I am the Crown Prince of France

Chapter 125: I Accept the French Guards' Gift!

"We haven't found anything yet," Prosper said with a troubled expression. "You know, we haven't really dealt with the military much before. My men only just made contact with officers in the French Guards yesterday..."

Fouché's face darkened as he replied, "I'll give you five more days. If you still don't find anything valuable, I'll have to replace you as the head of the operations team."

"Yes, sir! I'll do my best!" Prosper had no choice but to accept his orders with a bitter expression.

Fouché could tell from Prosper's demeanor that this task was extremely challenging. The military had its own intelligence network, and even secret police were reluctant to probe too deeply into military affairs—let alone the police intelligence division, which had only been established a few months ago.

"Remember, wherever there's contact, there will be traces!" he encouraged his subordinate. "Pay attention to every detail. I believe you'll find what you're looking for."

...

In the office of the French Guards' commander.

"So you're telling me," Bessonval stared at his subordinate, struggling to suppress his anger, "that you're the one responsible for the cannon fire that hit the farmhouse in the southern suburbs?"

The major standing before him wore a smug expression and nodded. "Yes, General. Rest assured, we were very careful. That same night, I had someone tell the farmers that it was a cannon from the police training ground that hit their house, and then I informed all the newspapers in Paris..."

"Theodore, you idiot!" Bessonval finally lost his temper, slamming his hand on the desk. "Who gave you the authority to act on your own?!"

Yesterday, when he heard about the incident in the southern suburbs, he initially believed it was a mistake by the police academy's training exercises. Overjoyed, he had even reached out to some influential nobles to pressure the Minister of the Interior together.

But now, it turned out his own subordinate was responsible.

"There are only a few military units near Paris," Bessonval gritted his teeth. "People will soon start suspecting us!

"Listen, you and your men are not to leave the barracks or speak to anyone outside for the time being.

"Oh, God, what a mess you've made!"

"Y-yes, sir..." Theodore, trembling, quickly retreated from the room.

Bessonval rubbed his aching hand, shaking his head in frustration.

Although Theodore's actions had been reckless, the incident had occurred after dark, so there shouldn't have been any witnesses linking it to the French Guards. As long as Theodore stayed in the barracks, they should avoid any serious trouble.

He glanced at the newspaper on his desk, the headline reading, "Cannonball from Police Academy Suspected in Farmhouse Incident, Two Dead," and allowed himself a cold smile.

As long as the truth didn't come out, this could be an opportunity to deal with the police department.

...

At the entrance of the White Narcissus Institute, two middle-aged men, both clearly drunk, were leaning on each other's shoulders as they made their way to a carriage.

"Valentin, my dear friend," said a small-eyed man in a black overcoat, beneath which he wore the standard uniform shirt of the French Guards. He patted the other man on the back with a smile, "Let's go hunting sometime. Winter rabbits are so fat..."

The tall, square-faced man named Valentin waved his hand dismissively. "Hunting? What's the point? You can only use small shotguns."

His words were slightly slurred as he continued, "Cannons! Only cannons are a man's true love! Thiroux, you know, if it weren't for this leg, I might have outranked you by now."

Thiroux nodded repeatedly. "Of course. Your ancestors and your father were all war heroes. With that legacy, you're sure to be an outstanding officer."

Valentin hobbled a few more steps, then turned to look back at the institute with a sigh. "But I'm stuck wasting my life in a place like this. I envy you, able to wear the uniform, command cannons, and smash all your enemies on the battlefield!

"And me, despite coming from a military family, I've never even touched a real cannon."

Thiroux chuckled, "Cannons? They're cold and hard... what's the appeal?"

"No, you're taking them for granted. To me, cannons are even more beautiful than the girls at the White Narcissus."

An idea suddenly struck Thiroux. This wealthy man, Viscount Valentin Menard, had struck up a friendship with him over drinks at a tavern. In the past week, Menard had treated him to drinks and visits to the institute almost daily, spending a considerable amount of money. Thiroux had begun to feel a bit guilty.

But now that he knew Menard loved cannons so much, perhaps he could repay the favor by giving him a special treat.

