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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 126
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 19:06:01 +0000 UTCChapter 126: I Accept This Grand Gift from the French Guard!
“Not yet,” Prosper replied, his face showing clear discomfort. “As you know, we haven’t had much contact with the military before. Just yesterday, my men finally made contact with the officers of the French Guard…”
Fouché coldly said, “I’ll give you five more days. If you still haven’t found anything valuable by then, the position of team leader will be reassigned.”
“Yes, sir! I will do my best.” Prosper had no choice but to accept the order with a grim expression.
Seeing his demeanor, Fouché understood that the task was exceptionally difficult— the military had its own intelligence network, and even the secret police were hesitant to meddle with them. Not to mention, the newly established Police Affairs Bureau, which had only been in operation for a few months.
“Remember, every contact must leave a trace!” he urged his subordinate, “Pay attention to all the details, and I believe you will find what you are looking for.”
...
Inside the commander’s office of the French Guard.
“You mean to say,” Bessonval stared intently at his subordinate, struggling to suppress his anger, “that the artillery attack on the southern outskirts farmhouse was your doing?”
The major before him nodded proudly, a smug expression on his face. “Yes, General. Don’t worry, it was done very cleanly. That same night, I had someone inform the farmer that it was a cannon from the police training grounds that had struck their property, and I also notified all the newspapers in Paris…”
“Théodore, you fool!” Bessonval finally exploded, slamming his fist on the table, “Who gave you the authority to act on your own?!”
When he first heard about the incident at the southern farmhouse, he truly thought it was a training accident at the police academy. In his joy, he even contacted several influential nobles to apply pressure on the Minister of the Interior.
He never expected it to have been one of his own men.
“There are only a few military units near Paris,” Bessonval gritted his teeth. “It won’t be long before suspicion falls on us!”
“Listen! For the time being, you and your men are not to leave the barracks, and you are not to have contact with anyone outside.”
“Oh, God, what have you done?!”
“Yes, yes…” Théodore shrank his neck in fear, trembling as he retreated from the room.
Bessonval rubbed his aching hand and irritably shook his head.
Though Théodore’s actions were reckless, it was already dark by the time it happened, and no one should have seen that it was the French Guard responsible. As long as they kept him hidden in the barracks, there shouldn’t be any problems.
His eyes fell on the newspaper beside him, the bold headline reading: “Suspected Police Academy Training Cannon Hits Farmhouse, Two Dead.” A cold smile formed on his lips.
As long as the incident didn’t leak out, this could be the perfect opportunity to deal with the Police Affairs Bureau.
...
At the entrance to the White Narcissus Technical Institute, two middle-aged men, both drunk, leaned against each other, making their way toward a carriage parked by the roadside.
“Valentin, my good friend,” the man dressed in the French Guard’s uniform shirt, with a black coat over it, smiled broadly as he patted the other man on the back. “Let’s go hunting sometime. The rabbits in winter are really fat…”
The tall man with a square face waved his hand. “Hunting? What’s the point? You can only use small hunting rifles.”
His speech was somewhat slurred. “Cannons! Only cannons are the true love of a man! Tiru, you know, if it weren’t for my leg, my rank probably wouldn’t be lower than yours.”
Tiru nodded repeatedly. “Yes, your ancestors, your father, they all earned great military merits. You have an excellent heritage, and you’re sure to become a distinguished officer.”
Valentin limped a few steps ahead, then looked back at the Technical Institute with a sigh. “It’s a shame, I’ll probably waste my whole life in places like this. I truly envy you, wearing a military uniform, commanding cannons, and shattering all the enemies on the battlefield!”
“And me? Though I come from a military family, I’ve never even touched a real cannon.”
Tiru laughed. “Cannons? What’s the point? They’re cold and hard…”
“No, you don’t know how lucky you are. To me, cannons are more lovely than any of those girls at the White Narcissus.”
Tiru suddenly had a thought. The wealthy Viscount Valentin Ménair had seemed like a kindred spirit when they met at the tavern a few days ago. Over the past week or so, Valentin had almost daily treated him to drinks, toured the Technical Institute, and spent quite a bit of money. Tiru felt somewhat guilty for not having repaid his kindness.
He hadn’t expected the Viscount to have such a strong liking for cannons, and perhaps this was an opportunity to return the favor.
