The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Crown Prince's Guard

“This doesn’t seem right,” Joseph frowned thoughtfully. “Have the gangs in the Saint-Antoine District gone mad these past few days?”

He immediately instructed Arden, “From now on, everyone’s patrol hours are extended. It will be tough, but the performance bonuses will double. Night patrols need to be particularly strengthened. Something might happen.”

“Yes!”

Arden placed a hand on his chest in salute and was about to leave when an official in charge of police personnel rushed in, sweating profusely.

“Your Highness, a sudden wave of… of police officers has requested leave. Nearly a hundred of them.”

“Nearly a hundred?!” Arden froze. The Saint-Antoine District’s police force, including auxiliary staff, totaled only about 400. That meant a quarter of them were taking leave.

“Yes, they cited various reasons, from illness to family emergencies.”

Joseph took the list of leave requests and glanced through it. All the names were of people who had been in the police force for a while, with the majority being from the logistics team, though there were a dozen detectives included.

And leading the leave requests was none other than the police department’s second-in-command, Bono!

Joseph narrowed his eyes. A surge of violent crimes was occurring, and just as he called for all hands to maintain order, a mass leave request emerged?

What a coincidence—too much of one. Something was clearly wrong.

Arden grew anxious. “Your Highness, we need every hand we can get, and yet they…”

Joseph handed the list to his aide, Eymond, and coldly instructed, “Take a doctor with you and personally verify every case. If any leave requests are found to be unjustified, dismiss them immediately!”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

“They think they can dig a hole for me?” Joseph sneered. “Well, at least we’ll save on their salaries. Do they think losing a mere hundred people will leave me helpless?”

He ordered Arden, Magoni, and other safety inspectors to lead their teams in maintaining order. Then, he turned to the Viscount of Kessold, the commander of the Crown Prince’s Guard, who had been standing five paces away.

“Viscount Kessold, how many of my guards are stationed here?”

“105, Your Highness,” Kessold replied without hesitation.

On the surface, Joseph appeared to have only two or three guards with him, but in reality, a large number of the Crown Prince’s Guard were stationed within 300 meters, keeping vigilant watch.

“Deploy 90 of them to join Magoni and the others in patrolling the streets.”

“Your Highness,” Kessold stood rigidly, “this is against protocol…”

“Protocols are man-made; don’t be so rigid.” Joseph smiled faintly. “Besides, you are my guard, so following my orders isn’t wrong.”

Kessold’s face was a mask of military resolve and disapproval. “Your Highness, our duty is to ensure your safety. I believe His Majesty, the King, would not agree to this proposal.”

“His Majesty?” Joseph’s smile grew mischievous. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a letter from Louis XVI written a few days earlier. He handed the last page to the stubborn commander. “I actually have His Majesty’s approval.”

“What?” Kessold was taken aback.

Joseph pointed to the letter. “Read this: ‘Do whatever you deem necessary… If anything goes wrong, I’ll back you up.’ This is His Majesty’s handwriting. You are obliged to obey his directive.”

Kessold was stunned. “But…”

Joseph cut him off, threatening, “If you refuse to follow my orders, I’ll personally lead the patrols. You’ve heard the situation outside.”

“You cannot patrol the streets!” Kessold hurriedly objected. After a tense moment, he reluctantly relented, his face drawn with resignation. “Your Highness, under no circumstances should Major Fesson find out about this, and you must not leave the police station.”

Major Fesson was the commander of the Palace of Versailles’ Royal Guard and Kessold’s direct superior.

“Deal!” Joseph nodded. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping 15 men here. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Kessold saluted again and exited Joseph’s office. Outside, he strode onto the open grounds of the police station, pulled a whistle from his pocket, and blew two sharp blasts.

In moments, over a hundred royal guards armed with swords and rifles surged from the surrounding area, swiftly forming five orderly ranks.

Kessold motioned for a few officers to step forward and gave them quiet instructions.

“Yes, sir!” the officers responded in unison before leading their men out of the station at a brisk pace, the group including 10 mounted cavalrymen.

…

In a decrepit house reeking of foot odor and vomit on the Street, the leaders of the Black Sheep gang were laughing boisterously over their drinks.

“The women of White Fleur-de-Lis Street really know how to please. Saint-Antoine doesn’t have anything that good,” one of them crowed.

The gang leader took a swig of wine and sneered at the speaker. “Look at you, acting like you’ve never seen a woman before. If you’re talking courtesans, the ones in the Louvre District are the real deal! Thirty livres for a night, and those bodies, oh…”

A man missing half an ear bellowed, “We’ve made 2,000 livres these past few days. Soon, those top-class courtesans in the Louvre will be ours for the taking!”

Someone immediately jeered, “Valéan, your high-class women money is all lost at the casino—150 livres, wasn’t it? Your hands must’ve been cursed with piss, ha!”

“Half-Ear” grabbed a copy of Paris News lying beside him, belched, and retorted, “See this? My arson at the cobbler’s made the papers. Similion’s black cops will be bringing me 1,000 livres tomorrow! Who’s worried about money?”

“Such small ambitions,” the gang leader mocked, waving his bottle at the group. “All you care about is courtesans? Work harder. Once we win those 20,000 livres, I’ll take you to the real noblewomen, ha!”

The other leaders’ eyes gleamed lecherously, and they howled in agreement.

“Follow the boss!”
“Hoss gang is nothing. That 20,000 livres is ours!”
“Tomorrow, I’ll bring my crew and crush them!”

Since Similion had promised them 1,000 livres for each major crime three days ago, the Black Sheep gang had issued strict orders and high rewards, causing chaos at any cost. Though they had lost a few henchmen to the police, they were raking in money hand over fist.

The gang leaders drank late into the night, dreaming of wealth, until they finally passed out.

The next morning, they were abruptly awakened by pounding on the door.

“Boss! Boss! Bad news! One of our guys is dead!”

The gang leader groggily sat up, rubbing his throbbing head from the hangover.

“What’s all the yelling for? So someone’s dead. Was it the Hoss gang or the cops?”

“Neither,” came the trembling reply from outside. “It was the royal guard… and three men are dead.”

“Royal guard?” The leader scowled and kicked his half-awake underlings. “Get up and see what’s going on!”

Two disgruntled leaders dragged themselves outside with a few henchmen in tow, following the informant down the street.

They hadn’t gone far when they saw a squad of royal guards across the street. Clad in fine uniforms, feathered tricorne hats, and adorned with the royal insignia, they carried gleaming weapons and marched with an imposing air.

“What are they doing in Saint-Antoine?” Half-Ear muttered nervously.

“They seem to be maintaining order,” the informant stammered, his face ashen. “There are so many of them—nearly every street has guards.”

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