Chapter 232: The Abyss
A gaunt old man, dressed in a thin linen jacket and pulling an emaciated child of about ten, struggled to push their way to the granary official. Bowing his head and clasping his hands over his chest, he pleaded:
"Good sir, kind sir! Bread in the city is selling for 22 sou a pound now; we simply can't afford it... Please have mercy and distribute some grain! Otherwise, we truly won't survive!"
Normally, bread in Nice wouldn't exceed 10 sou a pound. For citizens scraping by on every sou of their wages, this meant more than half a month without money for food.
A chorus of pleas immediately rose from the crowd:
"Please distribute affordable grain! His Majesty the King promised it in the notices..."
"My child has only eaten one meal in the past two days, please!"
"Sir, many bakeries in the city have run out of flour; everyone is counting on the reserve grain..."
"For heaven's sake, have pity on us..."
The granary official merely offered helpless, perfunctory words.
"We can't starve to death, let's take the food ourselves!"
His accomplices instantly echoed his cries:
"We have a right to bread!"
"That's right, we're just getting food for our families and children; God will forgive us for this!"
"Everyone, let's go!"
The starving people outside the granary heard this, but hesitated, too fearful to step forward.
Scarface had already brazenly smashed open the granary's perimeter gate, and a guard pointed a musket at him, yelling:
"Get back!"
Someone nearby waved at the crowd, shouting:
"Look! These brutal guards are going to shoot!"
Scarface seized the moment the guard hesitated, snatching away his musket. The other few guards hadn't anticipated things escalating so quickly, and in that brief moment of hesitation, they were surrounded by Scarface's two dozen or so accomplices.
Some bolder hungry citizens, seeing Scarface rush into the granary, immediately followed him inside, which in turn drew in even more people.
Just over ten minutes later, nearly a thousand hungry people swarmed into the granary like a tide. The official in charge, seeing the guards beaten black and blue, immediately hid in his office, too terrified to emerge.
Soon, the hungry people inside the granary pulled out sacks to fill with wheat. Those without sacks, disregarding the cold, took off their coats to carry the grain.
An hour later, the more than 20,000 pounds of wheat in the granary had been completely swept clean.
Most of the hungry citizens left "payment" for the wheat they took, priced at 2 sou and 6 denier per pound, calling it a "People's Tax."
The so-called "People's Tax" was a French "tradition." People believed that as long as they paid what they considered a reasonable price, it counted as a purchase, not robbery.
The granary official in charge waited until the hungry crowd dispersed, then looked at the empty warehouse, feeling as if he'd fallen into an ice cavern.
This place was originally meant to supply the city of Nice with a week's worth of grain, but now nothing remained. This meant that soon, all the grain stores and bakeries in the city would have to close...
The next day, in a wooden cabin on the outskirts of Nice, the man with three moles counted out over 80 silver coins to Scarface.
The latter immediately bowed and flattered him, then distributed the money among his underlings. He was the leader of the "Howell" gang, Nice's largest criminal organization.
"Three-Moles" was a spy cultivated by the Duke of Orleans. Following the Duke of Orleans's instructions, he had arrived in Nice a month ago, hiring members of the "Howell" gang at the exorbitant price of 4 livres per person per day to incite riots with him.
After long-term plotting, their actions yesterday had achieved great success.
After paying out the "wages," "Three-Moles" immediately led the gang members to wait near the reserve granary.
As he expected, citizens who had heard about the grain raid the day before soon came hoping to try their luck, but without exception, they found the granary empty.
Scarface's men would then step forward and inform them that everyone was preparing to "acquire" the grain from city's stores and bakeries that afternoon.
By past three in the afternoon, the atmosphere in Nice was already thick with the premonition of a coming storm.
As Scarface led the charge into the city's largest bakery, the entire city descended into madness. People who had been starving for a long time, and those anxious about the food supply, smashed open the doors of grain stores and bakeries, taking as much food as they could.
Initially, people still followed the custom of leaving a "People's Tax." But by the latter half, it had devolved into pure looting.
By dusk, the city's normal bread supply had completely collapsed.
Those who hadn't managed to get any grain were doomed to find not even a crumb of bread available for purchase tomorrow morning. Such people constituted the majority of the city's inhabitants.
The next day, the ruined "Markman" bakery was swarming with desperate citizens. The owner and bakers had long since fled, and there was nothing left inside. Although people knew this, they still habitually lingered there.
