The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 125

Chapter 125: Crisis Management

Dubois wrinkled his nose, a sense of foreboding rising within him. He quickly turned and instructed the officer, “Antoine, spread out and search! Faustin, go back and call for more people, quickly!”

About half an hour later, a large group of officers had surrounded the area, and Antoine rushed back to report to Dubois, “Sir, a farmhouse to the north has been hit by artillery. An old man and his wife are dead, and the house and barn were destroyed.”

“Artillery?!” Dubois frowned deeply.

After a while, the other officers returned, one by one, but there were no significant discoveries—by this time, it was getting dark, and things could barely be seen even from ten steps away. On top of that, the French Guards had already prepared, leaving the officers with nothing to show for their efforts.

The next morning.

In a small room on the second floor of the Royal Industrial Planning Bureau, Murdoch was anxiously and excitedly looking at the notes and blueprints in front of him. The bloodshot eyes were a clear sign that he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

What the Crown Prince had told him was so astonishing and tempting that he hadn’t even thought about sleep.

He picked up a complex schematic and shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. He thought to himself, “Thank goodness the Crown Prince didn’t work on steam engines; otherwise, both Watt and I would probably be out of a job.”

The concepts were beyond belief and exquisitely brilliant. He couldn’t believe they had come from a fourteen-year-old boy!

He had spent most of yesterday afternoon and the entire night understanding the new throttle valve and safety valve designs the Crown Prince had shared with him. By now, he had a general idea of the processing concepts as well.

However, there was still a lot he hadn’t figured out, the most “terrifying” being the principle of the “triple-expansion steam engine,” which had an incredibly high thermal efficiency but was also extremely complicated.

What was worse, the Crown Prince had only given him the principles and ideas, leaving the mechanical design for him to complete.

He didn’t even dare think about those three words, “triple-expansion,” anymore, as they caused his head to throb painfully. It was clear his brain was already overloaded…

After a long while, Murdoch finally chose to give up. He gathered the materials and walked toward the Crown Prince’s office.

“Actually, you don’t have to rush,” Joseph smiled and reassured the weary inventor. “For the short term, you only need to create the existing steam engines. These new technologies can be worked on gradually. You have five or eight years, or even ten years to develop them—there’s no hurry.”

It was a joke. If Murdoch really managed to implement the technologies the Crown Prince had told him about yesterday, France’s industry would take off instantly!

But everything developed according to objective rules—without the accumulation of lower-level technology, higher-level technology was always a house of cards.

Just like the triple-expansion steam engine, which required precision machining and high-quality materials, even if Murdoch suddenly had a breakthrough and completed the design, then somehow hand-built it, it would still inevitably lead to boiler explosions—because the materials and machining levels simply wouldn’t meet the requirements.

The reason Joseph had shared these cutting-edge technologies with Murdoch was to give him a conceptual direction in terms of technology and to attract him to work more solidly in France.

“Thank you for your understanding, Your Highness.” Murdoch seemed a bit defeated, unsure whether it was exhaustion or the shock of realizing that, despite his belief that he was a genius in steam engine technology, he still couldn’t make anything work, even with the principles and design ideas handed to him.

He sighed and said, “Your Highness, actually, I would like to recommend someone to assist me in researching these technologies you proposed.”

“Oh? Who are you talking about?”

“My neighbor and former colleague, Mr. John Sandler, a highly talented technician,” Murdoch replied. “You might not have heard of him because his invention, the ‘boiler pressure gauge,’ was considered a commercial secret by Mr. Watt and has never been made public.”

“And Mr. Sandler’s current living situation isn’t great. I’m sure that, if you offer the right salary, I can get him to come to France with just a letter.”

Joseph felt a bit embarrassed. At this rate, he was going to end up cornering Watt entirely.

But, of course, it was all because Mr. Watt himself kept withholding his employees' technologies, which gave him an opening to exploit—after all, why not seize the opportunity?

“Thank you for your generous recommendation,” Joseph sincerely thanked him before quoting a number. “120 livres. Do you think this is a suitable monthly salary for Mr. Sandler?”

