I am the Crown Prince of France

Chapter 124: Crisis Management

Dubois sniffed the air, a sense of foreboding creeping over him. He quickly turned and ordered the officers, "Antoine, spread out and search! Faustin, go back and call for more men, quickly!"

About half an hour later, a large group of officers had surrounded the area, and Antoine hurried back to report to Dubois, "Sir, there's a farmhouse to the north that's been hit by a cannon. An old man and his wife are dead, and the house and barn were destroyed."

"Cannon fire?!" Dubois furrowed his brow deeply.

A while later, the other search teams began returning, but they hadn't found anything significant—by now, it was getting dark, making it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead, and the perpetrators seemed to have been well-prepared, leaving the officers empty-handed.

The next morning.

In a small room on the second floor of the Industry Planning Bureau, Murdoch was both excited and anxious as he stared at the notes and diagrams in front of him. The bloodshot eyes revealed that he hadn't slept all night.

The things the Prince had told him were simply too astonishing, too enticing, leaving him with no desire to sleep.

He picked up a particularly complex diagram, shaking his head as he sighed deeply. He thought to himself, "It's a good thing the French Prince isn't in the steam engine business; otherwise, neither I nor Watt would have jobs."

These ideas were so ingenious, so sophisticated—it was hard to believe that they came from a fourteen-year-old!

Yesterday, he had spent most of the day and all night trying to understand the new designs for things like the new throttle valve and safety valve that the Prince had described, and he had begun to form a rough idea of how to process them. However, there were still many things he hadn't figured out, and the most "terrifying" of them was the so-called "triple-expansion steam engine" principle. The thermal efficiency was astonishing, but it was also incredibly complex.

What was worse, the Prince had only given him the principles and the general concept; the detailed mechanical design was left to him to complete.

He didn't even dare think about the term "triple-expansion" without his brain aching, clearly showing that it was already overloaded.

After a long time, Murdoch finally decided to give up for now. He gathered the materials and headed to the Prince's office.

"You really don't need to rush," Joseph said with a reassuring smile to the exhausted inventor. "In the short term, you only need to produce the existing steam engines. You can take your time working on these new technologies—whether it takes five, eight, or even ten years, there's no hurry."

He was joking—if Murdoch could actually make all the technologies Joseph had described yesterday a reality, French industry would take off on the spot!

But every technological advance follows its natural course. Without a solid foundation in lower-level technologies, high-level technologies would be like castles in the air.

For example, the triple-expansion steam engine required extremely high precision and materials. Even if Murdoch suddenly had a burst of inspiration and completed the design, trying to build it with current materials and machining capabilities would likely result in nothing but exploding boilers—because the materials and workmanship would fall far short of what was needed.

Joseph had shared these advanced technologies with Murdoch partly to give him a sense of the technological direction and partly to keep him anchored in France.

"Thank you for your understanding, Your Highness." Murdoch looked dejected, whether from exhaustion or the blow to his ego—he had always considered himself a genius in the field of steam engines, but now, even with the principles and design ideas handed to him, he still couldn't build the machine.

He sighed, "Your Highness, actually, I wanted to recommend someone to assist me in researching the technologies you've proposed."

"Oh? Who are you thinking of?"

"My neighbor and former colleague, Mr. John Smeaton, a highly talented engineer," Murdoch said. "You may not have heard of him because his invention, the 'boiler pressure gauge,' was deemed a crucial trade secret by Mr. Watt, so it was never made public. Mr. Smeaton is not in a good situation right now, but I believe with the right salary offer, I could easily persuade him to come to France."

Joseph felt a bit guilty—at this rate, he was going to poach all of Watt's top talent.

But then again, it was Watt's own habit of "skimming" his employees' work that gave Joseph the opportunity. So why not take advantage?

"Thank you for your selfless recommendation," Joseph said sincerely, then he quoted a figure. "How about 120 livres a month? Do you think that would be suitable for Mr. Smeaton?"

