Chapter 1492: Night in the Coffee House
"—In respect of their rights, men are born and remain free and equal—"
The words recited by the young man dropped into the murky air of the coffee house like heavy stones shattering the ice on a frozen river.
Back in the countryside, Adorno had heard similar words before. The name Rousseau often accompanied them.
In those days, however, such words were nailed to the Pillar of Shame. The local lords claimed this rhetoric was poison, the whispers of demons that would drive a man mad or cause his body to rot if he dared listen.
Leaning against the doorframe, Adorno suddenly remembered the afternoon he first arrived in Vienna.
He had been exhausted that day and hadn't noticed he wasn't hugging the wall closely enough, inadvertently blocking the path of an oncoming nobleman.
The servant beside the lord had delivered a brutal kick to Adorno's knee, screaming at him to get down and beg for forgiveness.
He hadn't hesitated to kneel on the slime-slicked ground. Everyone on the street watched, yet no one felt anything was amiss.
Of course, he was just a mud-leg from the countryside. How could he dare stand in the way of a Viennese gentleman?
The recitation from the counter interrupted Adorno's spiraling thoughts. "The aim of all political association is the preservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man. These rights are liberty, property, security—"
Property?
The first thing that popped into Adorno's mind wasn't his dilapidated shack back home or the fields that already belonged to the landlord. It was Karen's small copper pot.
It was her only valuable dowry, passed down from her mother and grandmother. The bottom had been patched twice, but Karen always kept it polished until it gleamed like a treasure.
Then came the second month after the Emperor sent his armies into Switzerland. A tax collector had walked into their home and tucked the pot into his pocket as if it were his own property.
Adorno hadn't known back then that the Emperor had imposed a new war tax, and he hadn't set aside enough from his monthly wages to cover it.
Karen's treasure was seized by the tax collector, valued at a mere thirty-five Kreutzers to offset the debt.
That night, Karen's eyes were as hollow as a winter wheat field. She wept for hours, sobbing that her great-grandfather had spent nearly two Florins to buy that pot years ago.
The tax collector had simply stated it was the Emperor's command.
Adorno gripped the doorframe tightly, his chest boiling with resentment.
If the Emperor wanted to wage war, why did he need his family's copper pot? Those noble lords had houses full of silver pots, even gold ones. Why weren't they forced to surrender their belongings first?
"No one shall be treated differently because of their property, opinions, or beliefs—"
Adorno's breath hitched for a moment.
He remembered that he had never been anything more than a serf in a dung heap, and later, nothing more than a beast of burden in that wood factory—
'Is it possible? Could I one day be treated the same as those noble lords?'
He suddenly felt something churning in his stomach—a sensation deeper and hotter than hunger, an urge so powerful he almost couldn't stop himself from roaring aloud.
Just then, a low but frantic voice from outside interrupted the reading of the Declaration of Human Rights. "Mr. Steffens, the Secret Police are here—"
The young man giving the speech at the counter froze before jumping down.
A moment later, the coffee house door was kicked open.
It wasn't just opened; the entire door was blasted off its hinges.
The cold night wind rushed in, followed by a dozen men in grey coats with pistols and sidearms tucked into their belts. Their boots struck the floorboards with a dull rhythm that felt like a hammer against the heart.
The man leading them flipped his collar to reveal a badge: the Vienna Secret Police.
His subordinate immediately pointed at the patrons and barked, "Stay where you are, or you will be arrested!"
Steffens, the young man who had been speaking, had already reached the fireplace. He tossed the small pamphlet into the hearth.
The Secret Police chief's gaze cut through the room like a blade. "What are you doing?!" he bellowed.
Two officers shoved through the crowd using their scabbards, reaching the fireplace only to see the pages blackening and curling under the lick of the flames.
"Stop him!" the chief screamed.
One of the officers grabbed a fire hook nearby and thrust it into the hearth, desperately trying to fish out the burning booklet.
Steffens' face went pale. He knew all too well that the Declaration of Human Rights was Tier-1 Banned Literature. Merely glancing at it could land a man in prison. To spread it in public was a crime punishable by the gallows.
Gritting his teeth, he suddenly lunged toward the fireplace, using both hands to press down on the flickering pages. The stench of charred flesh immediately overwhelmed the smell of tobacco in the air.
"Damn you!" Seeing his men frozen in shock, the police chief rushed forward and slammed a chair into Steffens' shoulder.
Steffens was a frail teacher who spent his days at a desk; he couldn't withstand such a heavy blow. With a cry of agony, he collapsed to the side.
The officer with the fire hook finally managed to pull out the pamphlet, frantically beating out the remaining sparks.
After a moment, the fire was out.
The Secret Police chief knelt down, took the fire hook, and used the tip to lift the charred remains from the ashes.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth curled into a sneer, looking for all the world like a vulture that had found a fresh carcass. "Very good. This is Tier-1 Banned Literature."
"According to the Special Public Order Decree issued by the Empire in 1801, anyone who prints, distributes, or conceals such materials shall be charged with treason," he declared.
He stood up, brushed the ash from his sleeve, and signaled his men to secure the evidence. He then looked around the room with a cold smile. "It is my honor to inform you all that every person in this room shall be tried for complicity."
As he spoke, more Secret Police poured through the entrance.
The coffee house fell into a deathly silence. Everyone stood frozen as if turned to ice, staring blankly, not knowing what to do.
"We've done nothing wrong!" Steffens struggled to prop himself up, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Don't be afraid! These lackeys of the Emperor have no right to arrest us! Break out! Run!"
His words served as a wake-up call. A middle-aged woman immediately grabbed a coffee pot and smashed it over a Secret Police officer's head.
Inspired, more people began to fight back, grappling with the officers.
The lead policeman frowned and drew his pistol. He didn't point it at the ceiling; instead, he aimed directly at the woman who had struck first and pulled the trigger.
A thunderous boom echoed through the room.
The woman was thrown backward by the force of the shot, collapsing to the floor like a discarded rag. A dark, charred stain spread rapidly across her chest.
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