A gaunt old man, wearing a thin flaxen coat, was holding the hand of a sallow and emaciated child about ten years old, as they struggled to make their way to the grain warehouse official. With a bowed head and hand over his chest, he pleaded:
"Sir, kind sir! Bread in the city has soared to 22 sous a pound, we truly cannot afford it... Please, show some mercy and distribute some grain. Otherwise, we really won't survive!"
Normally, bread in Nice wouldn't exceed 10 sous per pound. This meant that for citizens who were barely scraping by on every single sous they earned, more than half a month would pass without enough money to buy food.
Immediately, a chorus of pleading voices arose around them:
"Please, distribute bread at fair prices! His Majesty the King promised in the proclamation..."
"My child has only had one meal in the past two days, I beg you!"
"Sir, many bakeries in town have run out of flour, everyone is relying on the reserve grain..."
"For the love of God, have mercy on us..."
The grain warehouse official could only respond with helpless, perfunctory remarks.
In the crowd, a man with three moles on his face sneered at the sight and nodded to the twenty or so men beside him. The man with the scar on his face immediately charged toward the grain warehouse guards, shouting:
"We won't die of hunger, let's take the grain for ourselves!"
His accomplices immediately joined in the chant:
"We have the right to bread!"
"Exactly, taking some food for our families and children, God will forgive us!"
"Everybody, act now!"
However, the starving people outside the warehouse held back in fear, hesitant to move forward.
Scarface had already boldly smashed open the gates of the grain warehouse, and a guard, pointing his gun at him, commanded:
"Back off!"
Someone next to him then waved to the crowd and shouted:
"Look! These cruel guards are going to shoot!"
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Scarface took advantage of the guard's momentary distraction to snatch his gun. The other guards, caught off guard by the turn of events, hesitated for just a moment and were quickly surrounded by Scarface's twenty or so accomplices.
Seeing Scarface breaking into the warehouse, some bolder starving people immediately followed suit, rushing inside, which triggered even more people to follow.
In just over ten minutes, nearly a thousand starving citizens had surged into the warehouse like a tide. The officials responsible, seeing the guards beaten to a pulp, immediately hid in their office, daring not to come out.
Soon, the hungry people in the warehouse began scooping up wheat into bags. Those without bags, not caring about the cold, took off their outer coats to carry the grain.
An hour later, the warehouse's over twenty thousand pounds of wheat had vanished without a trace.
Most of the starving citizens left behind "payment" for the wheat they took, at the rate of 2 sous and 6 deniers per pound, which was the "people's tax" price.
The so-called "people's tax" is a "tradition" in France. People believe that as long as they pay what they consider a fair price, the act can only be regarded as trade and not robbery.
After the starving citizens had dispersed, the grain warehouse's chief official emerged to gaze at the empty storeroom, feeling as if he had been plunged into an icy cavern.
This place was originally meant to supply the City of Nice with a week's worth of grain, but now there was nothing left. This implied that soon, all the grain shops and bakeries in the city would have to close...
The next day, in a wooden house in the suburbs of Nice, the man with three moles on his face counted out more than eighty silver coins for Scarface.
The latter immediately bowed and scraped, showering him with flattery before dividing the money among his underlings. He was the leader of "Howell", the largest gang in Nice.
And "Three Moles" was a spy nurtured by the Duke of Orleans. Following the Duke's orders, he had come to Nice a month earlier and, promising 4 livres per person per day—a sky-high price—had recruited Howell's men to stir up the riot with him.
After long planning, their actions the previous day had been a great success.
Having paid off the "wages", "Three Moles" immediately led the gang members to wait at the reserve grain warehouse.
As expected, soon citizens who had heard about the previous day's grain theft came to try their luck, only to find without exception that the warehouse had been emptied.
At that moment, Scarface's men would step forward and tell them that everyone planned to "collect" grain from the grain shops and bakeries that afternoon.
By three in the afternoon, the City of Nice was teetering on the brink of chaos.
The moment Scarface led the charge into the city's largest bakery, the entire city descended into madness—those who had been hungry for a long time and those filled with anxiety over the grain supply began to break into the grain stores and bakeries, grabbing as much food as they could get their hands on.
At first, people still left behind "people's tax", but by the latter half of the day, it had turned into pure looting.
By twilight, the city's regular bread supply had completely collapsed.
Those who had failed to seize any food were doomed to find not even a crumb of bread for sale the next morning. And such people were in the majority among the citizens.
