Chapter 252: Death's Omen
"Thank God!"
Fouché leaped from the carriage, the Crown Prince's last words before he left Paris flashing through his mind: "Go all out. This might be the most glorious moment of your intelligence career."
"Yes, the most glorious moment!" He licked his lips, like a beast about to savor its prey.
He strode towards the wooden house, turning to ask the Police Intelligence Bureau officer beside him:
"Can we start tomorrow?"
"Yes, Sir," the officer replied, nodding immediately. "The speeches began two days ago. People are already at their boiling point."
Fouché suddenly recalled Necker's underground hideout and frowned.
"Have you confirmed if there are any secret passages nearby?"
"It's difficult to confirm, Sir. However, Count de Tiole rarely resides there, so he likely hasn't made many arrangements. Besides, we've placed agents in all the surrounding buildings."
"What is it?"
"The Duke of Orléans' honor guard numbers over a hundred men, and they are well-trained. If a real conflict breaks out, even a thousand rioters would likely be no match for them."
Fouché frowned. "What about our people?"
"The Police Intelligence Bureau brought a total of over sixty agents. You know our people aren't skilled in direct combat. The Secret Police are even less reliable."
Fouché entered the ground floor hall, and the busy Police Intelligence Bureau agents snapped to attention and saluted him.
Fouché casually tipped his hat, walked directly to a map of the Amor city district, and studied it intently for a long moment, but still shook his head slightly.
'No, there has to be a way...'
He paced restlessly around the room, his eyes catching the distant gleam of a lighthouse.
He stopped short, an excited smile curving his lips.
"Right, this is Brittany! It's full of ships and shipyards here; there's bound to be *that* thing."
He immediately summoned the officer in charge of the operation and whispered a few instructions.
The latter looked shocked and hesitated.
"We should be able to get it, but... our people might not know how to use that thing."
"It doesn't matter," Fouché smiled. "It shouldn't be hard to find a few experienced sailors or retired soldiers among the citizens here in Brittany."
The following afternoon.
It was the familiar process once again. Speakers began gathering citizens in the city, while others in the crowd explained the contents of the pamphlets.
"When that man told Count de Tiole that this might cause bread prices to skyrocket, do you know what he said?" the young speaker waved his arm. "He said, 'If they have no money, they should eat straw!'"
"The devil!" An angry roar erupted from the crowd. "He's the one who should eat grass!"
"That man's a murderer!"
"Kill him!"
The people of Brittany were notoriously fierce and obstinate. Two or three centuries ago, piracy was even a pillar industry here.
The pre-arranged members of the "Iron Helm" gang seized the opportunity to rally the crowd, rushing towards Count de Tiole's manor. He was the "Eight of Spades," ranking 30th in Joseph's "playing card" system for operatives.
Then, sure enough, over 1,300 citizens seeking to settle accounts with Count de Tiole were blocked outside the manor. Before them stood a double line of over sixty guards, their brand-new Charleville Model 1776 Flintlock Muskets pointed at the crowd.
For a moment, no one dared to approach further—the aura emanating from those guards was highly unusual; a single glance would make one's entire body tense up—but they also refused to leave. The citizens remained at a distance, surrounding the manor gate and cursing continuously.
Just as both sides were at a stalemate, a group of women arrived, driving two horse-drawn carriages.
They pulled back the straw covering the carriages, revealing dark, cylindrical metal objects beneath, and shouted triumphantly:
"The 'Deerhide Boot' was just about to have this installed, so we dragged it here from the dry dock!"
The crowd immediately erupted in cheers. More than a dozen sturdy men strenuously carried down the wooden frame and metal cylinder from the carriages, while others skillfully assembled it.
A six-pounder cannon, commonly used on armed merchant ships, suddenly appeared before everyone.
"Who knows how to use this thing?"
Before the Police Intelligence Bureau agent even finished speaking, several people pushed their way forward.
"Leave it to me; I've been acquainted with this old friend on ships for twenty years."
"I know how to use it too; I served in the artillery."
"And me..."
Several individuals worked together to load it. The middle-aged sailor used a hammer to tap the wedge-shaped wooden pin on the gun mount to adjust its height, then extended his thumb to sight towards the manor.
"Mmm, that'll do."
The onlookers immediately scattered to both sides. Only then did the guards at the gate notice a strikingly conspicuous black contraption about 115 meters away.
"It's a cannon!"
The Duke of Orléans' guard captain exclaimed in a hoarse voice.
However, before the guards could react, the young sailor in the distance pressed the linstock to the touch-hole.
With a thunderous boom, fire flashed everywhere and gunsmoke billowed up.
A six-pound iron ball whistled past the line of guards. Three men were instantly torn to shreds by the immense impact, while two others nearby were knocked unconscious by their flying remains.
The cannonball's momentum did not diminish in the slightest; it struck directly into one of the manor gate's pillars, collapsing more than half of the gate instantly. The fragments of stone that burst forth killed two more guards and wounded another's leg.
At a distance of 115 meters, this naval cannon barely needed aiming; its straight trajectory ensured a very high hit rate.
The remaining guards were greatly alarmed and scattered in a panic, trying to take cover.
Less than a minute later, there was another thunderous roar.
This time the cannonball did not directly hit the guards; instead, it passed directly through the stone fence, ricocheted after hitting the ground, continued flying forward, and finally slammed heavily into the villa wall.
Count de Tiole's manor wasn't large; it was only about 300 meters from the gate to the villa, so the cannonball still retained considerable momentum, directly shattering a corner of the outer wall.
On the second floor of the villa, the Duke of Orléans, Count de Tiole, and another noble were discussing the conflict at Versailles regarding the "abolition of privileges" and whether it could be exploited for political gain.
The three men suddenly heard a distant roar and immediately stood up in surprise.
As the guard captain rushed into the room to tell them that rioters were shelling the manor, the villa shuddered violently again, followed by the excited shouts of the rioters.
With the third shot fired, the Duke of Orléans' guard finally broke, turning and fleeing into the villa. Even the most elite troops would struggle to face a cannon at such close range, let alone with thousands of rioters surrounding the cannon.
The enraged citizens immediately charged, shouting, tackling the slower guards and delivering a savage beating.
It wasn't until the crowd reached the vicinity of the villa that they halted under the threat of gunshots from the windows.
"These bastards wanted to starve us to death before, and now they want to kill us!" someone roared.
"Charge in! I want revenge for my children!"
"But they have guns..."
"Drag the cannon over here and let them taste its might!"
The Duke of Orléans watched in shock as the rioters completely surrounded the villa. Standing at a window, he shouted:
"I am Louis Philippe II, your Duke of Orléans..."
However, the roar of the enraged citizens easily drowned out his voice; no one paid any attention to what the fellow in the blue robe at the window was saying.
"Your Grace, it's dangerous!" The guard captain hurriedly dragged him back into the drawing-room.
Soon after, the cannon appeared less than 150 meters from the villa. Several citizens deftly rammed powder and shot into the muzzle.
Boom—
The black iron ball, carrying the scent of death, flew straight towards the second floor of the villa.
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