Chapter 167: Fateful Encounter
A dilapidated coal carriage pulled up to an old inn on the eastern outskirts of the city of Tulle.
Erich reined in the horses, turned to rap on the carriage, and whispered through the small window, "We're here. Everyone, check your 'tools.'"
Alighting from the carriage, Erich spent 2 sou to learn Marat's room number from the innkeeper, then turned to instruct two of his subordinates:
"Room 32 on the first floor. Dim will distract them at the door. Eichendorf will go in through the window with me. Try not to make too much noise. I don't need to spell out the rest, do I?"
The two burly men nodded silently, and one of them turned and left.
Inside Room 32, Marat was organizing clues related to Necker when he heard a knock on the door. "Sir, your beer has arrived."
"You've made a mistake, we didn't order any drinks."
The knocking continued relentlessly. "But the money's already been paid..."
His assistant, Evans, rose in confusion to open the door, but Marat suddenly stopped him, frowning as he looked toward the window.
Marat's pupils contracted, but his mind remained incredibly calm—after so many years of anti-royalist journalism, he had witnessed his share of major incidents. He immediately blew out the candlelight, grabbed the satchel beside him, which contained a loaded pistol.
Evans, however, recoiled in panic. He suddenly recalled the 'innkeeper' still standing outside and thought to ask for help—Evans was just a novice who had joined the workforce a few years ago and had no idea how many ruthless tricks a killer might employ. So, he turned around, pulled open the door with a shriek, "Someone's breaking in..."
Marat internally cried 'No good!' Before he could intervene, Evans had already collapsed backward onto the floor, a sharp blade protruding from his chest.
In a flash, Marat used the faint light from the corridor to raise the satchel, aimed at the silhouette in the doorway, and forcefully pulled the trigger.
A resounding "BANG!" echoed, and the figure stumbled backward. Marat hastily dropped the satchel and bolted out of the room.
At the same time, the window behind him was pushed open. The first person to leap through saw Marat's retreating back and immediately, without hesitation, flung a dagger.
Marat had just turned to make out the exit at the end of the corridor when he felt a sudden numbness in his left hip. Reaching back, he found a dagger embedded there.
Having studied medicine, he knew he absolutely couldn't pull the blade out now. He clamped his hands firmly on either side of the hilt and limped toward the exit.
By then, it was late, and only the reeking-of-alcohol innkeeper was dozing on the counter in the hotel lobby. Marat saw two figures hot on his heels and had no choice but to turn and flee out of the building.
In a small town like Tulle, the streets were completely deserted at night. Marat ran toward the city center, gritting his teeth against the pain, but the faster he moved, the more blood flowed from his hip.
The footsteps behind him, however, kept him from daring to slow down or cry for help—a shout would only reveal his location to the killers, serving no other purpose.
Soon, he felt his heart pound and his chest tighten, and the objects before his eyes began to shimmer faintly.
Just as he began to despair, he suddenly spotted a figure in the window of a small cottage ahead, seemingly watching him.
He waved vigorously toward it, then his left leg suddenly gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.
The person in the cottage rushed out—a woman in her early twenties. She helped Marat to his feet. Before she could ask anything, he spoke weakly, "Quick! Hide me, someone's trying to kill me..."
The woman was somewhat flustered, but after hearing Marat claim to be a police officer from Paris, she mustered her courage and dragged him behind the fence outside the cottage.
No sooner had she closed the fence gate than two men, pistols in hand, ran up.
The taller, burly man glanced around, about to continue the chase down the road, when the shorter man called out to him.
The latter crouched down, feeling the ground, and soon touched something sticky.
He raised his hand to his nose, sniffed, then immediately looked around vigilantly, stating in a low voice, "It's blood. He's nearby."
The burly man nodded, searching tree after tree along the road, his gaze soon falling on the small cottage.
Marat heard the approaching sound of leather boots, his heart pounding wildly, too terrified to even breathe.
Suddenly, the footsteps halted just outside the fence. Marat was secretly sighing in relief when two hands abruptly appeared on the other side of the fence. A figure then vaulted onto the top of the fence, staring coldly at the prey cowering in the corner.
"Good evening, 'Mr. Meddlesome'! Let's see where you can run now!"
"Run!" Marat cried in despair, forcefully pushing away the woman who had helped him, then closed his eyes, awaiting death.
Immediately, a "BANG" of a gunshot rang out.
Marat flinched violently, yet felt no pain.
