would come from patents and processing of the natural bounty I owned up in Rulo. My bet was I could turn a profit so fast they would forget that some of the promised trade never came through.

We pocketed our samples, checked each other over one last time and sang along as I played ‘Putting on the Ritz’ quietly on my phone. The last thing I said to Sheriff before we headed into the meeting was the absolute truth.

“We know the future, never forget that we know the future.” And with that we walked into the den of the Capitalist Lion.

We walked like confident men, the simple knowledge of just a few bits of the future granting confidence we might have normally lacked. My confidence only grew when I noted that we were the best dressed and largest men in the room. A quick stop to greet John at the bar and he gave each of us a small measure of whiskey and a small elegant bottle of Max’s fine bourbon. First tastings were not of the bourbon we planned on offering.

We had no planned presentation and I didn’t wait for proper introductions, we just moved casually and confidently through the room. We stayed together and we shared our top end bourbon, we didn’t dally and left them, to a man, wondering who we were. They had been expecting to sit down and listen to a presentation, I wanted to deny them that mindset and lead them on a merry chase with a series of modern slogans and catch phrases.

I cleared the small crowd, raised my glass and proclaimed, “Gentlemen, a toast to the Bank of St. Louis. Profitable and reliable may it forever be!”

With that I drank my small taste of delicious bourbon and broke into introductions, I could hear the bank manager stammering to speak but pushed forward in my best command voice.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce the second prince of the African principality of Botswana, lately of Cairo, Bagdad, Geneva and Constantinople.” Sheriff offered a very small bow so I continued on.

“Embarrassingly, I cannot do justice to his true name for my tongue rebels when I attempt to speak his language. So I simply call him Sheriff which is the closest I can manage.”

This brought light laughter from the assembled businessmen. “Eventually you will hear further details of his harrowing journey from Cairo to here including a shipwreck in a tremendous gale, loss of most of his retinue and capture by a band of Louisiana brigands. I was eventually able to redeem his majesty and his wife here in St. Louis. They will reside with me in Rulo until fully recovered at which point he will continue his trade mission.”

I paused for a brief look and realized there were no true leaders in this room and they were all entranced by my reputation and his story. I continued to push, “We do have samples of a few of the products he hopes to trade and we will share those with you momentarily, these are the finest quality spices and are in highest of demand in the most discerning establishments in the world. There will be fresh bread and water to refresh your taste buds with as some of these are extraordinarily delicate or powerful flavors. We expect the returns on this trade route to be truly astonishing.”

With that we both immediately started back amongst them offering up tiny threads of my very best saffron to place on their tongue and taste. We made quick conversation with each spice and trip through and then I bid our farewell with hardly a word more and we made our escape. I’d seen what I needed to see and met those I needed to meet.

They knew how much gold I’d put into the Bank of St. Louis and whatever they’d heard about me before had just been added to. It was far better to be a quiet legend then an over-spoken idiot.

I made my escape to the soon to be renamed Langdon House.