The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 71

Chapter 71: "Guns for Hire" and Literary Giants

The three lithography craftsmen were eager to showcase their skills before the King and the Crown Prince. Each promptly fetched a slate and earnestly began their tests.

All three were seasoned printing experts, and lithography was indeed remarkably simple and efficient. They succeeded on their first attempts.

The eldest craftsman, however, scrutinized the slate, noticing some of the dry ink peeling off. He suggested,
“Your Highness, the base ink could perhaps be made thicker.”

Joseph nodded. “The specific viscosity is something I’ll leave for you to fine-tune.”

He only had a basic understanding of the lithographic process. The intricate technical details were best left to these experts.

The craftsmen immediately began discussing among themselves:
“We should add some asphalt.”
“Yes, or perhaps resin could also be tested…”

Another middle-aged craftsman suddenly raised an issue.
“Your Highness, there’s one more problem. Lithographic printing differs greatly from copperplate printing, such as in the force and angle of the impressions. The old printing presses may not work directly.”

Joseph was momentarily at a loss. As an outsider to the field, he hadn’t considered the issue of the printing press.

He turned to the craftsman and asked, “Can you modify the presses?”

The craftsman immediately shook his head.

While Joseph was deliberating whether to seek out a workshop specializing in printing press manufacturing, a shy yet confident voice piped up nearby,
“Perhaps I can help with this.”

Joseph turned to see Louis XVI watching him with an eager expression.

Joseph’s eyes lit up. Here was the kingdom’s premier mechanical craftsman, accompanied by his renowned “locksmith assistants,” who were masters in their field. Altering a printing press’s operation would be child’s play for them.

Joseph immediately placed a hand on his chest in salute and smiled.
“You’ve truly saved the day for lithography. I propose this new press be named the ‘King’s Printing Press’!”

Subsequently, the royal workshop bustled with fervent activity. Unable to contribute much there, Joseph returned to his quarters, aware that the content of the publications also needed attention.

He summoned his secretary and outlined a brief concept, instructing him to turn it into a novel.

The secretary departed to fulfill the task and returned at dusk with the manuscript.

As Joseph read it, he couldn’t help but feel exasperated—it was grammatically correct and logically coherent, but the characters were lifeless, entirely devoid of engagement.

Sighing, Joseph realized this gentleman’s forte was drafting formal documents. Writing novels, however, required professionals.

He summoned Eymond, instructing him to find a few writers as soon as possible.

Eymond proved efficient. The next morning, just as Joseph finished breakfast, four writers of varying ages and appearances were presented to him.

Of course, their promptness owed much to their residence in the Palace of Versailles.

The four men paid their respects, and Eymond introduced them one by one.
“Your Highness, this is the celebrated Parisian man of letters, Count Beaumarchais.”

Joseph was astonished. “Beaumarchais? The Marriage of Figaro?”

The gray-haired man with thick spectacles immediately gave a slight bow.
“I am honored that Your Highness has read my play. It brings me immense joy.”

Joseph couldn’t help but smile wryly. He’d only wanted a few ghostwriters, yet Eymond had gone and recruited literary giants.

He quickly lavished praise upon the eminent playwright.

Eymond continued the introductions, “This is Viscount Saint-Pierre...
“This is Barre...”

None were mere scribes; they were all prominent figures in French literature.

Joseph was left somewhat stunned. Since they were here, however, he resolved to make the most of it, even if it meant having these literary luminaries moonlight as ghostwriters.

He addressed the four gentlemen with a smile.
“I need someone to help turn my concepts into novels.

“Once the stories are published, you will retain all the royalties. Additionally, I will pay two livres for every 500 words. What do you think?”

Regardless of their personal thoughts, none of them would dare refuse the Crown Prince’s request. They each nodded politely.
“It would be an honor to serve Your Highness.”

Still, they were all curious. Just how many stories did the Crown Prince have in mind to require four writers?

Joseph wasted no time. He led them to his study, organizing in his mind the most gripping stories he’d read in his past life. Selecting a few, he began assigning tasks.

“Viscount Saint-Pierre, you will write about a young man named…”

Joseph nearly blurted out a familiar name but quickly adjusted to better suit French tastes.
“…Hunter Shaw and his coming-of-age tale.”

Saint-Pierre noted this with little enthusiasm, doubting that the thirteen-year-old Crown Prince could conjure anything remarkable.

Joseph continued,
“Hunter Shaw was born into a family of alchemists.

“From birth, he displayed extraordinary talent in alchemy, far surpassing his peers.

“However, at the age of twelve, he accidentally donned a ring that changed everything.

“His alchemy skills began to deteriorate. By the time he underwent the family’s alchemy evaluation three years later, he barely achieved the rank of ‘Third-Level Alchemist.’ His relatives started mocking and ostracizing him.”

Saint-Pierre couldn’t help but interject, “That is truly unfortunate. What was wrong with the ring?”

“We’ll get to that later,” Joseph replied, leaving him in suspense.
“The greatest blow came when his fiancée, Elizabeth—a prodigy from the Alchemist Knights—visited his home and publicly broke off their engagement in front of his entire family.

“She believed his talent too meager to match her own.

“Humiliated, Hunter Shaw argued fervently. To protect her family’s reputation, Elizabeth proposed an alchemy duel in three years. If he lost, the engagement would be nullified.

“Hunter Shaw courageously accepted the challenge and declared with unyielding resolve: ‘Thirty years on the east bank of the Seine, thirty years on the west! Do not underestimate a young man for his current poverty!’

“After the ordeal, Hunter Shaw uncovered the secret of his ring…”

Saint-Pierre, now captivated, asked eagerly, “What happened next, Your Highness?”

Joseph smiled.
“Write up to this point first, and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Saint-Pierre reluctantly agreed, but he couldn’t help but praise,
“Your Highness, this is a truly riveting tale! I will do my utmost to craft a fitting narrative. Oh, by the way, what should the novel be titled?”

Joseph pondered briefly before replying,
“Let’s call it Breaking Through the Heavens.”

As Saint-Pierre left, Barre eagerly stepped forward, hoping to hear a similarly enthralling tale.

Joseph turned to him and began,
“Yours will be the story of a woman named Clarisse.

“One morning, she awoke with a splitting headache, finding herself slumped over her desk. Beside her lay an open notebook, with a single line scrawled across the page: ‘Everyone will die, including me.’…”

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