'The killer missed?'
He tremblingly opened his eyes just a crack, only to see the dark silhouette on the fence fall straight down.
Then, seven or eight figures surged through the fence entrance with a rush. Someone, illuminated by the torchlight, spotted Marat and immediately shouted, "He's here! Mr. Marat!"
Prosper from the Police Intelligence Bureau rushed over, knelt down, and said, "His Royal Highness the Crown Prince anticipated you might be in danger, so he sent us to follow you. We had just arrived near the inn when we heard the gunshot, thankfully... Are you hurt? Quick, someone get a doctor!"
...
Paris.
The Industrial Planning Bureau's second-floor office.
Fouché placed a report before Joseph and stated gravely, "Your Royal Highness, Mr. Marat was attacked on the very night he arrived in Tulle. His assistant, Mr. Evans, was killed on the spot. Mr. Marat was fortunate to receive help from a lady named Charlotte Corday, which allowed him to escape, though he sustained some leg injuries."
Joseph frowned as he flipped through the pages. "He went to see Calonne, asked about Necker, and then someone tried to kill him. Were the assassins caught?"
"Two of the assassins are dead, one escaped under the cover of night," Fouché replied. "According to Prosper's investigation, both were local gang members from Tulle."
He hesitated. "Your Royal Highness, could it be Calonne trying to stop Mr. Marat from investigating Necker, and so he sent assassins?"
Joseph shook his head, holding up Marat's report. "Mr. Marat is quite certain that Calonne and Necker have a feud. He wouldn't do something like this to protect him."
"Besides, Calonne is a very shrewd man. Even if he wanted to arrange an assassination, he wouldn't choose the very night after they had met."
Calonne, having served as Minister of Finance and also Chief Minister, was certainly no ordinary man. In fact, France's Tax Bill was his brainchild; Archbishop Brienne later merely copied his tax reform plan. However, Calonne was ultimately overthrown by the aristocratic faction, his tax reforms failed, and he was exiled.
Fouché immediately offered, "Then, perhaps it was Necker's people?"
Joseph nodded slightly. "There's that possibility. If so, it further confirms that Mr. Marat's investigation is on the right track."
He then looked at the report again. "However, if they have a feud, why wouldn't Calonne reveal the evidence he holds against Necker to Mr. Marat?"
Marat clearly stated in his report that he had received reliable information that Calonne likely possessed damaging secrets about Necker.
Fouché said, "Your Royal Highness, perhaps Calonne simply doesn't trust Mr. Marat..."
Joseph tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, shaking his head slightly. "The logic of this situation seems off."
"Even without Mr. Marat, if Calonne and Necker have a feud and Calonne possesses evidence of Necker's crimes, why wouldn't he expose him directly? For example, by reporting him to His Majesty the King."
Fouché lowered his head in thought. "If the two of them aren't colluding, then Viscount Calonne must be under threat. Similar to what Mr. Marat experienced."
Joseph didn't agree with his assessment. Calonne had once been Chief Minister; even in exile, he remained an influential aristocrat. Hiring dozens of bodyguards would be no problem for him.
Furthermore, he was a staunch royalist, highly trusted by Queen Marie. Given his political influence, Necker wouldn't dare to casually make a move against him.
Joseph pondered for a moment, then slowly said, "Aside from being threatened, there are several other possibilities for Calonne."
"For example, he might be waiting for the right price. He could believe that the information he holds about Necker is highly valuable and is waiting for someone who needs it to offer a high price before he reveals anything."
"Another possibility is that Necker also holds damaging information against him. If he exposes Necker, he might be bitten back."
Joseph gazed out the window, a touch of frustration in his expression. It seemed Calonne possessed crucial evidence, but how could he be made to speak?
He suddenly recalled the exhaustive enumeration method he used to employ for proof problems.
If the reasons preventing Calonne from revealing Necker's secrets don't extend beyond the scope of his recent speculations, then he only needed to resolve these issues, and Calonne would surely comply!
First, he could largely rule out the possibility of Calonne being under a direct threat to his life. If that were the case, it would be the easiest to solve: assign him a hundred Royal Guards to protect him at all times. What would he have to fear then?
Next, if Calonne was waiting for the right price, then he would need to offer terms compelling enough to move him.
As a former Minister of Finance, he likely wasn't short on money, and Joseph truly hated to use precious livres as leverage.
For someone like Calonne, it wasn't just about money; it was about power.
