Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Dartford, Kent.

Richard was standing near the docks in Dartford, not yet having received His Majesty's investiture, which was still some time away for him.

The Honors Committee is reviewing Richard's asset inventory, tax records, social connections, and moral character.

As for Gladstone, he should have been carrying that thick resume, boarding the Royal Yacht bound for the Isle of Wight, heading to Osborne Palace to bring the name "Richard Bryan" to Queen Victoria's attention.

After Prince Albert's death, the Queen lived in seclusion for a long time and was instinctively wary of any unfamiliar face.

This means Gladstone needs to find the right moment and the right words to convince her that this young man in his twenties is not yet another opportunist trying to take money from the royal family's pocket.

But that's not something Richard can worry about right now.

During the lull between the prime minister's busy writing memorials and the cabinet's busy arguing, he was still a commoner in law.

Gladstone had arranged a long list of charitable donations and social events for him, from the East End Poor Relief Fund to the Royal Society of Arts, and even the Freemasons' annual dinner.

He had to make frequent appearances in London's high society, sipping champagne and generously signing his name in donation books.

Only in this way could he prove to the old woman on the throne that he was not just an industrial genius, but also a respectable gentleman who conformed to the values ​​of the empire.

Richard's temples throbbed at the thought of those brightly lit banquet halls and the endless tests.

He temporarily put those headaches deep in his mind, and at the beginning of the new year, Richard brought Sean and a team of workers to select a site for the secret laboratory.

He needed to find a place that was large enough and well-hidden, where no outsiders could spy on him, so that those top-secret technological experiments could remain top secret.

Richard crossed out more than a dozen candidates, and in the end, the one that remained was a bankrupt old shipyard on the banks of the Dartford River.

The Thames River slows down here, and snow cover covers the barren land.

Looking out from the river, several huge cast iron slides jut out into the water, with the skeleton of an unfinished cargo ship still remaining on one of them. The mottled iron ribs are exposed to the winter sunlight, like a sperm whale that has run aground and died.

A heavy, horizontal crane stands on the dock surrounding the shipyard, its boom suspended in mid-air, with nothing on its hook.

It was too difficult and too costly to disassemble, so it was simply left here to rust slowly over time.

Richard arrived at the shipyard gate and looked up at the dark red iron gate: "This is it."

He took out his key and struggled to open the rusted lock.

Sean followed behind him, a tape measure slung over his shoulder, a hammer and a box of nails at his waist.

Behind them followed seven or eight workers, carrying crowbars and hammers, and some were pushing a wooden cart piled with ropes and pulleys.

The workers chatted and laughed among themselves, pointing and commenting on the dilapidated shipyard, but Sean couldn't laugh.

He looked around, finally fixing his gaze on the rusted crane, its original color unrecognizable, and muttered, "This place is so dilapidated."

Richard's initial idea was to build a laboratory in an abandoned mine, where the thick rocks served as natural barriers.

Although this Batman-style secret base sounds incredibly exciting, just figuring out how to fit the hydraulic press into the opening is a monumental challenge.

So he gave up.

The shipyard’s interior was even larger than it appeared from the outside. To accommodate the masts and hulls, the ceilings were raised very high, and the glass skylights were covered with a thick layer of dust and bird droppings.

Richard looked up at the steel beams on the roof and the rows of iron pillars used to secure the hull, stretched out his hand to measure the width and height in the air, and muttered, "This is where the extrusion press can be placed, and over there... the hydraulic energy storage tower."

He turned around and looked at the open space on the other side: "Put the mold processing line here. It's a one-line line from raw materials to finished products, no need to turn corners, saving time and effort."

Sean followed behind him, his expression still somewhat confused, but he didn't ask any questions. He had never seen his young master make a wrong decision.

As they continued walking, the musty smell grew stronger, mixed with the pungent odor of dried engine oil.

The entrance to the basement is at the deepest part of the workshop.

It was a downward-sloping ramp with rough red brick walls on both sides, covered with dark green moss.

Richard took a kerosene lamp from the worker, held it high, and walked forward.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, and the light from the kerosene lamp flooded into a huge semi-underground space that used to store timber and iron plates.

The ground was covered with gravel and fine sand, and the environment was cool and dry.

Richard walked around and a truly satisfied smile appeared on his face.

"This is it."

He placed the kerosene lamp on the ground and said to Sean, "Sean, let's mark the area with nails first, dig over there for the cooling pool, the raw material storage area..."

Before he could finish speaking, a hoarse, angry roar came from behind him.

"Who are you?! What are you doing here?"

Everyone turned around

An old man stood by the iron gate at the entrance to the slope, his back hunched, wearing a simple work jacket.

His face was covered in wrinkles, stretching from his brow to his jaw, like a sail that had been exposed to the wind and sun for decades.

Richard put down the hammer and stepped forward: "Sir, I just bought this place. You must be the watchman here?"

The old man paused, looked Richard up and down, then smirked and let out a disdainful chuckle.

"Bought it?" he said. "Don't blame me for not warning you, this place is cursed."

Sean's eyes widened suddenly, and his voice rose several decibels: "A curse? You... what do you mean by that?"

The old man straightened his back, and the wrinkles on his face smoothed out a bit with the movement. He pointed to the southwest of the shipyard and said:

"This place used to be a large mill, which was later converted into a shipyard. During high tides, especially around the full moon, strange noises could be heard from the southwest corner of the shipyard, like someone crying. The workers were so scared that they dared not work the night shift. Some people said it must be a water ghost, and the shipyard went bankrupt not long after."

He withdrew his hand and put it behind his back: "Young man, if you have spare money to buy this place, you'd be better off going to the city to do legitimate business. This place is cursed; no matter how much you invest, it'll all be a waste."

Sean's Adam's apple bobbed, and he instinctively took half a step closer to Richard.

The workers stopped laughing and unconsciously glanced furtively towards the slope.

Richard also looked at the southwest corner of the wall, his brows furrowed, and he pinched his chin as he pondered something.

Suddenly, his worry turned to joy: "Thank you, sir. Thank you for telling me this news."

The old man raised his eyebrows: "Why are you thanking me? I told you there were ghosts here."

Richard walked up to him, took a wad of banknotes from his pocket, counted out about twenty pounds, rolled it up, and stuffed it into the old man's hand.

The old man looked down and his expression changed from doubt to reproach.

"Take this money and go somewhere else, sir," Richard said.