Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The church was much emptier on Tuesday than on Sunday.

Under the vaulted ceiling, there were only a few elderly women in the front row, wrapped in dark shawls, their lips moving as they recited the Rosary, which they had repeated countless times.

On the altar, the bishop, dressed in a white priest's robe, stood with his back to the congregation, reciting the daily prayers, which he was required to read at different times each day.

Richard sat in a seat slightly to the right of the center, a spot he chose so that he wouldn't be noticed by anyone entering the room.

He didn't want to pray; he just bowed his head and waited for the leader of Fennia, a tension that no amount of scripture could soothe.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him, heels clicking on the edge of the stone slabs. A row of shoes stopped behind him, and someone sat down.

"You want to talk for a bit? Go ahead," a woman's voice said, deliberately lowered. "But don't turn around."

Richard's back was tense, his gaze fixed on the row of burning candles on the altar in front of him, like a row of swaying wildflowers.

"I know you want to sabotage Greenwood's factory," he said, "but it's unnecessary."

"Why?" the voice behind me asked.

“Because I’ve already handed the evidence against him to the court.” Richard pinched his thumb in the palm of his other hand. “Greenwood will be summoned to court this Thursday. I have witnesses, ledgers, and worker testimonies. He’s finished, along with his factory. You won’t have to shed another drop of blood.”

He waited a few seconds for a response from behind.

But all he heard was a helpless chuckle behind him.

"Do you think our riot's purpose is just to destroy Greenwood's factory?" The woman's tone suggested she had known him for a long time.

“No,” Richard shook his head. “You want to demonstrate your influence in London to Her Majesty’s government and get them to compromise on the Irish issue, but violence is not the answer. It will only make the authorities tougher and shut up those who were originally sympathetic to you.”

"Freedom is not something given to us by others; it is something we fight for." The voice behind him continued, "In the eyes of those gentlemen, the Irish are a nuisance to the empire, and changing a prime minister won't change anything."

Richard couldn't argue, because she was right; there was a complex and unsettling causal link between Fennia's bombs and rifles and Gladstone's reform bill.

“Your brothers have already shed blood at the walls of Crackenwell,” Richard still tried to persuade, “your sisters have been humiliated by the police and sent to workhouses. Fennia has shed enough blood. Don’t cause any more harm.”

There was a few seconds of silence, then a hand reached out and patted his shoulder.

"We were prepared for this, thank you, Richard," the voice behind us said.

She called his name, and Richard paused for a moment, then asked, "Thank me for what?"

There was no reply from behind.

He waited five seconds, then ten seconds.

There was no response, only the bishop's daily prayers echoing beneath the vault.

He turned his head abruptly.

The row of benches behind me was empty, with a forgotten dark shawl draped over the back, perhaps left behind by an old woman when she got up.

He looked around. No one was coming or going in the church, and there was no sign of any woman. It was as if she had never existed, vanished into thin air.

Richard sighed; thankfully, he had been careful.

He looked toward the far corner of the church, where there was a thick stone pillar and a person sitting behind it.

The man wore a wide-brimmed hat, the brim of which seemed excessively large in the overcast London weather, crookedly obscuring his face. A fan was held upright beside his face, and a pen was tucked between his fingers.

That was Louise. Richard had arranged for her to observe from the side and sketch the person.

She stood up, closed her fan, and walked towards Richard, holding a small sketchbook in her hand.

"How is it?" Richard asked eagerly, "Did you draw it?"

Louise shook her head; her sketchbook was blank except for a few faint pencil marks.

"There's no need for that," she said.

Richard frowned. "Why?"

"Because I know her," Louise said, her eyes slightly unfocused. "She's Sera."

Richard's mind went blank. Sera, the Irish widow who was beaten by the police in the alley, the woman who held a crucifix and prayed in the workers' dormitory, the woman who provided him with the account books.

How could it be her? A radical from Fennia? She has nothing to do with that word. He thought Sera wouldn't hide anything from him anymore, but now it seems she's hiding a lot of secrets.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Believe me, that's what I studied at art school," Louise said with certainty. "I won't mistake faces."

Richard swallowed hard, his mind racing, but a thought suddenly popped into his head from the jumbled thoughts.

He suddenly shouted, "Oh no!"

Louise was startled: "Oh, what's wrong?"

Richard stood up, dragging the chair leg on the floor.

"Sera just thanked me." Richard rubbed his temples. "I didn't understand why she was thanking me then, but now I do."

"What do you understand?"

"The Secret Service never knew when they would take action," Richard said. "Not because they couldn't find out, but because Fenia themselves hadn't decided. They were waiting for the moment when the Greenwood plant's defenses were at their weakest."

"Greenwood will be in court on Thursday, and he'll definitely have his most trusted private guards with him for protection," Richard said regretfully. "The courtroom is his domain; he won't allow himself to be compromised. Most of the factory's security will be withdrawn. At that time..."

"At that time, Fennia could have made her move." Louise's face turned pale; clearly, she hadn't expected this either.

Richard closed his eyes. He had personally told Fenia the date of the attack, not intentionally, but he had done it nonetheless.

He thought he could persuade them to give up violence, but what they wanted was destruction and explosions, to create chaos in the heart of the empire.

And now, they have the perfect opportunity.

He opened his eyes and looked at Louise: "I have to go see Mr. Nose now."

Louise nodded, and the two of them quickly walked out of the church, boarded a carriage, and the church receded into the distance behind them.

Richard, in the car, began to recall his meeting with Sera. If she had been Fennia's person from the beginning, it meant that her cooperation with Greenwood was not passive, but proactive.

Perhaps she had heard about the conflict between her family's arsenal and Greenwood, after all, when he took over the factory, the workers' situation wasn't good.

He must prevent a bloody disaster by Thursday.