The Shadow of Great Britain

3: Chapter 2: A New Opportunity?

3: Chapter 2: A New Opportunity?

The 19th century in London still lay at the crossroads of light and darkness.

The sun of dawn had risen, yet its rays failed to bring the slightest brightness to the pitch-black surface of the Thames River, with the thick white fog nearly swallowing the entire river, barely allowing the faint red glow from the lamps on the small boats moored near the docks to be seen.

Up ahead, in the city district, chimneys stood in abundance.

Although it was still early, they already seemed impatient to spew out foul-smelling smoke, generously spreading their proud toxic air, obstructing the already sparse sunlight, making the gloomy weather feel even more oppressive.

On the narrow streets along the banks, one could easily stumble upon drunkards nursing hangovers, homeless peasants, and unemployed laborers wandering around, all breathing air that had been polluted and made toxic, their unhealthy sallow complexions a testament to their dire health conditions.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the alleyways, pickpockets with gleaming eyes had begun to scout their new targets.

Streetwalking women who sang for their supper stood outside their rental homes, cluttered with trash and filthy water, soliciting patrons.

Because of the recent economic downturn, they too had to extend their hours of business in hope of earning some bread and sugar.

Dressed neatly, Arthur appeared entirely out of place compared to them, and the scornful looks and curses he encountered along the way spoke volumes about the image that the newly established Greater London Police Department but had in the eyes of these impoverished folks.

In the chaotic, noisy, and dirty East End of London, people usually preferred a different name for someone like Arthur.

They called him “skin peeler,” feeling that the London police were like apple peelers, gradually stripping away their already meager “skins,” meddling with their businesses, interfering in their lives, squeezing their living space.

If this had been just after he first joined the force, Arthur might have reacted somewhat to their vitriol.

But after more than half a year had passed, now he only felt numb.

Not far ahead, two ragged alcoholics were brawling in a tussle.

As a skilled officer, Arthur was well-practiced in dealing with this kind of situation.

If you want to reason with drunks, it’s best to knock them with a stick first to wake them up, a simple truth that Arthur and his colleagues had learned after being attacked by drunks numerous times.

Without hesitation, Arthur pulled out his Civilization Cane from his waist and gave each of their heads a whack.

Arthur roared, “If you two bastards don’t want to end up in jail, better stop right now!”

The two drunks, having been hit, suddenly became furious.

Rolling up their sleeves, they intended to teach Arthur a lesson, but before they could turn around, Arthur’s police sword was already at their throats.

“I’ll repeat myself.

If you two don’t want trouble, you’d better leave this place now!”

The ice-cold touch of the police sword sobered up the drunks immediately.

One of the drunks wiped the blood from his nose and apologized profusely to Arthur, “It was just a bit of fooling around between friends.

We come from Salford in Manchester, where it’s just our way of showing friendly affection.

No need for such a fuss.”

The other, having lost half a tooth, eagerly chimed in, “Right, right, Officer sir, we didn’t mean to cause trouble, we’re leaving now.”

Having said their piece, the two hurriedly picked up their felt hats from the ground and supported each other as they staggered away.

Just as Arthur was dealing with these two drunks, he saw that a number of street vendors, with their fried fish carts and baskets of food, had appeared at the street corner.

They too noticed Arthur in uniform, but each made a different choice.

A small part of them wisely decided to move away from the area, while the majority were not willing to forsake the street with such a high flow of people.

Now was the prime time to sell breakfast at sunrise.

Leaving now meant losing more than half of their day’s income—an unbearable burden for them.

So, even in the face of the fully-equipped officer Arthur who had just demonstrated his might, they were not prepared to back down an inch.

The illusionary figure of Agares hovered around Arthur, his wicked laugh unrestrained, “Arthur, look at their eyes: fierce, venomous, they would love to drown you in the icy, foul Thames River.

In their eyes, you might be more of a devil than I am.”

“Yes!

Perhaps in this past half year or so, I have lived more like a devil than you.

The street vendors think I’m a lackey for the authorities, the authorities suspect I might harbor Jacobin sympathies, Jacobin supporters think I’ve been sent to spy on them, and the military police who are actually spying think I’m feeding them intelligence, the magistrate thinks I’m in cahoots with criminals, and the criminals believe I want to hang them all.

This world is absurd.”

Arthur, taking off his top hat, looked at the Greater London Police Department crest on it and muttered, “Agares, I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time to change the way I live.”

At these words, Agares’s eyes lit up, and he even brought out his seldom-used obsequious tone to comfort, “Oh!

My dear Arthur, you’ve finally come around.

If you’d cooperated with me sooner, perhaps by now you’d have become Prime Minister.

Whoever opposes you, you kill them, send them all into my belly, just like you did with Professor Dumps.

Come on, let’s plan our next target.

How about starting with that Police Chief who keeps getting in your way?”