Chapter XXIII: A New Arsenal of Thought

Doctor Lamarck lingered a moment before gently voicing a concern. "Your Highness, forgive my frankness, but I must remind you—the establishment of this pharmaceutical enterprise may require an investment of fifty to sixty thousand livres. If your intent is to cap profits at three percent, I fear it shall take many years for you to recover such a cost."

Joseph smiled, his manner as serene as ever. "The three percent is merely a reserve against contingencies. I have no wish to profit from this medicine."

He was not attempting to play the saint, nor was he squandering his wealth for acclaim. His plan was calculated and clear. Salicin, in its purified form, would save lives, and selling it at cost was both charitable and shrewd.

But Joseph understood more than its medicinal value. In the hands of a true merchant, salicin was gold dust.

In a few decades' time, it would be widely used in cosmetics, particularly in the treatment of skin conditions, as its oxidized form—salicylic acid—would become the backbone of countless skincare products. Even the finest noble ladies would one day apply it to their cheeks, paying dearly for the privilege.

There was an old truth that had not yet been written but was already etched into Joseph's mind from a future yet to come: the easiest fortunes are made from women and children.

If properly marketed and elegantly packaged, a single vial of salicin cosmetic could fetch ten livres or more. The nobility would buy it by the case.

Lamarck, unaware of these future profits, simply beamed at Joseph's altruism. "Your Highness, your generosity shall be remembered. I thank you, on behalf of the many humble Parisians whose lives you shall better."

Joseph waved the praise away lightly. "A simple duty, Doctor."

Eager to proceed with production, Lamarck ventured, "Your Highness, I am aware of a property—spacious, well-positioned for distribution—which could serve excellently for this new workshop."

Joseph considered it, then shook his head. "No, no. Constructing a facility from the ground up would take far too long. It would be far more prudent to acquire an existing pharmaceutical or reagent workshop and adapt it."

At this moment, Eman, his faithful attendant, stepped forward and said, "Your Highness, if I may—among the properties held by the Royal Family is a perfumery, long operating at a loss. It is currently listed for sale and may be of use."

Joseph's eyes brightened. "You are a marvel, Eman! Do you recall the price?"

"I believe they are asking twenty-six thousand livres…"

Joseph laughed aloud and slapped his forehead in amusement. "Then why pay? Since it belongs to the Crown, I shall simply ask Her Majesty to grant it to me."

True enough, when Queen Mary heard that her son intended to use the property to produce affordable medicines for the people, she immediately summoned her lawyers to transfer the deed. Within half an hour, the perfumery was Joseph's in name and law.

He had intended to visit the property personally, but his plans were once again delayed. A servant arrived, bowing low to announce, "Your Highness, the Marquis of Castries seeks an audience."

Joseph exhaled and left the matter of the workshop in Lamarck's capable hands before proceeding to the reception hall to meet with the Navy Minister.

The Marquis of Castries entered with all the bearing of a man proud of his office and his cause. After offering a proper bow, he wasted no time.

"Your Highness, Her Majesty has directed me to discuss the recent matter of naval construction. I must stress, we must not abandon the plan to expand our fleet."

Joseph received him cordially and gestured toward the tea service. "Let us begin at the beginning, Marquis. May I ask—why do you wish to build so many new warships?"

"To contend with the British, of course!" Castries said with a firmness born of personal grievance. "To strike at their proud fleet, to recover our lost colonies, and—if I may speak candidly—to avenge the humiliation they inflicted upon my grandfather's generation."

Joseph nodded thoughtfully. "A righteous cause. But tell me—if we were to devote our entire treasury to shipbuilding, do you believe we could best the Royal Navy?"

Castries was not unprepared. "If we act with Spain as our ally and command our ships wisely, there is a possibility of victory."

"The odds," Joseph said plainly, "remain slight. And in tactics, the British are our superior."

The minister faltered slightly, though pride compelled him to persist. "Still, Your Highness, we shall never know unless we make the attempt."

Joseph offered him a calm smile and said, "Let us set aside tradition for a moment and engage in a dream. Suppose, Marquis, that we possessed warships capable of exceeding twenty knots in speed—vessels equipped with twenty-five 42-pounders, thirty 24-pounders, all enclosed in iron plating…"

Castries raised a brow.

"…Imagine that, together with our existing fleet, such vessels formed a new line of battle. Do you believe then, that we could defeat the British?"

Castries let out a brief laugh. "If such ships existed, I daresay we would not only defeat them—we would terrify them into never setting sail."

"Then let us build them."

The Marquis blinked.

Joseph continued softly, "These vessels do not yet exist, that much is true. But they can. There are ideas, blueprints, engines of steam and iron, metallurgy yet to be refined… if we abandon obsolete designs, rethink our principles of naval warfare, and invest not just in ships but in science, we shall, one day, rule the seas not by numbers, but by genius."

Castries sat motionless, caught between awe and skepticism. He was no fool—he understood that Joseph was offering not just a vision but a new doctrine of war.

"You speak of wonders, Your Highness," he said at last. "But these are still dreams."

Joseph rose from his chair and clasped the Marquis's shoulder firmly. "Dreams, yes. But France has need of bold dreams, and men to make them real. Stand with me, and I promise you—we shall build a navy the likes of which the world has never seen."

There was a moment of silence. Then Castries bowed low, deeper than before.

"I shall await your instructions, Your Highness. And your designs."