The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Solving a Case Effortlessly

Joseph casually pulled open the curtains, frowning at the sight before him.

Since arriving in this world, he had been confined to endless examinations at Versailles Palace. This was his first glimpse of Paris.

The reality was far from his imagined image of the most prosperous metropolis in continental Europe. The buildings were filthy and decrepit, the streets were riddled with mud and sewage—some of it human waste. The stench Eymondated from everywhere. Dead animal carcasses occasionally floated down the Seine River, while riverside workshops discharged ominously colored wastewater, dyeing the water a murky brown.

Vendors cluttered the streets with their chaotic stalls, making the already narrow roads unbearably crowded. Children chased each other with mud in hand, laughing gleefully. Random curses echoed through the air.

Fistfights were a common sight, and passersby turned a deaf ear to the cries of the beaten.

There was even daylight robbery, only halted when Joseph ordered his guards to intervene. The thief scurried away into an alley—but this was supposed to be the safest district in Paris, the Louvre Quarter...

In short, the city lacked any hint of Enlightenment ideals or the vigor of the Industrial Revolution.

The grandeur of Versailles Palace, though physically close to Paris, seemed to belong to a different world.

As the carriage crossed the northern bank of the Seine, the driver gave a soft "Whoa," and the vehicle came to a slow stop.

“Your Highness, we’ve arrived,” Eymond said, bowing as he disembarked and opened the door for the crown prince.

Joseph rubbed his aching backside and descended the steps set by his attendants. Looking up, he saw an imposing structure nearly a hundred meters wide, its exterior adorned with countless statues and supported by numerous columns and arched windows. The edifice resembled a massive fortress sitting at the heart of Paris, proclaiming the supreme authority of the feudal class.

The City Hall had been informed of the crown prince’s visit, and a large assembly of officials had gathered in the plaza outside the main entrance to await him.

Yet the expected silver royal carriage did not appear.

Instead, three gray-black carriages pulled up in front of the City Hall. When Eymond emerged from one, the chief municipal officer of Paris, Lefebvre, froze momentarily before hurriedly signaling to those around him.

“Quickly! It’s His Highness, the Crown Prince!”

Lefebvre, holding his black tricorne, propelled his nearly 200-pound frame forward on his bowed legs. Leading the crowd, he approached Joseph and bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

Nearby musicians scrambled to begin playing.

Lefebvre introduced himself and then gestured to a man beside him with gray-blue eyes and sharp cheekbones that looked ready to tear through his skin. “Your Highness, allow me to present Viscount Fresselle, president of the Paris Chamber of Commerce.”

Joseph took a closer look at the man. According to his briefing, while Lefebvre, as the municipal officer, was equivalent to a mayor, the real power in Paris lay with Fresselle. The government, perpetually short on funds, relied on the Chamber of Commerce for financial support. The Chamber’s connections also resolved many issues, giving its president considerable authority.

Fresselle stepped forward and bowed again. “Your Highness, we’ve prepared an afternoon banquet and hope you will honor us with your presence.”

Though Joseph detested the balls and banquets of this era, finding their endless rituals and rules excruciating, he could not escape such social obligations. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

...

In the grand banquet hall of the City Hall, servants bustled about, replacing dishes as soon as they cooled with fresh ones. The tables were laden with an array of delicacies.

Amid the clinking of glasses and hearty laughter, Joseph endured the endless flattery of officials. His mind, however, was preoccupied with plans to reform the police force.

“Your Highness, you wish to involve yourself in police administration?” The corpulent mayor exchanged a startled glance with the chamber president before hastily offering a placating smile. “Your Highness, someone of your noble status shouldn’t trouble yourself with petty thieves and murderers.”

Fresselle nodded quickly in agreement. “Exactly. Besides, police work is tedious and unglamorous.”

Inwardly, he was panicking. My dear prince, you’re only here for a cerEymondial stint; please don’t take it too seriously. If you disrupt the police system, Paris might erupt in chaos.

Joseph sighed inwardly as the two men tried to dissuade him. Their debate was interrupted by a woman’s shrill voice outside the City Hall:

“No! Lenotre couldn’t have committed suicide! You must catch the murderer!”

The voice alternated between sharp and almost operatic, “Lenotre was so full of life. We were supposed to marry next month. How could he kill himself? The case must not be closed! The murderer is still at large…”

The mayor’s face darkened. “Her again?”

Fresselle immediately waved to the guards. “Get rid of her at once! Can’t you see who’s here today?!”

Turning to Joseph, he forced a smile. “Your Highness, she’s just a madwoman. Don’t let her disrupt your mood.”

Joseph looked out the window and asked, “I heard her mention a murderer. What’s the story?”

Lefebvre quickly explained, “Her fiancé, Viscount Lenotre, committed suicide a month ago by swallowing a sword. The case is clear; there’s no doubt. But the woman seems unhinged, insisting it was murder.”

“She’s been making such a scene that we had to bar her from entering the City Hall, but she keeps shouting outside every few days.”

Joseph was puzzled. “Swallowed a sword?”

The gaunt man sitting to Lefebvre’s right placed a hand on his chest and elaborated, “Your Highness, the act involves placing the sword’s hilt on the ground, guiding the tip into one’s mouth, and pressing downward with force until it pierces the back of the throat. It’s a common suicide method.”

Joseph remembered that Lefebvre had introduced him earlier as Viscount Guizot, the chief of Parisian police.

Seeing the prince’s interest, Guizot eagerly continued, “One afternoon over a month ago, Viscount Lenotre’s servant reported that his master had died in his bedroom. When we investigated, we found he had committed suicide by sword-swallowing.”

Joseph frowned. “How did you conclude it was suicide? Was there a note, or had he shown signs of despair?”

“There wasn’t, Your Highness,” Guizot admitted. “But the sword was his own, there was no sign of theft, the room showed no evidence of struggle, and he bore no other injuries.

“Your Highness, Lenotre was a veteran of the American wars, over six feet tall, and skilled in combat. If anyone could force a sword into his mouth without leaving a mark, it would have to be himself.”

At over six feet tall, Lenotre was indeed an imposing figure.

Joseph narrowed his eyes. Such a method of murder had appeared in countless detective novels he had read. Without signs of despair or a note, only the untrained police of this era, ignorant of modern investigative techniques, would hastily declare it a suicide.

Looking at Guizot, he said, “No, there’s one other type of person who could have done it.”

Lefebvre laughed nervously. “Surely, Your Highness, you don’t mean... magic?”

Joseph replied calmly, “No, just a dentist.”

“A dentist?”

“Yes, a dentist.”

The surrounding officials froze, their minds conjuring a chilling image: Lenotre obediently opening his mouth at the dentist’s request. The dentist draped a white cloth over his eyes, turned to retrieve the sword from the wall, and effortlessly drove it into Lenotre’s throat, unleashing a spray of blood...

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