"There's nothing yet," said Prosper with a troubled expression, "As you know, we haven't really been in contact with the military before. Just yesterday, my people managed to establish a connection with an officer of the French Guards..."
Fouche spoke coldly, "I'll give you five more days. If you can't find anything of value, the position of the action team leader can be replaced."
"Yes, sir! I will do my utmost," Prosper could only accept the command with a bitter face.
Seeing his expression, Fouche knew the difficulty of this mission was extreme—the army had its own intelligence system, even the secret police hardly dared to stretch their tentacles into military affairs, let alone the Police Affairs Department that had been established for only a few months.
"Remember, where there's contact, there must be a trace!" he encouraged his subordinate, "As long as you pay attention to all the details, I believe, you will find what you're looking for."
...
In the office of the Commander of the French Guards.
"Are you saying," Besanval stared directly at his subordinate, trying to suppress his anger, "that the shelling of the farm in the southern suburbs was your doing?"
The Major in front of him nodded with a smug expression, "Yes, General. Rest assured, they did a clean job. That very night, I sent someone to tell that farming household that it was the police training range that hit them and then notified all the newspapers in Paris..."
"Theodore, you idiot!" Besanval finally exploded, slamming the table and yelling, "Who told you to take the initiative?!"
Yesterday he had heard about the incident at the suburban farm and had thought it was a training mishap at the police school; in the joy of it, he had even contacted several influential nobles to pressurize the Minister of the Interior.
It turned out to be bloody done by his own subordinates.
"There are only so many troops around Paris," Besanval ground his teeth, "Others will soon suspect us!"
"Listen! During this period, you and your people are not to leave the barracks, nor are you allowed to have any contact with outsiders."
"Oh, Lord, what stupid things have you done!"
"Yes, yes..." Theodore shrank back, trembling, and retreated.
Besanval rubbed his swollen and aching palm, shaking his head irritably.
Although Theodore's approach was crude, it had already been dark, and surely no one saw that it was the French Guards who did it. As long as he stayed in the barracks, there should be no issues.𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮
He glanced at the newspaper beside him; the large headline read, "Suspected police training field's cannonball hits farmhouse, resulting in two deaths," yet a cold smile appeared on his face.
As long as the matter wasn't leaked, maybe they could indeed take this opportunity to thoroughly deal with the Police Headquarters.
...
At the entrance of the White Narcissus Technical Institute, two middle-aged men who were drunk as lords clung to each other's shoulders, heading toward a carriage by the road.
"Valentin, my good friend," the small-eyed man with a French Guards' standard shirt underneath and a black overcoat on top beamed with a smile, slapping the other man, "Let's go hunting some time; winter rabbits are so fat..."
The tall man with a square face, however, waved his hand away, "What's the fun in hunting? You can only use those tiny shotguns."
His tongue seemed a bit thick, "Cannons! Only cannons are a man's true love! Tiru, do you know, if it wasn't for my leg, perhaps my rank would not be lower than yours?"
Tiru nodded repeatedly, "Yes, your ancestors, your father, they all made their mark in battle. You have an excellent heritage, you would definitely make a great officer."
Valentin took a few limping steps out, looked back at the technical institute with a sigh, "Too bad, I'm doomed to waste my life in places like this. I envy you, able to wear a uniform, command cannons, crushing all the enemies on the battlefield!"
"And here I am, from a military family, yet I've never even touched a real cannon."
Tiru laughed, "Cannons? What's so interesting about them? They're cold and hard..."
"No, you don't understand your good fortune. To me, cannons are more adorable than the girls of White Narcissus."
It suddenly occurred to Tiru that this wealthy Valentin Menard, Vicomte, had taken a liking to him a few days ago at the bar. Over the past week, he had been invited to drink and visit brothels every day, spending a lot of money. Tiru felt a little guilty about it.
He hadn't realized that the Vicomte was so fond of cannons; perhaps this was his chance to repay him a favor.
Tiru immediately pulled Menard onto the carriage, lowering his voice with the aid of alcohol, "You've taken me to White Narcissus so many times, so let me treat you to some fun with cannons."
Menard responded with delight, "Really? Where are there cannons?"
"Of course, in the barracks, hehe."
"But I'm not a soldier, how could I enter the barracks?"
