Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

On a ferry bound for France in 1868.

Richard chose a leather sofa by the porthole and sat down, spreading Schwartz's letter on his lap.

The letter was written with caution, as if afraid of being seen by others:

"To Mr. Brian:"

Greenwood has been frequently seen on Lombard Street recently, meeting with his partner three times. While I am unaware of the details, your name has been mentioned several times. If you have savings in London, perhaps you should temporarily move them elsewhere.

Also, I've inquired in Paris for you, and there are indeed several buyers who are very interested in your 'soft copper fixed cartridge' design and are willing to discuss it with you.

One last thing: when the wind and waves come, small boats are most likely to capsize, but if you're lucky, the wind can give you a ride.

"Perfect timing..." Richard murmured, folding the letter and putting it back in his inner pocket.

Following that arms deal, Britain won the Ethiopian War, but this also meant that Greenwood made a fortune from the bonds.

Will Greenwood seek revenge later? The answer is almost certainly yes. A monopolistic situation is more in line with the interests of his financial backers and makes it easier for him to manipulate the market.

Outside the window, a giant ship pushed through the waves; the French coastline hadn't even appeared yet. Richard could already imagine the immense obstacles that would arise in continuing business in London, but France…

As he was thinking this, the salon door was pushed open, and instead of a waiter, a young woman entered.

Her long brown hair was loosely tied back, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears. She looked as if she had just come back from the deck, and even the ship's waiters forgot to wipe the tables and stared at her.

The woman's appearance immediately became the focus of everyone's attention, sparking discussion among the gentlemen and ladies on the ship:

"Oh my god... she's not wearing a corset..."

"You've got some nerve, sitting here all by yourself..."

"She's probably some socialite from the street..."

Richard didn't believe the woman hadn't heard, but she didn't care at all. She casually picked a chair and sat down, with only two tables between them.

As soon as she sat down, she took out a thin book from her handbag, opened it, and began to read.

Richard glimpsed the cover: Keats's Poetry Collection.

The woman turned a page of her book.

Richard noticed her fingers: clean, without calluses, and with neatly trimmed nails, but not in a pampered or delicate way. She turned the pages very gently, as if she didn't want to disturb anyone.

Richard noticed that the men at the bar, who were already slightly tipsy, were staring at her with eager eyes, so he got up and sat down next to the woman.

Richard spoke up first: "Here, people feel sorrow at the mere thought of it, and their eyes turn ashen with despair; here, even the brightest eyes of a beauty cannot remain clear..."

"...New love withers the very next day." The woman closed the poetry book, looking at Richard in surprise. "You like Keats too?"

"I'm a traveling merchant, and I always have to read a book or two on the road," Richard said, extending his hand to the woman. "Either account books or Keats. I'm Richard."

She looked Richard up and down like a judge looking at a criminal: "Account books and poetry... what a strange combination."

"But they're all things that keep you awake at night."

The woman laughed out loud, not the ladylike laugh of covering her mouth with her hand, but a genuine, soft laugh.

"I'm Louise." She grasped Richard's hand, drawing envious glances from the men nearby. "So, what do you sell?"

"A lot, mostly weapons." Richard placed the briefcase on the ground.

"Arms? It's not a respectable business." Louise seemed somewhat resistant to the word.

"But it's very profitable; some people in France are very interested in my designs." Richard patted the box at his feet with feigned mystery.

"What's that?" Louise asked curiously, a smile still playing on her lips.

"I can't tell you, but it'll be better than what we have now," Richard said, then, feeling the answer was too vague, added, "It will reduce the number of soldiers who die by half."

Louise paused for a few seconds, her hand stroking the book. "Do you always say that? 'It can save half the lives'?"

"No, most people only care about killing half as many more."

She looked at him, her smile widening slightly: "You're a strange man, Mr. Richard."

"Thank you," Richard said, his eyes drawn to a sailor who entered the salon. "Speaking of strange people..."

He was wearing a standard ferry uniform, with gleaming brass buttons, and holding a registration book in his hand, as if he were there to check tickets.

But Richard's gaze lingered on him for a second.

He walks incorrectly.

Sailors who have spent a long time at sea develop a unique walking rhythm, with slightly bent knees and a low center of gravity to adapt to the swaying of the deck.

Even after they go ashore, this habit will remain for several years.

But this man's steps were unsteady, as if he were boarding a ship for the first time, yet his hands remained close to his belt, and the length of each step was almost perfectly consistent.

Richard had seen too many soldiers at the arsenal; he was all too familiar with that gait.

"I really hope I'm wrong." Richard frowned.

"What's wrong, Mr. Richard?" Louise leaned closer to him, noticing his distracted state.

"That sailor doesn't look right; he seems like an assassin in disguise," Richard said in a low voice.

"What?" Louise quickly covered her mouth with her book. "How did you know?"

"The way he walks isn't like a sailor, it's more like a soldier, and his belt..." Richard pressed his temples, "is a size larger than normal, like he's hiding a gun."

Louise stared at the man's back until he disappeared at the end of the salon.

"Your eyesight is quite good."

Louise looked away, biting her lip. It wasn't fear, but a quick, calm judgment.

She suddenly spoke, as if revealing a secret, saying, "There is indeed a distinguished guest on board, the Duchess of Montpensier, Louisa Fernanda."

"Isabella II's sister?"

"Yes, you actually know her?" Louise was surprised by Richard's knowledge of the Spanish royal family.

Richard didn't answer, his mind racing through months of ledgers and figures, followed by a forgotten piece of history:

In 1868, the Cádiz Rebellion broke out in Spain. Isabella II was overthrown and went into exile in France. Her confidants came to join her one after another.

If the Duchess is on this ship, then the sailor from earlier...

"He's a revolutionary assassin." Richard gripped the armrest tightly.

"We have to save her." Before Richard could react, Louise had already stood up, lifting her skirt.

"Ah? This isn't a game, miss," Richard looked around nervously, "those are armed assassins."

"Are you going to watch her die here? On a ship in England?" Louise put away her book and walked in another direction. "Hurry up, do you want me to get you?"

"Damn it..." Richard had no choice but to follow Louise's footsteps, which drew envious glances from the men around them.

The corridor was dimly lit. The two quickly moved through the narrow passage until they reached a door marked "Crew Only." Louise looked around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped inside.

"You seem very familiar with this ship," Richard said, following behind.

"I've flown this route before," she said without turning her head. "More than once."

Richard, with his sharp eyes, grabbed a passing sailor carrying cargo: "Hey, go tell your captain there's an assassin on board!"

"Pardon monsieur, no anglais..." The sailor looked at Richard with difficulty, unable to understand what he was saying, which made Richard sweat profusely.

Louise suddenly took over the conversation and spoke fluently in French with the sailor. The sailor's face changed drastically upon hearing this, and he abandoned his cargo and ran like the wind to the captain's cabin.

She turned to look at the dumbfounded Richard, grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him forward: "Don't just stand there, hurry up!"

After a hurried journey, the two finally arrived at the door of the first-class cabin.

"The third one," Louise pointed, "is Louisa's cabin."

Suddenly, footsteps came from the end of the corridor. Richard grabbed Louise's arm and pulled her behind a pillar, their shoulders almost touching.

The footsteps grew closer.

The assassin appeared at the other end of the corridor. He no longer held the register; his right hand hung at his side, and something was vaguely visible from his sleeve…

gun!

The assassin knocked on Louisa's hatch: "Madam, room service."

Louise gripped Richard's sleeve tightly.