Thiroux, somewhat intoxicated, pulled Menard into the carriage and whispered, "You've treated me to the White Narcissus so many times, so let me treat you to something special—how about playing with some cannons?"

Menard was immediately thrilled. "Really? Where can I find cannons?"

"At the barracks, of course," Thiroux grinned.

"But I'm not a soldier. How can I get into the barracks?"

Thiroux thumped his chest confidently. "Don't worry, I'll take you in. You can do whatever you want with the cannons, and I might even let you fire a few shots."

"Oh, God! I don't even know how to thank you, dear Thiroux!"

"We're friends. No need for thanks."

As dusk settled in, Menard, now dressed in a French Guards uniform, hobbled after Thiroux into the French Guards' barracks.

The sentries at the gate, after noticing Thiroux's rank, asked no questions.

Outside the French Guards' artillery depot, Thiroux exchanged a few words with the officer on duty before signaling to Menard that it was all clear to enter.

"Oh, God! Real cannons!" Menard's eyes lit up as he eagerly went from cannon to cannon, almost as if he were caressing a lover.

Thiroux watched Menard's infatuation with amusement before withdrawing to a corner to sit and sip from a flask.

Seeing that no one was paying attention to him, Menard's drunken demeanor vanished in an instant. With practiced hands, he pulled a small wooden ball, about the size of a fist, from his pocket—an exact replica of the cannonball that had struck the farmhouse, crafted by an artisan to match the original down to the smallest dent.

Menard carefully compared the wooden ball to the muzzles of the six four-pound cannons in the depot. Three of them seemed to match the size of the cannonball.

He then pulled out a long strip of paper from his pocket. It had two parallel lines with some vertical marks and irregular circles drawn on it.

He used the paper strip to compare the wheels of the three cannons. Soon, he ruled out one of them based on the wheel's width—the paper strip had been used to take impressions of the wheel tracks at the site where the cannon had been fired north of the police training ground. The parallel lines represented the wheel's width, the vertical marks showed the rivet positions, and the irregular circles indicated wear and tear or nicks on the wheels.

Menard carefully examined the remaining two cannons, a smile slowly forming on his lips as he whispered to himself, "Indeed, wherever there is contact, there will be traces. These marks—they're your marks!"

The cannon before him matched the wheel tracks perfectly, from the wheel's width to the rivet positions, even down to a small chip on the wheel!

Menard quickly jotted down the serial number engraved on the cannon's breech.

...

Joseph flipped through the newspapers in front of him, nodding in approval.

The front page of Le Journal de Paris featured the headline "The Police Department's Care Warms the Hearts of the Axel Family." Beneath it was an engraving of Besançon feeding Axel's young son.

Axel was the farmer whose house had been hit by the cannonball. He had been out in the fields with his two children at the time, which was the only reason they survived.

The French Messenger provided a follow-up on the Axel family's current situation, with the headline "Little Benoit Smiles for the First Time as the Police Department Fully Repairs Their Home." The accompanying image showed the rebuilt Axel home.

The Voice of the City conducted a more in-depth investigation, with the front page headline "The Perpetrator May Be Someone Else; Experts Say the Range of a Four-Pound Cannon Is Limited." The article analyzed how unlikely it was that a cannon from the police training ground could have hit the farmhouse 1,800 paces away, and it included a description of where Dubois had discovered evidence of the cannon's firing site.

With the media on his side, Joseph's crisis management had been very successful—public opinion in Paris had shifted to focus on the Police Department's compassionate care for the farmers or how approachable and down-to-earth the department's officials were.

Even those who still believed the police academy had accidentally hit the farmhouse mostly felt that the Police Department had shown great responsibility in making amends.

The newspapers had reported that the Axel family received 4,000 livres in compensation—a considerable sum for a farming family. Some of the neighboring farmers were even envious, lamenting that their own homes hadn't been hit by the cannon.

Axel himself repeatedly told reporters that he had been misled by rumors and was certain it wasn't the police academy's cannon that hit his house. Even if it had been, he said, his family had long since forgiven the academy, as the Paris police were like angels.

As for the protesters who had gathered outside the police academy, they had all dispersed a week ago.

Following this "Police Chief Personally Comforts Farmers Affected by Cannon Fire" incident, even more young men were signing up for the police academy than before.