Murdoch wanted to say, "That's too high," because half that amount would have been enough to make Smeaton drop everything and board a ship to France.

To be honest, from a personal standpoint, Murdoch wasn't thrilled about bringing Smeaton in, as it would mean more competition for him. But after seeing the technical materials the Prince had provided, he knew he needed help. Otherwise, it could take him decades to digest all that knowledge alone.

Murdoch bowed and said, "Your Highness, you are as generous as ever. I will write to Mr. Smeaton immediately."

As he was about to leave, he remembered something and added, "Oh, Your Highness, I noticed that there are tracks being laid in the center of Paris."

Britain had rail transport decades ago, but it was only used for mining operations and had never appeared in a city.

"Yes, Paris is about to host Fashion Week, and we need rail transport to carry the guests."

"That's a brilliant idea!" Murdoch praised, then continued, "But, if you don't mind me saying, your track construction workers might not be professional enough. They've come up with the good idea of using crushed stone for the foundation, but the fixing of the ties and the precision of the rail installation are somewhat... well, you understand."

Joseph thought to himself that he was the one who had suggested using crushed stone, but the workers' skills were indeed average.

He quickly asked, "Do you have any suggestions for the construction?"

Murdoch shook his head. "Your Highness, I'm not an expert in laying tracks, but I do know some specialists. In Birmingham, many tracks have been laid for the mines, but with fewer new coal mines being opened recently, these specialists are struggling financially."

Joseph's eyes lit up. "Mr. Murdoch, you should have been a headhunter! In just ten minutes, you've brought me so many talented people!"

Railway construction workers were crucial—they were the key to unlocking the railway technology.

Joseph didn't hesitate to nod. "Please invite them here. France will need a lot of track construction in the coming years. I promise their compensation will be satisfactory."

As he spoke, Émond came in hurriedly and whispered to Joseph, "Your Highness, Baron Frier is here, and it seems urgent."

Murdoch, ever the tactful one, took his leave. Police Academy Director Frier entered the office, quickly shut the door behind him, and bowed to the Prince. "Your Highness, we have a situation…"

"A farmhouse was hit by a cannon, and people died?" Joseph frowned. "Was it caused by our training?"

"Probably not," Frier said, keeping his head down. "As per your instructions, we've been using half charges in the cannons during training. The farmhouse is 1,800 paces from the training ground, so even if the gunners aimed poorly, the cannonball shouldn't have flown that far."

"Do we know who did it?"

"That's still unclear. Major Dubois found gunpowder residue and burnt grass to the north of the training ground, indicating someone likely fired at the farmhouse from there. But he didn't catch anyone suspicious."

Frier took a deep breath. "Your Highness, the bigger problem now is that the farmers insist their house was hit by a cannon from the training ground. Someone leaked the story, and now a large group of reporters are interviewing the family, and protesters are blocking the training ground..."

Joseph sensed that this was no simple matter. He signaled to Émond, "Please prepare the carriage; I'm going to the training ground. Oh, and send someone to inform Mr. Fouché to meet us there."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Soon, on the carriage heading to the training ground, Joseph asked Frier, "Theoretically, could a cannon from the training ground have hit the farmhouse?"

"Your Highness, if the cannon was fully loaded with gunpowder and had a tailwind, a four-pounder could just about reach 1,800 paces."

Joseph nodded. "It seems someone is trying to frame us, and they're quite familiar with cannons."

He looked at Frier. "Who around Paris is equipped with four-pound cannons?"

"The nearest would be the French Guards and the Royal Guard. Oh, the Mounted Police also have some cannons. Further out, there's the Letellier Regiment and other units."

Joseph narrowed his eyes. The Royal Guard dragging cannons out of Versailles without anyone noticing would be difficult. It seemed unlikely that units like the Letellier Regiment would transport a cannon from nearly a hundred kilometers away to Paris.

That left the French Guards and the Mounted Police as the prime suspects. But who was it?

A few hours later, the Prince's carriage arrived at the Paris Police Academy training ground on the outskirts.