Without hesitation, Tiru pulled Valentin into the carriage, lowering his voice while feigning drunkenness. “You’ve treated me to drinks so many times at the White Narcissus. How about I return the favor and let you try some cannons?”
Valentin’s face lit up with excitement. “Really? Where can I find cannons?”
“Of course, at the military camp, hehe.”
“But I’m not a soldier, how can I get into the military camp?”
Tiru slapped his chest confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you. You can play with the cannons as much as you like, and if there’s a chance, I’ll even let you fire a few shots.”
“Oh, God! I really don’t know how to thank you, dear Tiru!”
“We’re friends, no need for thanks.”
By dusk, Valentin had changed into a French Guard uniform and limped behind Tiru into the military camp.
The sentry at the gate gave a glance at Tiru’s military rank and didn’t ask any further questions.
Outside the French Guard’s cannon storage, Tiru muttered something to the officer on duty, then signaled Valentin that he could enter.
“Oh, God! They really are cannons!” Valentin exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with interest. He almost immediately began to caress each cannon, as though they were his beloved girls.
Seeing the look of obsession on Valentin’s face, Tiru couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. He then sat alone in the corner, took out a bottle of alcohol, and began drinking.
Once Valentin noticed no one was watching, the drunkenness on his face vanished. He quickly pulled a wooden ball, slightly larger than his fist, from his pocket. This was a replica of the cannonball that had struck the farmhouse, made by craftsmen with exacting precision, from its size to the indentations on its surface.
Valentin began to place the wooden ball on the muzzle of the six 4-pound cannons in front of him. Three of the cannon muzzles were an exact match for the size of the ball.
He then pulled out a long strip of paper, on which were two parallel lines, some vertical scratches, and irregular circles.
Holding the paper, he compared it to the wheels of the three cannons. After some quick adjustments, he ruled out one of the cannons—the paper had been copied from a wheel impression at the north side of the police academy training grounds. The parallel lines represented the width of the wheels, the vertical lines were where the wheel joints were riveted, and the irregular circles were marks from wear or bumps on the wheels.
Valentin carefully compared the remaining two cannons. Suddenly, a smile spread across his face as he whispered to himself, “Just as I thought, every contact leaves a trace. This trace… is the one you left!”
The cannon before him, from its wheel width to the rivet placement, and even the small chips on the wheel, matched the wheel marks at the scene perfectly!
Valentin quickly took out a pen and wrote down the cannon's serial number.
...
Joseph flipped through the newspapers in front of him, nodding slightly.
The front page of Le Journal de Commerce bore the headline, "Care from the Police Bureau, the Axel family feels deeply moved," accompanied by an illustration of Bessonson holding Axel's youngest son, feeding him.
Axel was the farmer whose house had been hit by a shell that day. At the time, he had taken his two children to the fields for spring plowing, which had spared them from harm.
Le Messager de la France followed up with a report on the current situation of the Axel family, its headline reading, "Little Benoît shows his first smile, the house fully restored by the Police Bureau." The accompanying image was a print of Axel’s house.
La Voix de la Ville conducted a more in-depth investigation, with the front page headline reading, "The murderer might be someone else, experts say the range of the four-pound cannon is limited." The article analyzed the improbability of a cannon fired from the police academy training grounds hitting a farmhouse 1800 paces away and showed the artillery launch site discovered by Dubois.
With public opinion on his side, Joseph's crisis management this time was an overwhelming success—the narrative in Paris had shifted to one of "the Police Bureau’s heartfelt care for farmers" or "Police Bureau officials, humble and approachable."
Even those who insisted the cannon shot came from the police academy’s training ground mostly held the view that "the Police Bureau dared to take responsibility and courageously atone for the mistake."
The newspapers reported that the Axel family had received 4000 livres in aid, a substantial sum for a farming family. Some local farmers even jealously complained about why it wasn’t their family that got hit by the cannon.
Axel had repeatedly told reporters that he had been misled by rumors and that it certainly wasn’t the cannon from the police academy that hit his house. Even if it had been a misfire from the training grounds, his family had already forgiven the academy, and the Parisian police were as angelic as could be.
As for those protesting outside the police academy’s training grounds, they had all dispersed a week ago.
