Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

As dawn broke, Richard boarded a carriage and swayed along towards Old Bailey Street.

Richard had a stack of gingerbread wrapped in oil paper in his arms. He picked up a piece, broke off a small piece, put it in his mouth, chewed it, and the flavor of ginger spread on his tongue, with a hint of caramel sweetness.

The road was quiet, but the further east you went, the more frequent the sounds of carriages and horses became.

As the carriage turned into Old Bailey Street, Richard peeked out through the gap in the curtains and sat up straight.

The dense crowd stretched from the street corner all the way to the prison gate, completely blocking the street.

The men were dressed in work clothes and old coats, the women were wrapped in scarves and shawls, and the children rode on their fathers' shoulders with unfinished breakfasts in their hands. People waited for the main characters to appear as if they were celebrating some kind of cruel and frenzied festival.

A temporary gallows was erected above the main gate of the prison.

Two thick wooden pillars stood in the middle of the street, with a hemp rope hanging from the crossbeam. Below the gallows was a trapdoor, and the platform was surrounded by waist-high railings painted black.

From the street, the trapdoor faced the crowd. When the trapdoor opened, everyone could see the prisoner's legs struggling in the air.

Seeing that the car could no longer go in, Richard paid the fare and got out.

He squeezed into the crowd, his shoulder being bumped several times. Someone cursed, "Watch your step," but no one actually stopped to look at him.

Richard searched for Eleanor in the crowd, but noticed that the rooftops and windowsills were also full of people.

He saw Eleanor near the base of a brick building, where there were fewer people. Eleanor was wearing a dark gray cloak, the hood covering half his face.

Richard squeezed next to her and greeted her, "Hey."

"Hey, you're here." Eleanor looked up at him. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes, I ate some gingerbread."

Eleanor chuckled softly, "What? Afraid of throwing up?"

"Haven't you ever seen someone throw up because of this?"

"I've seen it, many times."

Suddenly, the crowd stirred, and someone shouted, "They're here!"

Everyone pushed toward the prison gate. Richard was pushed and his shoulder slammed against the brick wall. He quickly used his arm to shield Eleanor.

The prison gates opened.

A group of prison guards came out first, lining up from the gate all the way to the gallows. Next was a man in a gray prison uniform, his hands tied behind his back, being dragged forward step by step by the executioner.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted in deafening shouts.

"Hang him!"

"Avenge Claykenwell!"

The crowd became frenzied and excited, their shouts filled with the ecstatic joy of revenge.

Richard awkwardly turned his head away, and Elinor smiled at him: "Not quite used to it?"

"I don't think anyone can handle this," Richard said, hands on his hips.

"You know, some people camp out in front of the prison the day before, bringing food and blankets," Eleanor said, standing on tiptoe, "just to get a good spot."

Richard stared at the crossbeam between the wooden pillars. The hemp rope swayed slightly in the wind. The rope loop was already tied, and the round buckle faced him like an empty eye.

The prisoner walked onto the gallows, and the guards pushed him into position and put the noose around his neck, making sure it was just behind his ear.

"He's shaking now!"

"Look at this coward!"

Curses erupted from the crowd. Richard's pocket watch told him it was almost eight o'clock and the execution was imminent.

"So, Greenwood, what did you find out..." Richard tried to divert attention.

"Shh..." Eleanor put her index finger to his lips, "It's about to begin."

A priest in a black robe walked onto the stage and began reading from the book in his hand. Richard couldn't hear clearly, but he could see the prisoner's lips moving as he repeatedly uttered the same word.

Perhaps it's "Mom".

Perhaps it is "God".

Perhaps it's just his own name.

Then the pastor stepped down, and an official wearing a top hat stepped forward, unfolded a piece of paper, and began to read it aloud.

This time Richard understood clearly: it was a death sentence: Michael Barrett, Crackenwell bomber, sentenced to hanging until death.

After reading the last word, the official withdrew.

The crowd fell silent.

The prisoner stood on the trapdoor, and the executioner made a final check of the noose position, placing his hand on the trapdoor lever.

At exactly eight o'clock, the lever was pulled down.

The trapdoor suddenly opened, and the prisoner's body plummeted. The ropes tightened instantly, and the body paused in mid-air before slowly rotating, swaying back and forth against the gray-black background.

A huge cheer and booing erupted from the crowd. Some threw handkerchiefs, others raised their glasses, and they cursed his name as if he were not one of them, but a demon.

"Damn it." Richard turned his head and leaned against the wall. The noise around him made his ears ring, but his eyes had nowhere to settle. They were either looking at the restless crowd or the half-suspended corpses.

"That's rare," Eleanor said considerately, supporting his arm. "I've hardly ever heard you swear."

"That's because there's usually nothing worth cursing about." Richard steadied himself.

Gradually, the noise subsided, and Richard heard someone singing in the crowd.

At first there were only a few sounds, then more and more, louder and louder. The men took off their hats and lifted the children above their heads, while the women covered their chests and hummed softly.

"Rule, Britannia! Ride the waves! Britons will never be slaves, free and proud!"

The singing echoed through the streets, drowning out the distant church bells, drowning out everything.

Eleanor didn't sing along; instead, she pulled her hood down to cover her face.

Richard was speechless; the atmosphere was suffocating him.

The singing continued until a black flag slowly rose behind the platform.

"It's over," Eleanor whispered in his ear. "When the black flag is raised, it means death."

The crowd saw the flag, let out one last cheer, and then slowly began to disperse.

Some people were laughing, some were crying, and the chestnut vendors who had taken the opportunity to sell chestnuts were tallying up their earnings for the day.

"How are you feeling?" Eleanor turned to ask him.

"Not good, I don't think I'll need to eat lunch today." Richard shook his head.

"Let's get down to business," Eleanor said, turning her back to him. "Greenwood."

"Greenwood's factory," Eleanor looked around; the crowd hadn't completely dispersed, and no one was paying attention to them. "Do you know what kind of people he uses to work there?"

"I don't know, tell me."

"The Irish, and child laborers," Eleanor said. "The most dangerous jobs in the whole factory—loading gunpowder, casting lead bullets, chemical pickling—were all done by the Irish and children."

"What?" Richard couldn't believe his ears.

“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” Eleanor added. “And if anyone dared to cause trouble, he would threaten to send them to the workhouse or hand them over to the police, saying they were Fenia’s accomplices.”

"How much did you find out?" Richard clenched his fist.

"That's enough," Eleanor said, pulling a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his cloak and handing it to him. "This is a list of the Irish people in his factory; those highlighted in red are important figures."

"Thanks." Richard took the paper, didn't open it, and stuffed it directly into his inner pocket.

"What are you planning to do next?" Eleanor asked. "These things can't be used as evidence in court. Greenwood has lawyers and connections, so you can't sue him in court."

"You don't need to worry about that," Richard said, looking at her. "Have you thought through the conditions you mentioned before?"

"I've thought it through, but the time isn't right yet. I'll tell you when the time comes." Eleanor winked mysteriously, then turned and walked into the dispersing crowd, disappearing without a trace.

Richard stood there, reached into his pocket, and touched the piece of paper.

The black flag was still flying, and the song was still echoing in his mind; he couldn't get rid of it no matter what he did.