Tiru patted his chest, "Don't worry, I'll take you. The cannons will be at your disposal, and if there's a chance, I might even let you fire a few shots."
"Oh, Lord! I don't know how to thank you, dear Tiru!"
"We're friends, why say such things?"
At twilight, Menard dressed in a French Guards' uniform, limping behind Tiru, entered the French Guards' barracks.
The sentries at the gate glimpsed Tiru's rank and asked no further questions.
Outside the storage room where the French Guards kept their cannons, Tiru whispered a few words to the guard on duty and then signalled for Menard to go in.
"Oh, Lord! Real cannons!" As Menard saw the cannons, he immediately became enthusiastic, stroking each cannon as if they were beloved girls.
Tiru saw his obsessed expression and couldn't help but laugh and shake his head, then he sat down alone in a corner, fetched a bottle of liquor, and began to drink.
Menard saw that no one was watching nearby, the drunken look on his face disappeared instantly, and he deftly took out a wooden ball from his coat pocket, slightly larger than a fist—this was an exact replica of the cannonball that had hit the farmhouse, made by the craftsmen, from the size to the indentations on it, nothing was amiss.
Menard placed the wooden ball one by one on the muzzle of the six four-pound cannons here, and the sizes of the muzzles of three cannons corresponded roughly to the size of the cannonball.
He then fished out a long strip of paper from his pocket, which had two parallel lines drawn on it with some vertical marks and irregular circles.
He took the strip of paper, compared it with the wheels of those three cannons, and quickly ruled out one of them using the width of the wheels—the strip was actually a rubbing of the wheel tracks from the bombardment site on the north side of the police academy's training ground.
The two parallel lines represented the width of the wheels, the vertical marks were the joints where the wheel was riveted, and the irregular circles were signs of wear or damage on the wheels.
Menard meticulously compared the remaining two cannons and suddenly, a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he murmured to himself, "As expected, where there's contact, traces are left. And this trace, you're the one who left it!"
The cannon in front of him matched the scene's wheel track perfectly, from the width of the wheels, to the position of the riveting, down to the small notch on the wheel!
Menard quickly took out a pen and jotted down the number at the tail of the cannon.
...
Joseph was browsing through several newspapers in front of him, nodding slightly.
The front page of "Paris Commercial News" read "Warmth from Police Headquarters, the Axel family feels deeply touched," followed by an engraving of Besanval holding Axel's young son and feeding him.
Axel was the farmer whose house had been struck by the cannonball that day. He had taken his two children to the fields for spring plowing, which had fortuitously spared them from disaster.
The "Messenger of France" continued to cover the current living conditions of the Axel family, with the headline "Little Benoit Smiles for the First Time, House Completely Repaired by Police Headquarters." The accompanying engraving depicted Axel's house.
"Voice of the City newspaper" conducted a deeper investigation, the front-page headline read "Culprit May Be Another, Experts Say Four-Pound Cannon's Range Limited." The content analyzed the slim possibility of the cannons at the police academy training ground hitting a farmhouse 1,800 paces away and showcased the location of the cannon firing discovered by Dibowa.
With the weapon of public opinion in hand, Joseph's crisis management was remarkably successful—Parisian public sentiment had now shifted to "touching care from the Police Headquarters for the farmers" and "Officials from Police Headquarters without an ounce of arrogance, extremely close to the common people."
Even those who insisted the police academy had mistakenly hit the farmhouse mostly held the view that "the Police Headquarters daring to take responsibility, courageous in correcting their fault."
The newspapers had already reported that the Axel family had received aid of 4,000 livres, which, to a farming family, was certainly a considerable sum. There were even neighboring farmers who enviously complained, wishing it had been their house hit by the cannon.
Moreover, Axel had repeatedly told reporters that he had initially believed the rumors and was certain it wasn't the police academy that had hit his house. And even if it was a misfire from the police academy's training ground, his family had long forgiven the academy—the Parisian police were like angels to them.
Those who had protested outside the police academy's training ground had dispersed a week ago.
After this incident of "Director of Police Services personally visits the farmer affected by bombardment," the number of young people signing up at the police academy had even increased from before.𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎
Joseph, who was reading an article about the matter in "News and Pictures," heard a knock on the door as Eman said, "Your Highness, Mr. Fouche has arrived."