Just as they sank into despair, Scarface passed by the street corner with over a thousand people, and shouts rose from the crowd:
"Viscount Slaert's family has a lot of grain; let's go ask him for some food."
"Anyone who doesn't want to starve, come quickly!"
"There's no more food in the city, don't hesitate!"
The people in front of the bakery paused for a moment, then immediately joined the procession heading towards Viscount Slaert's residence.
Although some felt that Viscount Slaert and his family were decent people, at times like this, people were like a panicked flock of sheep, blindly following the leader, having completely lost their ability to think.
Before noon, Viscount Slaert's villa was completely looted. Scarface, following his "employer's" demands, led the hungry masses in a surging procession towards Baron Abela's estate.
...
Meanwhile, in the city center of Montpellier, the spy sent by the Duke of Orleans, also using dozens of gang members as his core, led a large number of citizens in widespread food riots.
Just as the leading gang members urged the hungry citizens to loot a nobleman's house in the south of the city, a hungry citizen loudly suggested:
"Why don't we go to Count Sérurier's estate? His estate is so large, he must have plenty of food..."
Before he could finish speaking, he was secretly kicked, and two gang members, pretending it was an accident, jostled him to the ground.
Count Sérurier was an ally of the Duke of Orleans, and they definitely had to prevent trouble from reaching him. In fact, Marquis de Saint-Véran's Montcalm Legion, numbering over 17,000 soldiers, was currently stationed at Sérurier's estate. Even if the hungry citizens went there, they would certainly be turned away.
The brief interlude quickly passed, and the crowd, shouting, began to surge towards the south of the city.
In just a few days, starving rioters had swept through most of Montpellier. Yet, Marquis de Saint-Véran, responsible for the city's public order, merely watched with cold indifference, allowing the unrest to spread...
Due to the malicious and haphazard reallocation of strategic grain reserves, the reserve granaries throughout France's central and southern provinces began to run dry one after another.
After Nice and Montpellier, food shortages gradually began to appear in other regions. And the spies dispatched by the Duke of Orleans also began to stir into action.
However, limited by the poor information transmission capabilities of the era, the news had not yet reached Versailles.
...
Paris.
In the moment two guards bent their heads to light their pipes, Sorel slipped past them from their flank and behind, entering the west corridor on the second floor of the Palais-Royal.
She pressed her back against a statue, taking a deep breath, and looked at the door of the document room not far away. 'Finally, I'm in!' she silently exulted.
After the "prison break" that day, she and her Brotherhood comrades divided up the work, each responsible for investigating a suspicious duke. Her focus was on the Duke of Orleans.
She had originally heard that the Duke of Orleans had recently traveled south, thinking it a godsend, and that she should easily find useful evidence. To her surprise, the security at the Palais-Royal was exceptionally tight, even surpassing that of the Bastille!
She had visited several times, only able to circle the perimeter. Today, she had finally caught a moment of laxity among the guards, and at last made her way to the document room.
After a patrol of guards passed, she silently approached the document room door. She first took out a listening device, pressing it against the door to listen for a moment. After confirming there was no movement inside, she skillfully picked the lock with a wire.
'Much easier to open than the Bastille's locks,' she muttered inwardly, as she cautiously pushed the door open and stepped inside. Then she turned and gently closed the door behind her.
However, when her gaze fell upon the rows of bookshelves, she froze in place—there was nothing on them!
Previously, these shelves had been packed with documents, neatly arranged by date and type.
She cautiously drew her swift sword, circled the room, and confirmed there was no ambush, only then letting out a sigh of relief.
Sorel left the archives, puzzled. She then exerted immense effort to infiltrate the Duke of Orleans's study, only to find that although the furnishings were as always, not a single piece of paper remained. Even the safe door was open, and it was empty.
She subsequently searched the Duke of Orleans's bedroom, meeting room, and other areas, but likewise found no documents or files of any kind.
She was greatly astonished. 'The Duke of Orleans went traveling, without guards, yet took all his documents with him?'
Suddenly, her pupils constricted. A thought flashed into her mind: 'The Duke of Orleans has fled to avoid punishment! The duke mentioned by the Maletout brothers is most likely him!'
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this deduction was correct. She immediately slipped out of the Palais-Royal, rushing overnight towards the Crown Prince's office.
On the second floor of the Tuileries Palace, a drowsy Eman glanced at the clock on the table—ten past midnight.