As Joseph considered this, an idea struck him. Calonne had been exiled to Lorraine, his political career seemingly over. If Joseph could arrange for his return to Paris, it would be like granting him a second life—a political one.
He was sure Calonne couldn't refuse such an offer.
The problem was, Archbishop Brienne had only ascended to the position of Chief Minister after Calonne's departure. If Calonne were brought back, Brienne would surely have objections.
How could he be convinced...?
After Fouché finished reporting on the Tulle incident, he took his leave.
Joseph, meanwhile, set off for Versailles, intending to speak with Archbishop Brienne first.
In the carriage, he continued to mull over the possibility that Necker also held damaging secrets about Calonne.
That would be the trickiest situation to handle.
Only by forcing Calonne into a lose-lose situation, a fight to the death where both sides are destroyed, would he likely expose Necker.
However, one thing Joseph was certain of was that, historically, Calonne had been extremely loyal to the Crown.
After Louis XVI was guillotined, he stepped forward to lead the Royalist Party, dedicating himself to the great cause of restoring royal power, almost bankrupting himself in the process.
In the current situation, where royal authority needed to be consolidated, it was essential to lend such a man a hand.
Joseph subconsciously flipped through the documents Marat had sent, a smile suddenly appearing on his face. Perhaps Marat's assassination attempt could be put to good use.
An hour and a half later, the carriage, speeding along the wooden tracks, stopped on the east side of Versailles Palace. Only a few hundred meters remained before the wooden tracks would directly connect Versailles and Paris.
It was now 5 PM, and Joseph went straight to Archbishop Brienne's residence.
The Archbishop hurried out to greet him, bowing with a smile. "Your Royal Highness, if you needed something, you merely had to summon me to your quarters."
Joseph exchanged pleasantries with him for a moment, then quickly got to the point. "Archbishop Brienne, I have a matter of great importance that requires your assistance."
"I am always at Your Royal Highness's service."
Joseph nodded. "What are your thoughts if I need Viscount Calonne to return to Paris?"
Archbishop Brienne stiffened immediately, then let out a dry laugh. "Your Royal Highness, have I made some blunder?"
"Oh, no, please don't misunderstand. Your work has always been exceptional. His Majesty and I trust you implicitly," Joseph quickly assured him. "Bringing Calonne back is entirely for 'business.' I assure you, he will pose no threat whatsoever to your position."
"What do you mean by 'business'?"
Joseph deliberately lowered his voice. "For example, it could help you secure hundreds, perhaps even tens of millions, in financial revenue."
Archbishop Brienne's eyes widened instantly. "Calonne is willing to provide that much in political donations?!"
"Ah, no... bringing him back is only part of the strategy," Joseph clarified. "You will learn the specific details later."
Archbishop Brienne hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. "Your Royal Highness, if Viscount Calonne does not enter the cabinet, I can accept it."
He was probably the person in all of France who understood most clearly the formidable power wielded by the young Crown Prince.
His position as Minister of Finance had been secured by the Crown Prince through astonishing means; otherwise, he would have long since been fishing on Corsica, suffering an even worse fate than Calonne.
If the Crown Prince insisted on Calonne's return, he wouldn't be able to stop it. The Crown Prince seeking his counsel and promising not to affect his position was a gesture of goodwill.
This was precisely the time to demonstrate his loyalty and trust. He certainly possessed that much political acumen.
Moreover, it could solve his most vexing financial problems. Why wouldn't he embrace it?
Joseph hadn't expected Archbishop Brienne to agree so readily. He sincerely thanked him, then pulled him along to see the Queen—the news of Calonne's attempted assassination would alert everyone involved, so they had to act quickly. Any delay could lead to complications; they couldn't wait for a cabinet meeting to discuss it at length.
Inside the Petit Trianon, Queen Marie looked at Archbishop Brienne in surprise. "You mean, pardon Viscount Calonne?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Archbishop Brienne replied with a sincere expression. "Viscount Calonne was dismissed and exiled years ago due to his inability to effectively implement the Tax Bill."
He leaned forward slightly. "As you know, this was essentially a gesture made toward the Assembly of Notables."
"Now that the Tax Bill has been in effect for several months and the High Court has also been reorganized, you no longer need to heed the opinions of those from the Assembly of Notables."
Archbishop Brienne was, after all, a seasoned politician. With a single statement, he framed Calonne's pardon as a way for the Queen to regain the prestige she had lost years ago.
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