"Oh? Please let him in."
Fouche entered the office, first made a chest salute, and then immediately said, "Your Highness, we can now be fairly certain, it was the doing of the French Guards."
As he spoke, he placed a report in front of Joseph and continued, "This is a comparison of cannon details made by the Police Affairs Department. The seven artillerymen responsible for this cannon have also been investigated; six of them left the French Guard's station on the afternoon of the day in question and returned the same evening, and it is certain they did not go to Paris during that time."
The Police Affairs Department had deployed many informants throughout Paris, so he was very confident in his conclusion.
Even though the management of the old French military was relatively lax, with each soldier having nearly 8 hours of free time every day, so many people leaving the camp at the same time and not going to Paris City definitely indicated a problem.
Joseph looked at the report and asked, "Is there any very concrete evidence?"
Fouche shook his head, "Your Highness, we are currently using conjecture to identify the murderer, but none of it is enough to accuse them."
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Seeing the Crown Prince frown, Fouche immediately stepped forward two paces, his expression cold but his eyes dancing with excitement, "Your Highness, would you like me to arrest those people? I have quite a few ways to make them confess."
Joseph glanced at him, "Where are those people now?"
"In the camp of the French Guards."
"No, it's not possible. Abducting soldiers from the military camp, if anything goes wrong, the consequences would be very serious."
Joseph looked at the report again and remembered the incident not long ago when Besanval wanted to inspect the police academy training ground and was driven back by the police officers at gunpoint, and he couldn't help sneering. It seems it was because of this matter.
He had not expected that to spite the police academy, Besanval would recklessly take human lives. If it hadn't been for Axel's good luck in not being home, it might have been a tragedy for a family of six.
If Besanval knew what Joseph was thinking, he would definitely cry injustice. He was a man with brains, originally planning to utilize the power of the Nobility Group to deal with Paris Police Headquarters, yet he didn't anticipate having a rash man like Theodore under his command.
Joseph tossed the report on the table and took a deep breath. Alright then, you want to play dirty with me, huh? Well, I will not be polite!
In the past, he had always avoided messing with the military because his political foundation was not stable, and he did not want to alert the Military Nobility. But now that you've provoked me, I'll slap you back without hesitation, and the Military Nobility certainly won't be able to say anything.
If that's the case, then I will gladly accept this gift from the French Guards!
Joseph lowered his head and pondered for a moment, then suddenly remembered that Besanval had used the excuse of expecting important figures visiting and needing to search the training ground.
And the important figure coming to Paris soon should be the Princess of the Two Sicilies.
He looked at Fouche and asked, "Do you know who is responsible for escorting foreign royalty when they travel to Paris?"
"Your Highness, normally, the escort is handed over between the local troops along the way. Once close to Paris, the French Guards take charge. When entering Paris City, the French Guards and the Imperial Guard escort them together until they arrive at the Palace of Versailles."
Joseph nodded slightly. This was indeed a good opportunity, and he quickly outlined a plan in his mind.
"Count Eman, please prepare the carriage. I want to make a trip to the Palace of Versailles."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Before long, the Crown Prince's convoy set out from the Industrial Planning Bureau.
In the carriage, Joseph was explaining the arrangements to Fouche when they heard a newsboy shouting from the side of the road, "Get your newspapers! 2 livres a copy. 'Blood Blade' gang spotted around Paris, already seven or eight people have fallen victim!"
Joseph hurriedly ordered the carriage to stop, about to send someone to buy the newspaper, when Fouche immediately reported, "Your Highness, that's just a road-robbing gang. They don't even dare to enter Paris City, only committing crimes in the countryside. It's just that they have killed quite a few people, which is why they have drawn attention."
"A road-robbing gang?" Joseph's mouth couldn't help but turn up in a smile, "Add this gang into the mix, and it's all the more perfect!"
Once the convoy stopped at the Palace of Versailles, Joseph immediately rushed to the Petit Trianon Palace.
Queen Mary, who hadn't seen her son for more than half a month, immediately embraced him joyfully, "My dear Joseph, I thought you had forgotten me."
Joseph chatted with her about some domestic matters, then suddenly said, "Mother, I want to personally welcome Princess Maria Amalia on the outskirts of Paris."