Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The hustle and bustle of the shooting corridor gradually subsided, and the officers walked up to the second floor in twos and threes. Some were still discussing the rifle that had been assembled blindfolded, while others were making loud jokes about the colonel.

The second floor is the smoking room, which is the most private place in the entire club.

The gaslights were deliberately dimmed, leaving only the soft, warm yellow wall lamps. Heavy leather armchairs were arranged in several semicircles, and on the coffee table above the sofas were ice buckets and corked bottles of port and brandy. The air was gradually filled with the aroma of Havana cigars and rich liquor.

The officers took off their coats, casually draped them over the backs of their chairs, and loosened their bow ties, their posture shifting from tense at the dinner to relaxed at this moment.

Richard, holding a glass of port, stood on the other side of the fireplace, looking for an opportunity to go up and say a few words to the prince—Cavill had hinted that casual conversation at times like these could build rapport more effectively than formal talks.

He had just taken a step when a voice came from behind him.

"Mr. Brian."

Richard turned around and saw Mr. Nose standing in front of him, his dark tuxedo open but his bow tie still fastened, a slender handmade cigarette rolled up in dark brown paper between his fingers.

"Let's talk in private." He held his nose up arrogantly, displaying an air even more impressive than Prince George.

He turned and walked toward a window in the corner of the room, where two small armchairs were placed, far from the fireplace and far from the crowd.

Richard glanced longingly in the direction of the prince, hesitated for a second, and then followed.

The two sat down, and Mr. Nose lit a cigarette. Smoke slowly billowed from his nostrils, like a pair of exhaust fans.

"I feel much more at ease seeing you here," Mr. Nose said.

"What do you mean?"

"There's an arms deal in the East District tonight," Mr. Nose whispered. "The Fennia are getting another batch of rifles and bullets from abroad. It's not a large quantity, but enough to cause a significant disturbance."

Richard rubbed his fingers on his knee but didn't say anything.

“We’ve been watching this for a long time,” Mr. Nose flicked his cigarette ash. “We’ve been watching it since this shipment was still in Belgium, and I’m glad you weren’t involved.”

"So you have the leisure to smoke here?" Richard chuckled. Is this the relaxed feeling of a secret service chief?

Mr. Nose's lips curved slightly. He put the cigarette in his mouth, took out a pocket watch from his vest pocket, glanced at it pretentiously, and then put it back.

Looking at his inscrutable face, Richard understood in a flash.

"The Secret Service has an inside man within the Fennia organization," he said. "You not only know where they buy guns, but you also know what they intend to do with them—you have everything under control?"

Mr. Nose exhaled a smoke ring and slowly nodded.

"So you just wait," Richard sat up straight, "and wait for them to make their move, then wipe them all out."

"You are indeed very smart," Mr. Nose said, glancing at him.

"We will track down everyone involved and figure out the whole network." He gestured with his finger on the table, "When they take action, they will be met with Her Majesty the Queen's cavalry and the army's field artillery."

"A large-scale arrest that was carried out effortlessly..."

"That's right."

Richard fell silent, looking toward the fireplace at the soldiers and officers who were chatting and laughing. They were unaware that somewhere in East London, a group of Irishmen were walking toward a carefully laid trap.

"If no one is hurt," Richard said, "that's a real blessing."

Mr. Nose stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, looked up at him, and asked, "What are you worried about?"

Richard was thinking about Hans. If Hans had arranged for this batch of weapons, he certainly wouldn't have let them go to waste. Perhaps he would change the location at the last minute, or use those guns to do something that no one would expect. These variables made Richard extremely worried.

"Mr. Brian," Mr. Nose moved closer, "do you know something?"

Richard looked into those suspicious eyes and knew he couldn't say anything, whether it was Hans or Eleanor; it would only make his situation awkward.

"I wish you success." Richard said, raising his glass to Mr. Nose, then stood up and walked toward the fireplace.

There were no footsteps following him, and he knew that the person was still sitting there watching him, full of questions.

The atmosphere between the Prince and Cavill by the fireplace had eased considerably since the dinner party. After several hours of alcohol coursing through their veins, the sharp edges that had been drawn at the start of the dinner had been smoothed out.

The prince leaned back in his armchair, holding a half-full glass of brandy, listening to Kavel talk about the Indian troops stationed there.

He unusually did not refute, only nodding occasionally and mumbling a "hmm".

As Richard approached, Cavill stopped and waved to him: "Mr. Brian, come, sit down."

So he sat down in the empty chair next to him. The prince glanced at him and said, "You did well today. That colonel lost twenty pounds to you. I wonder how he's going to explain it to his wife."

Richard chuckled. "I plan to donate those twenty pounds to the veterans' fund. The colonel's wife shouldn't scold me now."

The prince chuckled deeply twice, as did Cavill, though he did so more subduedly.

"Do you know why the two of us can sit together and drink?" the prince suddenly asked.

"Because the wine is good?"

"The wine is indeed good, but it's not," the prince shook his head, his eyes becoming more serious, "because we have a common enemy."

“Prussia,” Carville said, “is sharpening its knives on the other side of the Rhine, eyeing France covetously, while we pretend to be asleep on this side of the English Channel. One day, we won’t be able to sleep anymore.”

The prince took a sip of brandy and placed the glass on the coffee table: "I've fought wars my whole life, and I've never seen anyone like the Prussians. Bismarck turned the army into a war machine, and one day we'll be drawn into it too."

Richard's heart skipped a beat, and he picked up his glass, using the scalding hot liquor to calm his nervousness.

"But let's not talk about that tonight," Cavill suddenly changed the subject, his voice becoming lighter. "His Highness just told me that you are more sensible than he thought."

The prince nodded slightly.

"Next," Cavill moved closer to Richard, "tell the factory to get ready. We have a few big orders coming in, and the deadlines are tight. They're from India and Canada. Someone will let you know the specific dates in a few days."

Richard knew exactly what this meant: what followed was a complete overhaul of the entire empire. His factories, his "Richard System," would no longer be the ambition of a small arms dealer, but part of the British Empire, starting tonight.

"I'll be ready," he said.