Chapter 125: Crisis Management
Dubois's nose twitched, a premonition of ill fortune rising within him. He quickly turned and instructed his officers, "Antoine, fan out and search! Faustin, go back and call for more men, quickly!"
About half an hour later, a large contingent of police officers had surrounded the area. Antoine rushed back and reported to Dubois, "Sir, a farmhouse to the north was hit by cannon fire. An old man and his wife died, and their house and barn were destroyed."
"Cannon fire?!" Dubois's brows furrowed deeply.
After another while, the other search parties returned, but with no valuable discoveries. By then, dusk had fallen, making it difficult to see anything beyond ten paces. Coupled with the French Guards' thorough preparation, the officers' efforts were fruitless.
The next morning.
In a small room on the second floor of the Industrial Planning Bureau, Murdoch stared intently, yet anxiously, at the notes and blueprints before him. The bloodshot veins in his eyes showed he hadn't slept all night.
The things the Crown Prince had told him were simply too astonishing, too tempting, leaving him with no desire to sleep at all.
He picked up a complex schematic diagram, shook his head, and sighed deeply. 'Fortunately, the French Crown Prince didn't go into steam engines,' he thought. 'Otherwise, both Watt and I would probably be out of a job.'
These ideas were simply incredible, exquisitely ingenious. He couldn't believe they were conceived by a fourteen-year-old boy!
However, there were still many things he hadn't figured out, the "most terrifying" of which was the principle of the "Triple-Expansion Steam Engine." Its thermal efficiency was frighteningly high, but it was also terrifyingly complex.
Even worse, the Crown Prince had only given him the principles and concepts; the specific mechanical design was left for him to complete.
He didn't even dare to think about the words "triple-expansion" right now, or his brain would immediately throb with pain. Clearly, it was already overwhelmed...
After a long time, Murdoch finally gave up, organized the documents, and walked towards the Crown Prince's office.
"Actually, you don't have to be so anxious," Joseph said, smiling as he comforted the haggard inventor. "In the short term, you only need to build existing steam engines. These new technologies can be slowly worked on. Taking five, eight, or even ten years to develop them would still be perfectly fine."
It was a joke. If Murdoch could actually implement all the technologies he had mentioned yesterday, French industry would take off immediately!
But everything followed objective laws of development. Without the accumulation of low-level technologies, high-level technologies would always be castles in the air.
Things like the Triple-Expansion Steam Engine, which required extremely high precision machining and materials, even if Murdoch suddenly had a burst of inspiration, completed the design, and then manually built it, it would inevitably result in a boiler explosion during operation, because the materials and processing levels were far from meeting the requirements.
Joseph wanted to share these advanced technologies with Murdoch for two reasons: first, to give him a concept of the technical direction, and second, to attract and retain him, ensuring his dedicated work in France.
"Thank you for your understanding, Your Highness." Murdoch appeared somewhat listless, whether from exhaustion or disappointment. He had always believed himself to be a super genius in the field of steam engines, despite being socially awkward. Yet now, even with the principles and design concepts laid out, he couldn't build it.
He sighed and said, "Your Highness, actually, I wanted to recommend someone to you, to assist me in researching these technologies you've proposed."
"Oh? Who are you referring to?"
"My neighbor and former colleague, Mr. John Sander, a very talented technician," Murdoch replied. "Perhaps you haven't heard his name, because his invention, the Boiler Pressure Gauge, was considered an important trade secret by Mr. Watt and was never made public.
"Mr. Sander's current living situation isn't great. I believe that if you offer a suitable salary, I can get him to come to France with a single letter."
Joseph felt a little embarrassed. At this rate, he would completely poach all of Watt's talent.
However, this was all because Mr. Watt himself often 'withheld' his employees' technologies, giving Joseph an opportunity to exploit. It would be foolish not to.
"Thank you for your selfless recommendation." Joseph first expressed sincere gratitude, then stated a figure. "120 livres. Do you think this would be a suitable monthly salary for Mr. Sander?"
Murdoch truly wanted to say "unsuitable" because it was too high. In fact, half of that salary would be enough to make Sander desperately board a passenger ship to France.