As Joseph was reading an article about the incident in News & Pictures, Eymond knocked lightly on the door and said, "Your Highness, Monsieur Fouché is here."

"Oh? Please show him in."

Fouché entered the office, first bowing respectfully before saying, "Your Highness, we have solid evidence pointing to the French Guards."

He placed a report on Joseph's desk and continued, "This is a detailed comparison of the cannon's specifics. We've also investigated the seven gunners assigned to this cannon. Six of them left the French Guards' camp on the afternoon of the incident and all returned later that evening. We can confirm that none of them entered Paris during that time."

The Police Intelligence Division had already planted many informants throughout Paris, so Fouché was confident in his conclusion.

Although the old French military system was somewhat lax, allowing soldiers nearly eight hours of free time each day, it was highly suspicious for so many men to leave the barracks at once without entering the city.

Joseph examined the report and asked, "Is there any concrete evidence?"

Fouché shook his head. "Your Highness, we're basing our conclusions on logical deductions, but it's not enough to formally charge them."

Seeing the Prince frown, Fouché stepped closer, his expression cold, but with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Your Highness, should we arrest those men? I have ways of making them confess."

Joseph glanced at him. "Where are they now?"

"They're in the French Guards' camp."

"No. If we were to try to seize soldiers from their barracks and failed, the consequences could be severe."

Joseph looked back at the report, recalling how Bessonval had used the pretext of an important visitor to demand entry to the police academy grounds, only to be turned away at gunpoint by the officers. He couldn't help but smirk: It seemed that incident was the real motive behind all this.

Joseph hadn't anticipated that Bessonval would be so willing to endanger lives just to settle a score with the police academy. If Axel hadn't been lucky enough to be out in the field at the time, his entire family of six might have perished.

If Bessonval knew what Joseph was thinking, he would surely protest his innocence. He was a rational man and had intended to leverage the power of the military aristocracy to deal with the Paris Police Department—he hadn't expected his subordinate Theodore to act so recklessly.

Joseph set the report down on the table and took a deep breath: So you want to play dirty? Fine, then I won't hold back!

He had been careful not to provoke the military too much because his political foundation was still shaky, and he didn't want to raise the ire of the military aristocracy. But now that they had made the first move, there was no reason he couldn't retaliate. Even the military aristocracy couldn't object if he slapped back in this case.

"Since that's the case, I'll gladly accept this gift from the French Guards!"

Joseph pondered for a moment, recalling how Bessonval had used the excuse of an important visitor to try and search the academy grounds. The next important visitor expected in Paris was the Princess of the Two Sicilies.

He looked at Fouché and asked, "Do you know who is responsible for escorting foreign royalty when they visit Paris?"

"Your Highness, usually, the local garrisons handle the escort duties along the way. Once they reach the outskirts of Paris, the French Guards take over. Inside Paris, the French Guards and the Royal Guard handle the escort together until they arrive at Versailles."

Joseph nodded slightly. This could be a good opportunity. A plan quickly took shape in his mind.

"Count Eymond, please prepare the carriage. I need to go to Versailles."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Soon, the Prince's carriage departed from the Industry Planning Bureau.

Inside the carriage, Joseph continued discussing the next steps with Fouché. In the middle of their conversation, they heard a newsboy shouting from the roadside, "Read all about it! Two sous a copy! The 'Blood Knife' bandits spotted near Paris—seven or eight people have already been killed!"

Joseph immediately ordered the carriage to stop and was about to send someone to buy a newspaper when Fouché quickly reported, "Your Highness, that's just a highway robbery gang. They don't even dare enter Paris, only committing crimes in the countryside. They've been getting attention because of the number of people they've killed."

"A highway robbery gang?" Joseph couldn't help but smile. "Add this gang to the mix, and it'll be perfect!"

When the carriage stopped at Versailles, Joseph quickly made his way to the Petit Trianon.

Marie Antoinette, who hadn't seen her son in over two weeks, was overjoyed and embraced him warmly. "My dear Joseph, I thought you had forgotten all about me."

After some casual conversation, Joseph suddenly said, "Mother, I would like to personally go out to the outskirts of Paris to greet Princess Maria Amalia."

(End of Chapter)

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