Murdoch wanted to say “too much” because it was extremely high. In fact, even half that amount would be enough to make Sandler rush to board a ship to France.

To be honest, Murdoch didn’t want Sandler to come. It would bring him competition. But after seeing the technological materials the Crown Prince had provided, he knew he needed help. Without it, even after ten years, he wouldn’t be able to digest all those technologies on his own.

Murdoch placed a hand on his chest and bowed. “Your Highness, you remain as generous as ever. I will write to Mr. Sandler right away.”

As he said this, he remembered something else. “By the way, Your Highness, I noticed that they are building track facilities in downtown Paris.”

The British had had rail transport for decades, but it was only used in mining areas and had never appeared in cities.

“Ah, yes. Paris is about to host Fashion Week, and they’ll need railcarriages to transport the guests.”

“That’s truly a great idea!” Murdoch praised. “But, if I may be so bold, the workers laying the track may not be very professional. While they had a good idea to use gravel for the foundation, both the fixing of the ties and the precision of the track installation are... well, you understand.”

Joseph thought to himself that the idea of gravel foundations had come from him, but he had to admit that the workers’ skills were rather ordinary.

He quickly asked, “Do you have any suggestions for the construction?”

Murdoch waved his hands in a gesture of refusal. “Your Highness, I’m not an expert in track laying. But I do know a few experts in the field. The Birmingham mining area has laid a lot of track, but with fewer new coal mines in recent years, their income has been quite poor.”

Joseph’s eyes lit up. “Mr. Murdoch, you must have worked as a headhunter, haven’t you? In just ten minutes, you’ve brought me so many talents!”

The importance of skilled track workers was immense—railroads were the technological backbone necessary for the development of trains.

Without hesitation, he nodded. “Then please invite them over. There will be plenty of track-laying work in France in the next few years. I’ll make sure the compensation is satisfying.”

Just as he finished speaking, Eymond hurried in and whispered in his ear, “Your Highness, Baron Froyent has arrived, and it seems urgent.”

Murdoch, with great tact, excused himself. The chief of the police academy, Baron Froyent, entered the office, closed the door behind him, and quickly bowed to Joseph before saying urgently, “Your Highness, something’s happened…”

“The farmhouse was hit by artillery, and people were killed?” Joseph furrowed his brow. “Was it caused by our training?”

“It shouldn’t have been,” Froyent replied, lowering his head. “As per your instructions, the powder charges during artillery training were halved. The farmhouse is 1800 steps away from the training grounds, and even if the gunners aimed poorly, the shells couldn’t have traveled that far.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“This, it’s still unclear. Major Dubois found traces of gunpowder residue and scorched grass on the north side of the training ground. It’s highly likely that someone fired artillery at the farmhouse from there. However, he didn’t catch anyone suspicious.”

Froyent took a deep breath. “Your Highness, the most troublesome part is that the farmer insists that it was the cannon from the training ground that hit his house.”

“We don’t know who spread the word, but now a large group of reporters is interviewing the family, and protesters are blocking the entrance to the training ground…”

Joseph sensed that this matter was far from simple, and he gestured toward Eymond. “Please prepare a carriage. I want to visit the training ground. Oh, and send word to Count Fouché, ask him to come as well.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

Not long after, inside the carriage heading to the training ground, Joseph asked Froyent, “Theoretically, is it possible that the artillery from the training ground could have hit the farmhouse?”

“Your Highness, if the cannon is loaded with gunpowder, and with a tailwind, a four-pound cannon could just about reach up to 1,800 paces.”

Joseph nodded. “It seems someone is trying to frame us, and they must be very familiar with cannons.”

He turned to Froyent. “Which units around Paris are equipped with four-pound cannons?”

“The nearest would be the French Guard and the Imperial Guard. Oh, the cavalry also has some artillery. Further out, there’s the Létreler Regiment and other units.”

Joseph narrowed his eyes. It would be hard for the Imperial Guard to move cannons out of Versailles without drawing attention. For a unit like the Létreler Regiment to transport a cannon nearly 100 kilometers to Paris seemed unreliable.

So, the most likely suspects were the French Guard and the cavalry. But who exactly?