To be honest, from a personal standpoint, he really didn't want Sander to come, as it would bring competitive pressure. However, after reviewing the technical documents provided by the Crown Prince, he knew he had to find an assistant; otherwise, he alone probably wouldn't be able to fully grasp those technologies in a decade or more.
Murdoch bowed with his hand over his chest. "Your Highness, you are as generous as ever. I will write to Mr. Sander immediately."
As he spoke, he recalled something else. "Oh, by the way, Your Highness, I saw that track facilities are being built in the center of Paris."
Britain had rail transport decades ago, but it was only used for mining transport and had never appeared in cities.
"That's right. Paris will soon host Fashion Week, and track carriages will be needed to transport guests then."
"That's a truly magnificent idea!" Murdoch praised, then continued, "However, if I may be so bold, your track construction workers are probably not very professional. While they came up with the good idea of using crushed stone for the foundation, the securing of the sleepers and the precision of the rail installation are both rather... well, you understand."
Joseph thought, 'I told them to use crushed stone. Their skills are indeed rather average.'
He quickly asked, "Do you have any suggestions for the construction?"
Murdoch waved his hands repeatedly. "Your Highness, I am not skilled in track laying. But I know some experts in this field. Many tracks have been laid in the mining areas of Birmingham, and in recent years, there have been fewer new coal mines, leading to a very poor income situation for them."
Joseph's Eyes Lit Up. 'Mr. Murdoch, have you been a headhunter? In just over ten minutes, you've brought me so many talents!'
The importance of track-laying technicians was self-evident. Iron Rails were a must-have technology for developing the Train.
He nodded without hesitation. "Then please send them an invitation. France will have a lot of track-laying work in the coming years. I will ensure they are satisfied with the compensation."
No sooner had he finished speaking than Eman swiftly entered, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Your Highness, Baron Friant has arrived. He seems to have an urgent matter."
Murdoch, perceptive as ever, excused himself. Friant, the Chief Instructor of the Police Academy, entered the office, closed the door behind him, and quickly bowed to Joseph, saying anxiously, "Your Highness, something has happened..."
"A farmhouse was hit by a cannonball, and people died?" Joseph frowned. "Was it caused by our training?"
"It shouldn't be." Friant bowed his head. "As per your instructions, the powder charges for cannon training are halved. That farmhouse is 1,800 paces from the training ground. Even if the gunner aimed incorrectly, the cannonball couldn't fly that far."
"Do you know who did it?"
"That, it's still unclear. Major Dubois found gunpowder residue and scorched weeds on the north side of the training ground. It's highly likely someone fired a cannon at the farmhouse from there. But he didn't catch any suspicious individuals."
Friant took a deep breath. "Your Highness, the most troublesome thing now is that the farmers are insisting that the cannon from the training ground hit their house.
"Someone has spread the news, and now a large number of reporters are interviewing the family, and protesters are blocking the training ground..."
Joseph felt that this matter was far from simple, so he motioned to Eman. "Please prepare the carriage. I want to go to the training ground to see. Oh, and send someone to inform Mr. Fouché and ask him to go there as well."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Soon, in the carriage heading to the training ground, Joseph asked Friant, "Theoretically speaking, is there any possibility that a cannon from the training ground could have hit the farmhouse?"
"Your Highness, if fully loaded with gunpowder and with a tailwind, a 4-pounder Cannon could barely reach 1,800 paces."
Joseph nodded. "It seems someone is trying to frame us, and they must be very familiar with cannons."
He looked at Friant. "Who near Paris is equipped with 4-pounder Cannons?"
"The closest are the French Guards and the Imperial Guard. Oh, the Mounted Police also have some artillery. Further away are units like the Le Treux Regiment."
Joseph narrowed his eyes. It would be difficult for the Imperial Guard to drag cannons out of Versailles without being noticed by everyone. It also seemed unlikely for units like the Le Treux Regiment to transport cannons nearly a hundred kilometers to Paris.
So, the French Guards and the Mounted Police remained the most suspicious. Who could it be?
A few hours later, the Crown Prince's carriage arrived at the Police Academy training ground on the outskirts of Paris.