The next day, at the shattered doorway of "Markman" bakery, despondent citizens crowded—both the shopkeeper and the bakers had fled, and there was nothing left inside. People knew this, but still lingered out of habit.
As they wallowed in despair, Scarface and his thousand followers walked past the street corner, cries rising from the midst of the crowd:
"Viscount Sleet's house has a lot of grain, let's go ask him for some food."
"If you don't want to starve, come quickly!"
"There's no more grain in the city, don't hesitate!"𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢
The people outside the bakery hesitated only briefly before joining the throng headed for Viscount Sleet's house.
Although some felt that Viscount Sleet's family were reasonably decent people, in such times the public behaved like a frightened flock of sheep—blindly following the leader and completely losing the ability to think for themselves.
By noon, Viscount Sleet's villa had been robbed clean. Scarface, following the "employer's" request, led the starving masses mightily towards Baron Abella's house.
...
Meanwhile, in the center of Montpellier, a spy sent by the Duke of Orleans was also leading dozens of gang members, robbing food with a large group of citizens.
As the leading gang member was rallying the starving people to raid a noble's house to the south of the city, a famished citizen loudly suggested:
"Why don't we go to Count Seyrelier's house? His estate is so large, it must have plenty of food..."
Before he could finish, someone secretly kicked him, and two gang members squeezed him to the ground as if by accident.
Count Seyrelier was an ally of the Duke of Orleans, and it was crucial to keep the flames from reaching his doorstep. In fact, the Moncalm Legion commanded by Marquis de Saint-Veran was currently stationed at his estate, numbering over 17,000 men. Even if the starving masses went there, they would surely be kept out.
The brief incident was quickly over, and the crowd began to surge towards the south of the city, shouting.
In just a few days' time, hungry mobs had swept through more than half of Montpellier, while Marquis de Saint-Veran, responsible for the city's security, merely watched coldly from the sidelines, allowing the riots to spread...
Strategic reserves of grain had been maliciously mishandled, leading to the depletion of reserve granaries in the central and southern provinces of France.
After Nice and Montpellier, the phenomenon of food shortages began to appear in other regions gradually, and spies dispatched by the Duke of Orleans started to stir as well.
However, limited by the poor information transmission capabilities of the era, the news had not yet reached the Palace of Versailles.
...
Paris.
Soleil slipped into the second-floor western corridor of the Royal Palace from behind two guards who were bending down to light their cigarettes at that instant.
She backed against a statue, took a deep breath, and looked towards the door of the archive room not far away, silently rejoicing in her heart, Finally, I've made it inside!
After the "jailbreak" day, she and her companions from The Brotherhood divided the work, each responsible for investigating a suspect Duke. She had set her sights on the Duke of Orleans.
She had heard that the Duke of Orleans had recently gone on a trip to the south and thought it was a golden opportunity, that it should be very easy to find some useful evidence. Who could have expected that the security at the Royal Palace was exceptionally strict, even surpassing the Bastille!
She had come a few times, only able to circle the perimeter, and it was only today that she finally took advantage of a moment when the guards were lax to reach the archive room.
After a patrol of guards passed, she silently approached the door of the archive room. Taking out an earpiece, she placed it against the door to listen for a moment, ensuring there was no movement inside. Then, skillfully, she picked the lock with a wire.
While muttering to herself, "This lock is much easier to pick than the Bastille's," she carefully pushed the door open, then turned back and gently closed it.
However, when she cast her eyes upon the rows of bookshelves, she stood frozen in place—there was nothing on them!
And before, these shelves had been packed with files neatly arranged by time and type.
She cautiously drew out the Swift Sword and circled the room, ensuring no one was lying in wait, before she breathed a sigh of relief.
Perplexed, Soleil left the archive room. It took her immense effort to slip into the Duke of Orleans's study, only to find that although the furnishings were as usual, not a single paper remained, even the safe's door stood open, completely empty inside.
Afterward, she searched the Duke of Orleans's bedroom, conference room, and other places, likewise finding no documents or archives of any kind.
She was greatly astonished. The Duke of Orleans went traveling without his guards but took all his documents with him?
Suddenly, her pupils constricted, and a thought flashed through her mind: The Duke of Orleans has fled in fear of the crimes! The Duke mentioned by the Maletude Brothers might well be him!
