Chapter XXII: The Birth of a New Institution

Queen Mary regarded her son with a knowing smile, her tone tinged with amusement. "No wonder Mono proposed you for the position of Assistant to the Finance Minister. What precisely did you say to him, I wonder?"

Joseph merely returned her gaze with a courteous smile, offering no further explanation.

The Queen did not press the matter. Instead, she thought for a moment before offering, "There are two men of experience you may wish to consider for your future plans. Besançon, once a provincial trade coordinator, later appointed to command a detachment of Mounted Police—he proved most effective in suppressing smuggling operations. The other, Frient, formerly a company captain in the Flanders Regiment and currently overseeing infantry recruitment, is a man of strict discipline and able in matters of drill and regulation."

She added, "I can personally vouch for their loyalty. As for whom you employ, the choice shall be yours."

Joseph gave a respectful nod. "Very well. I shall meet with them both and make my judgment accordingly."

Though he knew neither man, Joseph had few trustworthy candidates of his own to draw from. For now, he would accept the Queen's patronage as a necessary scaffold.

An idea had begun to take root in his mind—an institution that could stand at the heart of France's future order: a Police Academy, recruiting not from noble houses but from the industrious classes, training officers in modern methods of investigation, public order, and law.

More than that, such an academy could serve as a cradle for talent: a place where disciplines such as commerce, law, and journalism might be taught, quietly allowing Joseph to foster his own loyal cadre of reformers—his official lineage, so to speak.

A vision appeared to him then: a hall of young men and women in uniform saluting with crisp discipline, and at their head, himself—as their Principal. The notion made him smile.

The Whampoa model, he thought with a touch of pride, adapted to the soil of France.

At that moment, the oaken doors ahead creaked open, and Joseph realised they had arrived at the royal dining hall. The long hall was already filled with courtiers and nobles gathered not so much to eat as to witness—for such was the custom of Versailles, where even a king's meal was theatre.

Indeed, since the reign of Louis XV, the daily rituals of the royal household—meals, prayers, births—had all become spectacles, watched by the aristocracy as if they were scenes in a play.

Joseph followed as Queen Mary drew him to his seat. The table was as lavish as expected—silver service, gilded dishes, crystal goblets—and, per custom, each course was announced by trumpet and accompanied by ceremonial procession.

As the ceremonial officer struck his cane thrice upon the marble floor, the music of oboes and viols commenced, and the first dish was brought forth.

Amid the ornate chaos, Joseph leaned discreetly toward the Queen and murmured, "If the Navy Minister troubles you over the shipbuilding reductions, you may send him to me. I shall speak with him myself."

The Queen, her fork delicately poised above a truffled pâté, glanced at her son with evident relief. "Thank God," she whispered, "he would have pestered me for a month."

Elsewhere, in a dim corridor of the western wing, the Justice Minister spoke in hushed tones to the Duke of Orléans.

"Judging from the Crown Prince's remarks, do you suppose he leans toward England?"

The Duke narrowed his gaze. "Perhaps this is the hand of his Austrian mother. If his policies entice Britain to revise its stance on France, the balance of Europe may well be shaken to our detriment."

Meanwhile, in the sunlit square near the Hôtel de Ville, Count Mono walked alongside Nico Hervé, the civil registrar.

"At least," said Mono, "the Crown Prince seems firm in his opposition to Prussia."

"Anti-Prussian and anti-British—that's the hardliner stance," Hervé mused. "But neither is preferable. What concerns me is if he proves anti-Prussian yet pro-British. France must not inherit a Peter III."

They referred, of course, to the late Russian Tsar who, enamoured with Frederick the Great, had abandoned victory for the sake of sentiment, dealing a grievous blow to his own nation.

"Yes," Mono agreed, "but from my conversations with His Highness, I believe him too shrewd to be swayed by affection for any foreign court. If he cuts naval funds, it is not for Britain's pleasure, but because such expenditures are ill-judged."

"Let us hope so."

By the following morning, word of the Cabinet's proceedings had already reached the British Embassy.

Upon learning that the French Crown Prince had both halted warship construction and condemned Prussia in the same breath, Ambassador Harriot fell into a long silence before summoning a trusted aide.

After dispatching instructions, he carefully composed a report bound for London, marking it with a red wax seal: "On the Crown Prince of France—Preliminary Observations."

…

Later that day, after enduring the ritualised theatre of a court luncheon, Joseph was finally released.

Louis XVI, brimming with affection, insisted upon escorting him to his mechanical workshop, where he proudly unveiled a self-fashioned brass safe, which he then gifted to his son.

Joseph thanked him with sincere warmth—despite his eccentricities, the King was a good-hearted man.

Upon returning to his own chambers, Joseph found Dr. Lamarck and Perna awaiting him. The former was poring over notes while the latter consulted with the Queen's physician about Joseph's most recent symptoms.

"Your Highness!" Lamarck said eagerly upon seeing him, "It is heartening to hear that your condition is stable. Without doubt, the improvement is due to the miraculous efficacy of salicin."

Joseph nodded politely. "And to the attentive care of your pupil," he added, nodding toward Perna.

"I have no diploma," she murmured modestly.

"Even so," Lamarck beamed, "Perna's skills surpass those of many licensed physicians I have known."

He then took out a small crystal vial and offered it to Joseph. Inside was a powder of pale beige. "We've refined several new batches. Mr. Laseny and I have made great progress—the purity is markedly improved."

Joseph examined the sample with satisfaction. "Truly, Doctor, you honour your reputation. This is impressive work."

Lamarck's voice grew more impassioned. "We've distributed samples throughout the New Bridge district, free of charge. The effects are indisputable. Not only pneumonia—it relieves fevers from various ailments. It has saved no fewer than seven lives in the past week!"

He hesitated, then added, "We were hoping to raise funds to begin large-scale production. We would offer you a share of the profits, of course… though most of those in need are unable to pay much."

Joseph gently closed the vial and shook his head. "If funds are required, I shall supply them. I will establish a proper laboratory and factory for production."

Lamarck's eyes widened. "Your Highness…?"

"The price shall be fixed at no more than three percent profit above cost," Joseph said firmly. "And for those who cannot pay in coin, I shall accept bark."

Lamarck was speechless.

Perna, too, looked upon Joseph with quiet awe. "Your Highness," she whispered, "you are truly merciful. May Heaven bless you."