Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The old man clutched the money in his hand, glanced at Richard's confident smile, shook his head, and turned to leave the shipyard.

Sean strode over to Richard and whispered, "Young Master, what are you doing? He told you a ghost story, and you rewarded him with money?"

Seeing that Richard did not answer, he added, "If you like ghost stories, I'll tell you all the ones my grandma told me when I was little, and I won't charge you a penny."

Richard chuckled and patted him on the shoulder: "Come with me."

Sean, bewildered, could only lead the workers and follow Richard toward the southwest corner.

The southwest wall was blocked by several piles of old cables and abandoned ship planks. Richard had the workers clear away the debris to reveal the red brick wall behind it, blackened by coal smoke.

Richard turned to Sean and asked, "Did you bring your pipe?"

Sean paused for a moment, his hand unconsciously reaching into his pocket. "It's on me. Do you want a cigarette?"

"No, take it out and light it."

Although Sean was puzzled, he still took out his old briar pipe, pinched a pinch of tobacco from the pouch, put it in, and lit it with a match.

He took two puffs to make sure the tobacco burned evenly, and white smoke slowly escaped from the corners of his mouth.

"Blow your smoke onto these walls," Richard said, pointing to the walls in front of him and the corners on either side.

Sean thought he had misheard, but he still took a big breath, brought his mouth close to the wall, and slowly exhaled.

White smoke billowed from his mouth, but instead of being swept away by the draft or rising vertically as it would normally do.

The smoke was drawn by a thin stream of air and slowly seeped into the cracks of a solid red brick wall.

Sean stopped before he could finish exhaling the smoke from his mouth, and the surrounding workers fell silent.

Richard stretched out his hand and tested the temperature of different parts of the wall with the back of his hand, then began to tap with his knuckles.

Bang bang bang.

Most of the sound was dull and heavy, until his finger moved to the lower middle part of the row of bricks, where the echo became crisp and hollow, and his finger stopped there.

"Give me a crowbar," he said.

The worker handed Richard a crowbar that was over a meter long. Richard inserted the flat end into the crack between the bricks and pulled hard with both hands.

The mortar in the brick joints had long since aged, and when pressed with a crowbar, it crumbled into powder and fell off in a flurry.

click!

Several workers also took a step back in unison, but it wasn't the cry of a water ghost; it was the sound of metal rubbing against stone.

Richard moved around to different spots, prying open the bricks one by one, revealing a cast-iron fence covered in cobwebs and dust.

The fence was about two feet long, and the gaps in it were filled with grayish-black grime and dried silt, but it wasn't rusted because the silt separated the air from the water.

Richard held his palm to the vent, feeling the steady and strong wind: "This place was originally an abandoned sewage outlet. The underground drainage system already existed when the mill was built."

Richard clapped his hands, stood up, and pointed to the dark entrance: "When the Thames rises, the water rushes into the drainage system, pushing the air out. When the tide recedes, the water level drops, drawing air from the ground in. This rise and fall, this inhalation and exhalation, is the siphon effect."

He lightly kicked the cast iron fence with the tip of his shoe, his mind racing with calculations.

This ventilation volume is sufficient to replace all the stale air in the entire semi-basement, and with the addition of steam centrifugal fans, the laboratory's ventilation will be impeccable.

It took Sean a while to come to his senses. He put the pipe back in his mouth, took a puff, and found that the cigarette had long since gone out.

"Young Master... how did you know?" he asked in confusion. The young master always uttered a few words that sounded like spells, words he had never heard of before.

"Reading a few more books will do the trick," Richard replied with a smile. "Sean, nail down the main equipment area and the cooling pool, and have the exterior walls repainted. This place is going to reopen."

Sean nodded, took out a hammer from his waist and was about to get to work, but then seemed to remember something and said to Richard, "Young master, you haven't named this place yet."

Richard thought for a moment, then looked at the signboard that should have been outside the gate: "Boring Company, River Cleaning Machinery".

After a while, Richard arrived at Woolwich Arsenal by carriage.

The gatekeeper checked the pass and waved to the driver to let him through.

The Woolwich Arsenal represents the majesty of the Empire, and every brick is "Her Majesty's property."

The workshops were lined up along the narrow-gauge railway, with several flatbed wagons parked on them, each loaded with tons of dark gray cast iron blocks, tightly bound together with iron chains.

The factory area was solemn and orderly, with no one walking around outside. Only the heart-pounding roar of the forging workshop could be heard in the distance.

Sir Campbell was already waiting for Richard in the portico of the main office building, his bald head losing its luster in the fog.

He saw Richard get off the carriage, but instead of going to greet him, he stood there waiting for Richard to walk up the steps.

"Mr. Brian," Campbell called out, "I'm surprised to see you here. What brings you here?"

Richard gave a slight bow: "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Campbell. I've come hoping to have a word with Mr. Frederick Abel."

Campbell frowned slightly.

Frederick Abel, one of the chief chemists of the War Office, a Fellow of the Royal Society, and the inventor of Kodak dynamite.

Although it was nearly twenty years before he invented that revolutionary smokeless gunpowder, his academic standing was already unshakeable.

Campbell hesitated for a moment: "I'm afraid that won't work. Mr. Abel specifically requested that the laboratory be set up in the most remote and quiet place in the factory. He doesn't want to see visitors."

"I understand your predicament," he replied, "but could you please send someone to convey a message to Mr. Abel? Just say... I have some suggestions regarding his cotton gunpowder technology."

Campbell pursed his lips. Cotton gunpowder was exactly what Abel was researching. By treating cotton with nitric acid and sulfuric acid, he could obtain a new type of explosive that was much more powerful than black powder.

This is a highly sensitive area, and few people outside the industry know about it.

He squinted at Richard, the words "I don't welcome you" about to come out, but he held them back.

He hesitated.

I still vividly remember the scene I witnessed at the artillery range when an armor-piercing shell pierced the armor plate of the Hercules.

He may dislike Richard as a person, but he cannot disrespect his professional judgment.

At least the superficial formalities must be put in.

He turned his head and winked at a young soldier standing by the porch.

The soldier stood at attention, saluted, then turned and jogged away, disappearing into the fog.

Campbell put his hands behind his back, displeased but unable to lash out, so he masked his displeasure with a sullen tone: "You didn't come here this time to poach my man, did you, Mr. Brian?"

Richard quickly shook his head: "Of course not, I just wanted to ask him a few questions."

But he lied; he was there to poach our employees.