The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that her conjecture was correct, so she immediately slipped out of the Royal Palace and hurried to the Crown Prince's office overnight.
On the second floor of the Tuileries Palace, Eman sleepily glanced at the clock on the desk—it was 10 past midnight.
He intended to send away this girl who had no sense of time, telling her to come back the next day, but then he suddenly remembered the last time His Royal Highness the Crown Prince had directly summoned her to his office.
His eyes flicked to Soleil's shapely waist and her straight, slender legs clothed in a black night suit. He suddenly understood something; no wonder she came so late—it must be their appointed time.
Joseph was woken from his sleep, looking at Eman with dissatisfaction, frowned, and said:
"Soleil? What time is it now?"
But since he was already awake, he waved her over with bleary eyes:
"Since she says it's an urgent matter... sigh, ask her to go to the drawing room."
A moment later, Joseph, wearing a robe, gestured for Soleil to sit down opposite him on the sofa and yawned:
"You have come so late, what urgent matter brings you here?"
Soleil nodded vigorously, saying earnestly:
"Your Highness, I have found the mastermind behind the Maletude Brothers!"
"Oh?" Joseph instantly became alert, "Please, tell me in detail."
Soleil immediately recounted how The Brotherhood had gone to the Bastille to extract confessions and how the Maletude Brothers had let slip that their boss was a Duke.
"A Duke?" Joseph was now fully awake, he pointed at Soleil, and said sternly, "You've got some nerve, daring to storm a prison. Aren't you afraid I might lock you up as well?"
"It's all in the name of justice..." Soleil puffed out her chest, then stealthily glanced at Joseph's stern face, swallowed, and said quietly, "Your Highness, you wouldn't really have me arrested, would you?"
Joseph waved a hand: "Continue with your findings."
"Oh, right." Soleil hurriedly continued, "I searched the Duke of Orleans's residence and discovered that all the files in the Royal Palace were missing..."
By the time she finished, Joseph's expression was grave.
At this time of the year, the nobles indeed liked to travel south to escape the cold; no one would pay attention if the Duke of Orleans said he was going. But taking all the important documents with him was certainly not as simple as traveling.
However, he would not believe that the Duke of Orleans was 'fleeing from crime'—it was just the death of a minor noble, and not by his own hands; with his status, he would not care at all.
There must be something significant happening!
Soon, Fouche was dragged out of his bed and rushed with the Crown Prince to the Bastille for an overnight interrogation of the Maletude Brothers.
The experienced interrogators at the Police Affairs Department didn't have much trouble getting a confession out of the two brothers after getting the important lead about the Duke of Orleans.
Joseph frowned as he listened to Fouche's report, his brows furrowing:
"But why would the Duke of Orleans go to such lengths to scheme against Mono?"
He looked at the flickering candlelight on the wall, musing:
"If the Duke of Orleans is plotting something, and Mono is an essential part of it, then it all makes sense..."
He suddenly turned to Fouche and said:
"Quick! Send someone to the Monroe Family!"
However, by the time the Police Affairs Department arrived at Mono's residence in the Palace of Versailles, there was already no trace of him.
According to Mono's servants, he had taken his son to the south for some 'sunbathing' on the very day Soleil stormed the prison.
"Another one traveling South?" Joseph instructed Fouche with a cold face, "Check immediately who else has gone for a trip recently."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Joseph, analyzing what the Duke of Orleans could be planning but not coming to a conclusion, decided to work from the only breakthrough he had.
He summoned all the main officials of the internal administration to wake up and compile all orders recently issued by Mono.
Fortunately, the nobility mostly resided in the Palace of Versailles, and since these officials were primarily nobles, it was quite simple to gather them.
As the first rays of dawn light entered the Palace of Versailles, a thick stack of documents had been organized and was placed before Joseph.
"Focus on the main points," Joseph said to the assistant Minister of the Interior with panda eyes.
The latter hesitated: "Your Highness, Count Mono hasn't done much of importance in the past two months, except... he seems to have taken a keen interest in the movement of grain."
The transportation and allocation of grain are indeed part of the work of the internal administration, but these are usually handled by lower officials. It was somewhat strange for the Minister of the Interior to personally interfere with such trivial matters.
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Joseph narrowed his eyes and asked him to bring out all the allocation documents issued by Mono.
But when Joseph saw the dozens of chaotic, mixed-up transportation orders, rage instantly surged to his head.
The damned Orleans, he was pushing all of France into the abyss!