A few hours later, the Crown Prince’s carriage arrived at the police academy training ground on the outskirts of Paris.

Before Joseph even got out of the carriage, he saw dozens of protesters outside the training ground, shouting slogans like “Police Academy endangers the lives of farmers” and “Stop the training immediately.”

Froyent grimaced. “Your Highness, this matter has already been reported in today’s newspapers. People in Paris are starting to believe that we accidentally hit the farmhouse. These protesters arrived early this morning.”

Joseph thought for a moment and instructed Froyent, “Forget about who did it for now, we need to focus on crisis management.”

“Crisis management?”

“Immediately go with Viscount Besançon to visit the farmer and offer our condolences. Promise to help repair their house and give them… 4,000 livres. But remember, only tell the reporters that we are assisting the family; do not admit that it was an accident caused by our training. State that the investigation is still ongoing.”

“Next, you should go every day to supervise the police officers repairing their house, delivering their meals, and even feeding their livestock. At the same time, publish an open letter condemning the attackers who harmed the farmers, expressing sympathy for their plight. Make it heartfelt.”

“I’ll arrange for the newspaper to keep reporting on this, gradually guiding public opinion.”

Joseph glanced at the protesters. “As for these people, try to calm them down for now. Promise them that we’ll suspend the artillery training. But be ready with shields in case anyone tries to incite trouble, but remember—do not attack them.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I’ll handle it right away.”

Joseph didn’t enter the training ground but instead observed the victim’s situation from a distance. Afterward, he went to the spot Major Dubois had identified as the likely site of the gunfire.

Dubois had done a thorough job of securing the area. He pointed to the marks on the ground and said to Joseph, “Your Highness, from the depth of these wheel tracks, they were probably made by the wheels of the cannon carriage.”

“And these mounds of earth here were left by the cannon carriage’s anchor. Judging by the footprints, there were probably seven people and two horses, just enough to operate a four-pound cannon.”

“My guess is that those people fired at the farmhouse while we were conducting our training.”

As Joseph was inspecting the area, he saw Fouché arriving with officers from the police investigation department.

Fouché had already gathered a general understanding of the situation during the journey and immediately began examining the surroundings in detail. Afterward, he visited the victim’s house and returned with a cannonball.

“Your Highness, there are only wheel tracks leading to the nearby forest. It seems part of the culprits escaped to Paris,” Fouché said with a serious face. “With just these clues, it’s hard to identify them.”

Joseph looked at the cannonball in his hand and shook his head. “Where there’s contact, there are traces. For instance, this cannonball—only certain four-pound cannons can fire it.”

Due to the limited quality of cannon manufacturing at the time, the calibers of cannons were rarely standardized, so the cannonballs had to be custom-made.

“Also, these wheel tracks and footprints contain useful information. I hope you can use them to quickly determine who is framing the police academy.”

“Oh, and based on the units around here with four-pound cannons, the French Guard and the cavalry seem to be the most likely suspects.”

Fouché quietly repeated the phrase “Where there’s contact, there are traces,” slowly nodded, and tipped his hat to Joseph. “Your Highness, I’ll find out who did this as soon as possible.”

The next day, a messenger from the Minister of the Interior rushed to the Royal Industrial Planning Bureau and handed a letter from Count Morneau to the Crown Prince.

Joseph tore open the envelope and read the letter, where Morneau mentioned that many nobles had filed complaints about the cannon fire hitting the farmhouse, asking him to shut down the police academy training ground.

Since the police department was officially under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Interior, all the complaints had been directed there.

Morneau had no choice but to pass this matter on to the Crown Prince, who effectively controlled the police system.

“That was quick,” Joseph muttered as he tossed the letter aside, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. “Let’s hope I don’t catch you!”

…

At the police investigation department’s headquarters.

An intelligence officer was reporting the latest findings to Fouché. “The cavalry has three cannons. As we expected, these men only bully farmers. They probably haven’t used the cannons for a long time, as the gun hooks and axles are covered in rust.”

The cavalry acted more like rural patrols combined with tax inspectors and were not part of the police system.

“It seems we should focus on the French Guard,” Fouché said as he turned to the side and asked, “Prosper, any findings on your side?”

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