He had intended to send away this girl with no sense of time, telling her to return tomorrow, but then he suddenly recalled the last time His Royal Highness the Crown Prince had summoned her directly into his office.
He then glimpsed Sorel's shapely waist and her long, slender legs beneath her black night-suit. He suddenly understood something. 'No wonder she's coming so late. Hmm, it's likely an arranged time.'
Joseph was roused from his sleep, looking displeased at Eman, and frowned:
"Sorel? What time is it?"
But since he was already awake, he groggily gestured:
"Since she says it's urgent... well, ask her to come to the reception room."
A moment later, Joseph, clad in a dressing gown, motioned for Sorel to sit on the sofa opposite him, and yawned:
"What urgent matter brings you here so late?"
Sorel nodded vigorously, a serious expression on her face, and declared:
"Your Highness, I've found the mastermind behind the Maletout brothers!"
"Oh?" Joseph immediately perked up. "Please elaborate."
Sorel then recounted how the Brotherhood had gone to the Bastille to extract confessions, and how the Maletout brothers had let slip that their boss was a duke, among other details.
"A duke?" Joseph was now completely awake. He pointed at Sorel, criticizing her in a low voice: "You have quite the nerve to dare break into a prison. Aren't you afraid I'll lock you up too?"
"It was all for justice..." Sorel puffed out her chest, then secretly glanced at Joseph's dark expression, swallowed, and whispered: "Your Highness, you wouldn't actually have me arrested, would you?"
Joseph waved his hand: "First, tell me what you've found."
"Oh, right." Sorel quickly continued: "I searched the Duke of Orleans's residence, and I discovered that all the documents in the Palais-Royal had disappeared..."
By the time she finished speaking, Joseph's face had turned grim.
At this time of year, nobles indeed enjoyed traveling south to escape the cold, and no one would have thought anything of the Duke of Orleans saying he was going. But to his surprise, he had taken all important documents with him. That certainly wasn't as simple as a mere trip.
However, he didn't believe the Duke of Orleans was 'fleeing to avoid punishment.' 'It was just burning a minor noble to death, and he didn't even do it himself. Given his status, he wouldn't care at all.'
'Something big must be happening!'
Soon, Fouché was also dragged out of bed, and he and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince rushed to the Bastille overnight to interrogate the Maletout brothers.
After receiving the crucial lead about the Duke of Orleans, the Police Intelligence Bureau's experienced interrogators easily coaxed a confession from the two brothers.
Joseph listened to Fouché's case report, his brows deeply furrowed:
"But why would the Duke of Orleans go to such great lengths to scheme against Monnot?"
He gazed at the flickering candlelight on the wall, pondering aloud:
"If the Duke of Orleans is planning some conspiracy, and Monnot is an indispensable part of it, then everything makes sense..."
He suddenly turned to Fouché and commanded:
"Quick! Send men to Monnot's residence!"
However, by the time the Police Intelligence Bureau agents arrived at Monnot's residence in Versailles, he was nowhere to be found.
According to Monnot's servants, he had taken his son south to "enjoy the sun" on the very day Sorel carried out the prison break.
"Another trip south?" Joseph ordered Fouché, his face cold: "Immediately investigate who else has traveled recently."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Joseph analyzed what the Duke of Orleans intended to do, but he couldn't grasp the main point. So, he had no choice but to start from the existing breakthrough.
He had all the key officials of the internal affairs system woken up, and instructed them to compile all the orders Monnot had issued recently.
Fortunately, most nobles resided in Versailles, and these officials were almost all nobles, so gathering them was quite simple.
As the first rays of dawn illuminated Versailles, a thick stack of documents had already been compiled and placed before Joseph.
"Summarize the key points," Joseph instructed, looking at the Interior Minister's assistant, who had dark circles under his eyes.
The assistant hesitated: "Your Highness, Count Monnot hasn't done anything particularly important in the past two months, except... he seemed exceptionally interested in grain movements."
The transportation and allocation of grain were inherently tasks of the internal affairs system, but these duties were usually handled by lower-ranking officials. It was quite strange for the Interior Minister himself to personally inquire about such trivial matters.
Joseph narrowed his eyes, and ordered him to retrieve all allocation documents issued by Monnot.
But when Joseph saw the dozens of disorganized and contradictory allocation orders, fury instantly surged through him.
'That scoundrel Orleans, he intends to plunge all of France into the abyss!'
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