Before Joseph even dismounted, he saw dozens of people protesting outside the training ground, shouting slogans like "Police Academy endangers farmers' lives" and "Stop training immediately."
Friant said with a bitter expression, "Your Highness, this matter has already been published in today's newspapers. People in Paris are also starting to say that we accidentally hit the farmhouse. These protesters arrived early this morning."
Joseph thought for a moment and instructed Friant, "Never mind who did it for now. First, manage the crisis."
"Crisis management?"
"You and the Viscount of Besançon immediately go and represent the police department to offer condolences to the farmers, promising to help them repair their house and give them... 4,000 livres. But remember, in front of reporters, only say it's aid for the family. Absolutely do not admit it was an accident caused by our training, and state that the detailed situation is still under investigation.
"Next, you will personally take officers to help repair their house every day, deliver them three meals, and even help feed their livestock. At the same time, publish an open letter condemning the perpetrators who attacked the farmers, expressing sympathy for their plight. It must be written with genuine emotion.
"I will ensure that the newspapers continue to report on this, gradually guiding public opinion."
Joseph then looked at the protesting crowd. "As for these people, try to appease them for now, and agree to temporarily suspend cannon training. However, prepare Shields in case someone incites trouble, but remember not to attack them."
"Yes, Your Highness, I'll do it right away."
Joseph didn't enter the training ground directly. Instead, he first observed the victims' situation from a distance, then went to the spot where Dubois had found the suspected cannon firing location.
Dubois had ensured the scene was well-preserved. He pointed to the marks on the ground and said to Joseph, "Your Highness, judging by their depth, these wheel marks appear to be from cannon carriages.
"And this mound of earth here was left from securing the cannon carriage. Looking at the footprints, there appear to be seven people and two horses, which would be just enough to operate one 4-pounder Cannon.
"My guess is that those people fired at the farmhouse over there at the same time we were conducting our training."
As Joseph was inspecting the vicinity, Fouché arrived with people from the Police Intelligence Bureau.
Fouché had already understood the general situation on the way there and immediately began a careful investigation of the surroundings. Afterward, he went to the victims' location and returned with a cannonball.
"Your Highness, there are only wheel tracks leading to the nearby woods, and it seems some of the culprits escaped to Paris," Fouché said, his face grim. "Based solely on these clues, it's difficult to determine their identity."
Joseph looked at the cannonball in his hand and shook his head. "Every contact leaves a trace. For example, this cannonball cannot be fired by all 4-pounder Cannons."
Due to the limited precision of artillery manufacturing at the time, cannon calibers were rarely perfectly consistent, so cannonballs had to be custom-made.
"These wheel tracks and footprints also contain useful information. I hope you can use them as quickly as possible to determine who is framing the Police Academy.
"Oh, and from the situation of the units nearby that possess 4-pounder Cannons, the French Guards and the Mounted Police are the most likely suspects."
Fouché softly repeated the phrase, "Every contact leaves a trace," and slowly nodded, saluting Joseph with his hat. "Your Highness, I will find out who did this as quickly as possible."
The next day, the Interior Minister's messenger rushed to the Industrial Planning Bureau and handed Monnot's letter to the Crown Prince.
Joseph opened the envelope and saw that Monnot stated in the letter that many nobles had complained to him about the police department or the Police Academy due to the farmhouse shelling incident, demanding that he close the Police Academy training ground.
At that time, the police department was still nominally under the jurisdiction of the interior system, so all complaints went to the Interior Minister.
And Monnot had no choice but to relay this matter to the Crown Prince, who actually controlled the police system.
"That was quick." Joseph tossed the letter aside, a cold glint in his eyes. "Don't let me catch you!"
...
Police Intelligence Bureau headquarters.
An intelligence officer was reporting the recent investigation results to Fouché. "The Mounted Police have a total of three cannons. As we previously suspected, these fellows only bully farmers and probably haven't used their cannons in a long time. The cannon hooks and axles are covered in rust."
The Mounted Police were akin to rural patrol teams plus tax investigators and were not part of the police system.
"It seems the focus must be on the French Guards," Fouché said, looking at Prosper beside him. "Have you found anything on your end?"
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