Chapter 100: A Night Encounter with a Thief
After an entire morning of cabinet meetings, several ministers looked visibly weary.
Queen Marie was about to declare a temporary recess, planning to continue after lunch, when she heard Archbishop Brienne speak up first: "There's one last item on the agenda."
The Queen sighed inwardly, her bottom, which had risen half an inch, settled back onto her chair.
Archbishop Brienne looked at Monnot. "Count Monnot believes that, given the current dismal state of the textile, steel, and glass industries, special personnel should be appointed to manage them in an effort to turn the situation around."
Queen Marie was too tired to think and directly asked the Chief Minister: "Archbishop Brienne, what do you think should be done?"
This matter had already been discussed. Archbishop Brienne immediately responded: "Your Majesty, I propose establishing an Industrial Planning Bureau, specifically responsible for the aforementioned industries. Count Monnot will no longer need to oversee these matters, freeing up his energy to better handle news censorship."
The Queen didn't think it was a major issue and nodded. "Then, who do you believe should be in charge of this department?"
Joseph had been waiting for this very line. He rose and said, "Your Majesty, please entrust it to me. Yes, this should be an excellent opportunity for me to gain experience."
...
The Duke of Orleans looked at the British Ambassador to France, Hartley, with great perplexity. "You mean you've already discussed trade negotiations with the Crown Prince?"
"Indeed," Hartley affirmed with a smile.
"Then do you know what he said at the cabinet meeting?" The Duke of Orleans scoffed. "He wants Britain to lower the tariff on wine imported from France to below 10%! Haha, he must be joking..."
Hartley hesitated for a moment before replying truthfully, "Your Grace, to my knowledge, the British Parliament has, in principle, agreed to this request and has instructed me to finalize a negotiation time with your country as soon as possible."
The Duke of Orleans froze. "How could you possibly agree to such terms?"
As he spoke, he suddenly heard the shouts of guards from outside the door: "Catch him! He ran that way!"
"Someone, block him in the corridor! Heavens, he's like a slippery squirrel!"
"Ah—"
"Watch out! His swordsmanship is formidable..."
The butler quickly pushed open the door, then instantly locked it from the inside. He then bowed to the Duke of Orleans, placing a hand on his chest. "Your Grace, a thief has slipped in. The guards are cornering him. You are safe here."
The Duke of Orleans frowned, though he wasn't particularly surprised. The Palais-Royal saw many different people daily, and it was easy for a thief to blend in. He was simply curious as to how the guards hadn't caught the thief despite all the commotion.
Before long, a breathless guard knocked and entered, reporting something to the butler.
The butler quickly turned to the Duke of Orleans. "Your Grace, the thief seems to have stolen something from your archives and has just fled the Palais-Royal."
"That damned wretch!" Orleans's face immediately darkened. The archives contained numerous important documents, and it was heavily guarded, so how could a thief have succeeded?!
He immediately commanded, "Send more men! You must catch him!"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Soon, more than a hundred fully armed guards emerged from the Palais-Royal, coming out like a string of fish, disappearing into the last rays of twilight.
Five carriages sped along the wide cobblestone road of Rue Saint-Honoré in Paris.
This was the Crown Prince's "moving" convoy.
Indeed, Joseph had discovered that after taking over industrial management, there was simply too much to do. Commuting daily between Paris and Versailles would waste an enormous amount of time.
So, he simply bought a house in the Louvre District of Paris to serve as the office for the "French Industrial Planning Bureau." He then moved all his daily necessities and office supplies there, planning to reside there permanently.
Inside the carriage, Joseph was silently pondering how to quickly secure a large "food fund."
He had roughly calculated before that, based on a 30% food deficit, even if grain prices remained stable, at least 60 million livres worth of grain would need to be purchased just to scrape through 1788.
This didn't even account for expenses like building granaries and spoilage.
As for 1789, it was likely that even obtaining grain from abroad would be difficult. After all, this was a global climate anomaly, with widespread famine appearing from Europe to Asia.
If the famine problem wasn't properly addressed, the starving populace would have only one path left: revolution...
Joseph first thought of loans, but given the French government's current financial credit, securing such a large sum in a short time would be exceedingly difficult. And even if they could obtain it, the interest would undoubtedly be astronomically high.
Next was issuing government bonds... But he dismissed the thought. Any bonds that could actually sell, the finance minister would have already sold, leaving none for him.
Generating money through new technologies or similar ventures, aside from whether they could earn that much, wouldn't be timely enough.
Therefore, he needed to make quick money, and a significant amount at that...
As his mind raced, he suddenly heard the booming of muskets in the distance, followed by a clamor of voices. The carriage's speed immediately slowed.
After a short while, a guard reported from outside the carriage window, "Your Highness, it seems they're apprehending a thief up ahead."
"Catching a thief? And so many gunshots?" Joseph inquired, slightly puzzled. "Is it a gang of thieves?"
"No, Your Highness," the guard replied. "They say it's just one person."
"One person causing such a commotion?" Joseph asked again. "Are the police making the arrest?"
The guard shook his head. "It's the Palais-Royal guard, Your Highness."
'The Duke of Orleans's men?'
A few more gunshots echoed in the distance. Eman quickly instructed the coachman to back away, putting distance between them and the trouble.
Just as the convoy turned into a nearby alley, a dark figure suddenly leaped gracefully from a rooftop on the right.
The shadowy figure used its hands and feet to repeatedly brace against window ledges, slowing its descent. Taking advantage of the moment the carriage passed in front, it suddenly raised a hand, smashed open the window, and then, with lightning speed, vaulted into the vehicle.
Bracing his left hand on the small wooden table inside the carriage, he quickly regained his balance. Simultaneously, by the candlelight, he confirmed there were only two people inside, one of whom was a seemingly unthreatening youth.
His movements were incredibly swift. The moment his feet landed, his right hand had already drawn a short knife from his waist, slashing towards the blond man inside the carriage.
He had no intention of killing, but rather planned to use the knife to take the man hostage, threatening him into helping him break through the encirclement.
However, before his knife could travel even a finger's length, a cold gleam flashed in the man's hand opposite him, and a short sword was already pressed against his throat.
The blond man said in a low voice, "Don't move, or you'll lose your life!"
The shadowy figure froze, and the short knife in his hand was snatched away by the blond man.
"Guards..."
Just as the blond man was about to call out, the youth sitting opposite him raised a hand to stop him, then asked the black-clad intruder, "The Palais-Royal guards were chasing you just now, weren't they?"
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