Joseph hadn't even stepped out of the carriage when he saw dozens of people protesting outside the training ground, shouting slogans like "Police Academy endangers farmers' lives" and "Stop the training immediately."

Frier grimaced. "Your Highness, the newspapers have already reported the incident. People in Paris are starting to talk about whether we mistakenly hit the farmhouse. These protesters showed up early this morning."

Joseph thought for a moment, then instructed Frier, "Don't worry about who did it for now; focus on crisis management."

"Crisis management?"

"You need to go with Viscount Besançon and represent the Police Department to visit the affected farmers, offer to help them rebuild their house, and give them… 4,000 livres. But remember, in front of the reporters, say it's just assistance for the family. Don't admit that it was our training that caused the accident, and make it clear that the details are still under investigation.

"After that, you should personally lead the officers to help repair the house, deliver three meals a day, and even help feed the livestock. At the same time, issue a public letter condemning the criminals who attacked the farmers and expressing sympathy for the family's plight. It needs to be heartfelt.

"I'll have the newspapers continue to cover the story and gradually steer public opinion."

Joseph then glanced at the protesting crowd. "As for these people, try to calm them down and promise to suspend cannon training. But be prepared with shields in case someone incites violence. However, be sure not to attack them."

"Yes, Your Highness, I'll get on it right away."

Joseph didn't enter the training ground but instead observed the affected area from a distance before heading to the spot where Dubois had found evidence of the suspected perpetrators firing a cannon.

Dubois had preserved the site well. He pointed to the marks on the ground and said to Joseph, "Your Highness, these wheel tracks suggest they were made by a cannon carriage based on their depth.

"There's also this mound of dirt, likely used to stabilize the cannon carriage. Judging by the footprints, there were seven people and two horses—just enough to operate a four-pound cannon.

"I suspect they fired at the farmhouse at the same time we were conducting our training exercises."

Joseph was still examining the area when Fouché arrived with his police investigation team.

Fouché had already been briefed on the situation on the way and immediately began carefully inspecting the area before visiting the victims. When he returned, he was holding a cannonball.

"Your Highness, the only tracks lead into the nearby forest, and it seems part of the group escaped to Paris," Fouché said grimly. "With just these clues, it's difficult to identify them."

Joseph looked at the cannonball in his hand and shook his head. "Wherever there is contact, there are traces. For example, not all four-pound cannons can fire this particular type of shot."

At that time, the manufacturing process for cannons was limited, making it difficult to standardize bore sizes, so cannonballs were often custom-made.

"Then there are these wheel tracks and footprints—they all contain useful information. I want you to quickly use this evidence to determine who is trying to frame the Police Academy.

"Oh, and considering the proximity of nearby units equipped with four-pound cannons, the French Guards and the Mounted Police are the most likely suspects."

Fouché softly repeated, "Wherever there is contact, there are traces," and slowly nodded, tipping his hat to the Prince. "Your Highness, I will find out who did this as quickly as possible."

The next day, the Interior Minister's messenger hurried to the Industry Planning Bureau to deliver a letter from Monnot to the Prince.

Joseph opened the letter and read that many nobles had already complained to Monnot about the farmhouse cannon incident, demanding that he shut down the Police Academy's training ground.

Since the Police Department was still nominally under the Ministry of the Interior, all these complaints were directed there.

And Monnot had no choice but to relay the matter to the Prince, who effectively controlled the Police Department.

"They're quick to respond," Joseph muttered as he tossed the letter aside, his eyes narrowing with a cold glint. "They'd better hope I don't catch them!"

...

At the Police Intelligence Headquarters.

An intelligence officer was briefing Fouché on the latest findings. "The Mounted Police have three cannons in total. As we suspected, they're not very skilled—these guys mostly harass farmers and haven't used their cannons in a long time; the hooks and axles are all rusted."

The Mounted Police were a rural patrol and tax enforcement unit, not part of the regular police force.

"It seems we should focus on the French Guards," Fouché said, turning to Prosper. "What have you found?"

(End of Chapter)

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