LIFE OF BEING A CROWN PRINCE IN FRANCE

The night was deep.

Demville was exceedingly fortunate to have been assigned the task of “stocking up,” which meant he could rest tonight in the small church in town.

Hmm, the “Leisure” couldn’t return empty after unloading its cargo.

It would be loaded with wool, timber, leather, and even tea purchased from Norfolk. Most of these goods would be unloaded in France at Calais, with some going directly to Le Havre.

However, the Pulse Gang demanded they declare the goods and pay taxes according to the regulations in France. Although this severely squeezed the profits on the return journey, the captains didn’t dare act recklessly with a “liaison officer” from the Pulse Gang on every smuggling ship.

These English specialty raw materials were cheaper to purchase locally than the official prices sold to France, so the earnings were grudgingly acceptable to the captains. After all, they had already made a killing on the trip to England.

Demville, who had been moving dried oak planks all night, yawned deeply and was ready for a short rest. He might have another load to deal with after dawn, and he needed to conserve his strength. Although the job was well paid, it was indeed exhausting.

The church’s priest kindly brought blankets for the sailors on the ship.

As a devoted Catholic, Demville hesitated several seconds before finally accepting the blanket from the amiable Protestant priest in front of him—sleeping on the church’s ground was just too cold.

Just as he dreamed he had paid off his debts, his face brimming with smiles, he was rudely awakened by a kick and a low growl, “Trouble, get up!”

Jacques Barouan, the Pulse Gang’s foreman in this area, woke everyone up and then went to the second-floor windows to look outside.

Demville found a gun in his hand, given by someone unknown. He carefully approached the window to see five or six horses galloping towards the church in the morning sun, clearly not bearing goods.

Maderno also arrived on the second floor, anxiously asking, “Mr. Barouan, could it be the British customs enforcers?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Barouan frowned and shook his head.

The Special Trade Association had spies among the Norfolk customs enforcers and the police. Any unusual activity would be immediately reported. They had not missed anything these past few months.

A priest met with the newcomers at the entrance and, after a brief conversation, returned to the second floor to tell Barouan, “They’re not customs officers or police.”

He sighed with relief, “Then who are they?”

“That… You’d better ask them yourself.”

With his handgun tucked into his waistband, Barouan approached the church’s entrance with confusion, only to hear the well-kept middle-aged man opposite him saying, “Are you the one in charge here?”

“I am responsible for this place. And you are?”

With a smile, the middle-aged man hinted, “I know this church carries on some special business.”

Instantly, Barouan’s hand moved to his back, on guard as he said, “So, what do you want?”

The middle-aged man gestured for him to calm down, “Relax, friend. My boss says your current operation mode is… ah, not very efficient.

“If possible, he is interested in ‘representing’ the goods you transport to Norfolk, and selling them in a more efficient manner.”

Barouan was caught off guard.

“How did you find this place? And who, might I ask, is your boss?”

“When so many high-quality, inexpensive goods appear on the market, interested parties will always trace them back to their source. Trust me, we can help you plug this leak.”

The middle-aged man glanced around and then added, “As for my boss, you must have heard of him. Lord George Huen.”

…

Paris.

In the office of the Trade Minister at the Palace of Versailles, Bailly leafed through the documents sent by the Special Trade Association, hardly able to contain his smile.

“Lord George Huen,” he handed a report across to Major Gallard of the Trade Investigation Bureau of the intelligence service, “an old family in Norfolk, connected with the Norfolk Chamber of Commerce, the mayor, the Tax Officer, and several members of parliament. He promises to sell our goods through the local Chamber of Commerce via official channels, doubling sales volume in a short time. He can also provide shelter with the police.

“However, he demands a twenty percent share of the profits and the right to set prices for the goods in Norfolk.”

Gallard glanced at the report, then at the pile of documents on Bailly’s desk, his expression filled with emotion.

The intelligence service had previously estimated that finding “collaborators” in England and its colonies would be the greatest challenge. They had planned to allocate half the personnel of the “Trade Investigation Bureau” and a fund of 300,000 francs for this purpose.

Unexpectedly, they had barely exerted any effort before numerous British forces came seeking cooperation, offering rates lower than their initial estimates.

“I’m starting to like these English gentlemen,” Bailly handed over another report, “This one is from Mr. David Havers of Hampshire. Coincidentally, his uncle happens to be the deputy commander of the southern coast customs enforcement. But his appetite is larger—he wants to take over the market from Plymouth to Portsmouth…

“Ah ha, you would never guess! Baron Henry Grayfoss is also hoping to work with us.”

“Baron Grayfoss? You mean, the Assistant Governor of Newfoundland?!”

“Precisely,” Bailly said with a broad smile, “he even suggested he could dispatch ships to pick up the goods on some small island in the Atlantic and return to Canada under the British flag.”

In this era, Canada was merely a geographical concept, with few British settlers all concentrated within the narrow confines of the Great Lakes Region. Thus, the name Newfoundland was often used to refer to the entire British Colonies in North America, reflecting the influence of the Governor of Newfoundland.

“Could this be a trap by the English?” Major Gallard asked cautiously.

“I think it’s unlikely,” Bailly pointed to a few lines in the report, “In our first shipment to Canada, over sixty percent was personally purchased by him.

“That’s a full 350,000 francs’ worth of wine and textiles.”

“I will send someone to verify…”

In just under a month, the Special Trade Association had already “harvested” seven heavyweight partners in England and its colonies, building a solid transportation and sales network with their help.

Some, like the Assistant Governor of Newfoundland, even invested with their own ships.

As for the Portuguese colony of Brazil, the Creoles had long been clamoring for independence, demanding the right to free trade. So, when inexpensive and handy French goods arrived onshore, they were welcomed with open arms.

Jose Xavier, a leader in the Brazilian independence movement, personally sent people to contact the smuggling fleet, assisting with sales and also ordering tents, medicine, and other military supplies.

On the Indian Peninsula, the Princely State of Mysore, an old friend of France, acted as “distributor.” Once smuggled goods reached the peninsula, controlling Mysore’s extensive borders with other Princely States was simply impossible.

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