After the "Police Director personally visits the farm family hit by artillery" event, more young people were enrolling at the police academy than before.
Joseph was reading an article about the incident in News and Images when Emond lightly knocked on the door: "Your Highness, Monsieur Fouché is here."
"Oh? Please let him in."
Fouché entered the office, first bowing with his hand on his chest, then immediately stating, "Your Highness, it’s almost certain that it was the French Guard."
Saying this, he placed a report in front of Joseph and continued, "This is the cannon detail compared by the Criminal Affairs Bureau. The seven gunners responsible for this cannon have been investigated. Six of them left the French Guard camp that afternoon and returned together that night. It is certain that they did not go to Paris in between."
The Criminal Affairs Bureau had deployed a large network of informants in Paris, so Fouché was confident in the conclusion he had drawn.
Although the French military’s management was rather lax these days, with each soldier having nearly eight hours of free time every day, the fact that so many men had left the camp together and hadn’t gone to Paris raised suspicions.
Joseph looked at the report and asked, "Is there any concrete evidence?"
Fouché shook his head, "Your Highness, right now we are making inferences to identify the perpetrator, but we don’t have enough to accuse them yet."
Seeing Joseph furrow his brow, Fouché stepped forward, his expression cold but his eyes gleaming with excitement: "Your Highness, what do you think of bringing them in? I have many methods to make them confess."
Joseph glanced at him: "Where are they now?"
"At the French Guard’s camp."
"No. Kidnapping soldiers from the camp, if something goes wrong, the consequences will be severe."
Joseph turned back to the report, remembering the incident when Bessonval had tried to enter the police academy training grounds for an inspection but was pushed back by armed officers. He couldn’t help but sneer: "So this was the reason."
He hadn’t expected that in his petty quarrel with the police academy, Bessonval would so casually disregard human life. If Axel hadn’t been lucky enough to be out that day, his entire family might have been killed.
If Bessonval knew what Joseph was thinking, he would surely cry out in protest. Bessonval was a smart man, originally planning to use the military aristocracy’s influence to deal with the Paris Police Bureau, but he hadn’t anticipated having such a fool like Théodore among his subordinates.
Joseph tossed the report on the table and took a deep breath: "So, you want to play dirty? Well, I won’t hold back!"
In the past, he had tried to avoid engaging with the military faction, as his political base was unstable and he didn’t want to alert the military aristocracy. But now that Bessonval had provoked him, it was time to slap him back. The military aristocracy wouldn’t dare to say a word about it.
With that, Joseph decided to accept the French Guard’s gift.
After a moment of thought, Joseph recalled that Bessonval had used the excuse of an important visitor coming to Paris to inspect the training grounds.
The important figure who was about to arrive in Paris was likely Princess Maria Amalia of the Two Sicilies.
He turned to Fouché and asked, "Do you know who is responsible for escorting foreign royals who come to Paris for tourism?"
"Your Highness, usually, the local garrison provides escort along the way. Once near Paris, the French Guard takes over. Once inside Paris, both the French Guard and the Royal Guard jointly escort them until they reach the Palace of Versailles."
Joseph nodded slightly. This was a good opportunity, and he quickly devised a plan in his mind.
"Count Emond, please prepare the carriage. I’m going to Versailles."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Soon, the Crown Prince’s convoy left the Royal Industrial Planning Bureau.
Inside the carriage, Joseph was explaining the next steps to Fouché when he heard a newsboy shouting by the roadside: "Get your papers! Two sous each! The ‘Blood Knife’ gang is active around Paris, with seven or eight people already killed!"
Joseph quickly ordered the carriage to stop and was about to send someone to buy a paper when Fouché beat him to it, reporting, "Your Highness, that’s just a highway robbery gang. They don’t dare to enter the city of Paris and only commit crimes in the countryside. But because of the number of killings, it has gained attention."
"A highway robbery gang?" Joseph’s lips curved into a smile. "Including this gang makes it even more perfect!"
When the convoy arrived at Versailles, Joseph rushed to the Petit Trianon.
Queen Marie Antoinette hadn’t seen her son for over half a month, and she immediately embraced him with joy: "My dear Joseph, I thought you had forgotten me."
Joseph chatted with her for a while before suddenly saying, "Mother, I want to personally go to the outskirts of Paris to welcome Princess Maria Amalia."
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