Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

As the carriage turned the corner of the alley, Richard heard the children's laughter.

He stepped down from the carriage and looked in the direction of the sound. In the open space deep in the alley, several children were playing football.

The ball was new, and its freshly made leather surface rolled into a puddle, getting covered in mud. Then it was kicked up, splashing mud all over the faces of the children nearby. No one complained; they were all laughing.

Among them was Eamon, the red-haired boy, his face covered in sweat, his mouth agape, revealing a row of teeth that hadn't fully grown in yet.

Then Aemon saw Richard, who was standing there, his chest still rising and falling, his breath scattering in clumps in the cold air.

The other children were still chasing the ball, and no one noticed that he suddenly stopped moving. Then, he slowly raised one hand and curled his fingers.

Richard looked at the small, thin hand raised in mid-air, and his heart felt a pang of tenderness.

He raised his arm and waved, then turned and walked toward the dormitory entrance, laughter echoing behind him again.

The smell in the corridor was still pungent. He pushed open Sera's door. The room was a little brighter than last time. The fire in the stove was burning brightly, and the tin kettle sat on it, its lid bobbing gently in the steam.

Sera sat on the edge of the bed, holding a wooden cross in her hand, her thumb repeatedly stroking the image of the crucified Christ. Her lips moved, and Richard could understand the repeated syllables: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name.

She heard the door open, looked up, her fingers clenched tightly around the crucifix, then quickly stuffed it into her sleeve, stood up, her knees brushing against the edge of the bed, almost falling.

"Mr. Brian," she cleared her throat, "you've arrived."

"Sit down," Richard said, closing the door behind him and sitting down in a chair at the table. "Don't stand."

Sera hesitated for a moment, then sat back down on the edge of the bed. Her hand, hidden in her sleeve, was still clutching the cross, her knuckles pushing against the thin fabric like pebbles buried in the ground.

"Imon looks much better playing football outside," Richard said.

Sera nodded: "He... goes there every day recently, and when he comes back his pants are covered in mud. I told him to take them off and wash them, but he refused, saying he wanted to wear them again the next day."

"It's okay, just buy new pants if they're torn."

Sera looked at her knees. "You've given him so much, sir. Shoes, coal, blankets, and..."

"If you're doing well, then my efforts haven't been in vain," Richard interrupted her.

Sera lowered her head, her knees pressed tightly together.

The room quieted down, but the tin kettle on the stove was still clicking away, steam billowing from its spout.

“Sera,” Richard said reluctantly, but he had to, “you didn’t tell me you worked at the Greenwood factory.”

Sera jerked her head up, her fingers pulling from her sleeves and gripping the hem of her skirt above her knees.

"Sir, I..."

"I don't mean to blame you," Richard said, looking at her. "I just want to know when this happened."

Sera put the cross aside, made the sign of the cross on her chest, and finally spoke.

"Nine years ago, I was twenty-two," she said softly, as if speaking to herself.

"Greenwood's factory."

"Yes," she swallowed, "I was packing ammunition on the assembly line, and then... then he noticed me."

"He liked me a lot, even though he was already married at the time, but he... he said he would find me a house in London so I wouldn't have to work anymore." Sera's voice began to tremble. "I thought he was serious, so our relationship lasted for a while."

"And then... you got pregnant."

Sera closed her eyes and nodded: "He said I couldn't work here anymore, gave me some money, and told me to go home. After that... I never saw him again until a few months ago."

"A few months ago?" Richard asked.

"He sent word to me to go to the gate of an arsenal in Limehouse, with Eamon and a basket of matches, and just stand there. Nothing else." Sera's voice trailed off. "He said he'd give me more money afterward, and I had no reason to refuse such a simple request..."

"So you went."

"Yes."

Richard leaned back in his chair, looking at a crack in the ceiling that stretched from the corner of the wall to the window.

He knew Sierra was lying. She had only been contacted by Greenwood a few months ago? Then what about when she sent the workers to Guy's Hospital? Her connection with Greenwood must have started much earlier.

“Sera,” he looked into her eyes again, “you once took a worker to Guy’s Hospital with lead poisoning, and the doctors there remember you.”

"You've been to Guy's Hospital...?"

"Your connection with Greenwood didn't start a few months ago; you've been doing things for him all along, haven't you?"

After seeing Eamon, Richard's anger had subsided by half, but he still had to suppress his anger and question Sera, wanting to know the truth.

To Richard's surprise, Sera showed no fear or panic; instead, her gaze gradually hardened.

“How can I stand idly by, sir?” Serra retorted. “To watch my Irish brothers and sisters suffer? I cannot stand idly by…”

"Yes, Mr. Brian, I have indeed been helping the workers at the Greenwood plant, and I have been in contact with Greenwood for a long time. I will do it again if necessary." She clenched her fist.

Sera paused, glanced at Richard's reaction, and then continued in her excited tone:

"But I never, ever intended to hurt you or the people you care about," she said. "Because you helped us, simply because we needed help."

Richard was stunned. Her answer did not explain his question, but he knew that Sera had not lied about what she had just said.

"I believe you," he said.

Sera's shoulders relaxed, as if they had been weighed down by something heavy for too long, and someone had finally helped her unload it.

“But,” Richard stood up and pushed his chair back under the table, “if you ever hide anything from me again, no matter how small or unimportant you think it is, you, Eamon, and everything in your house will have nothing to do with me anymore.”

"I understand, sir."

Richard turned and walked toward the door. Just as he touched the doorknob, he heard Sera's voice behind him.

"Mr. Brian, please wait a moment."

He heard the bed creak, as if someone was turning over something on the bed, and then he heard Sera's footsteps behind him.

"This is for you," she said.

Richard turned around, and Sera was holding a stack of papers. The papers were yellowed, the edges were curled, and some parts were folded again and again, with creases so deep that they were almost cracking.

The handwriting on the paper was messy, but each line was written with great effort. The pencil marks were traced over some letters several times, as if afraid of fading, or as if afraid of forgetting.

He took it and looked down at it.

The paper listed names, positions, and amounts. He hadn't seen the names before, but they were all government officials—people who held the power to approve orders, monitor processes, and even enforce the law.

Some amounts were small, a few tens of pounds, but were marked "quarterly"; others were larger, over a hundred pounds.

Richard flipped through the pages, the third page, the fourth page... Each page represented an account, and each account corresponded to a person, a position, and a number.

The last few pages are not accounts, but a handwritten schedule, corresponding to the schedules of the officials who were listed earlier in the account book.

Richard's palms were sweaty. He looked up at Sera.

"Where did you get these?"

Sera stood in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"I used to go to his private residence often, sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening. When he received guests in his study, I would pour him tea and bring him snacks," she explained.

"He often got completely drunk, and some papers would be left on the table, forgotten to be put away. I would glance at them, silently recite them in my mind, and when I got home, while I could still remember, I would write down everything I could recall. After a few years, I had this collection."

"He never noticed?"

“No,” Sera said, “he doesn’t know I can read and do math.”

Richard looked at the stack of papers in his hand. These were Greenwood's private accounts, irrefutable evidence of his bribery of officials over the years. If verified, it would be considered fraud against the Queen's government, and he could be directly arrested and imprisoned.

She hid this stack of papers for several years, never daring to take it out, keeping it as her last line of defense, as her and Imon's last card to survive.

"Sera," Richard scratched his head somewhat guiltily, "I was a bit too harsh just now..."

“It’s alright, Mr. Brian,” she shook her head, “you should be angry about what I did. But this thing is more effective in your hands than in mine.”

"Thank you, Sera." Richard swallowed. "I'll make sure these things are delivered to the right people intact."