The Shadow of Great Britain

The sea breeze outside the window gently stirred, and the mail ship had already sailed past the coastal town of Gravesend. The mouth of the Thames River suddenly widened here, and the vast blue sea was right in front of them.

In the upper cabin, Thomas Plunkett, the captain of the Police Intelligence Department’s Ghost Team, slowly turned around. This once fit sharpshooter had put on weight, dressed in a loose grey wool suit, and had even less of his already thinning hair compared to three years ago. His shiny bald head glinted under the sunlight.

Plunkett first saluted Arthur by raising his hand, then awkwardly put down the brandy bottle he was holding with his left hand, and explained to Arthur: ”Sir, you know, this has always been an old habit of mine. If I don’t have a sip or two before a mission, my hands shake when I raise the gun.”

Arthur waved his hand with a smile: ”Thomas, I know you, and you know me. Relax, I’m not like Minister Rowan, so rigid in style. As long as you get the job done, I couldn’t care less if you drink on the job.”

Arthur took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack: ”Besides, I’m no longer your superior. The fact that you accepted my invitation and took leave from Scotland Yard to board the ship is already deeply moving for me.”

Hearing this, Plunkett saluted again: ”Sir, the Army wouldn’t stop respecting the Duke of Wellington just because he is no longer the Commander-in-Chief. It’s the same for you in Scotland Yard. If any newcomer dares to disrespect you, I wouldn’t wait for your orders. I’d be the first to bash their head in with a gun butt.”

Though Plunkett neither understood the long rhetorical sentences of the White Hall civil servants nor the various bizarre metaphors used by the Fleet Street reporters, his simple and straightforward words were like music to Arthur’s ears.

Arthur tossed a cigar box into Plunkett’s hands: ”Thomas, I know you dislike those convolutions, so I’ll be straightforward with you. Where are your team members? It was quite a rush getting on board today, and I haven’t received a complete roster yet.”

”I brought four old mates from the 95th Regiment’s Green Jackets — Hamilton, Moore, Biggs, and Wayne.” Plunkett rattled off a series of familiar names: ”The four of us are aboard as members of the South Bank Veterans Club, attending a seaside reunion. We’ve all taken leave from Scotland Yard, and the bureau only knows we’re out for rest, without asking specifics, and we didn’t say anything.”

”Didn’t ask?” Arthur asked with a smile: ”Minister Rowan didn’t ask either?”

”Rowan’s playing dumb. He knows something’s off, but he doesn’t want to know why.” Plunkett was still aggrieved by Minister Rowan’s handling of the Cold Bath incident. Even after the memorial for Chief Robert Cali, the knot in his heart hadn’t unraveled: ”You know Rowan, not knowing means no responsibility, and he doesn’t want to take risks.”

Arthur didn’t echo Plunkett’s sentiment, although he knew Plunkett wasn’t wrong. However, he didn’t think of Rowan as so morally questionable.

For someone like Rowan, who is all about the rules and values institutional construction, being able to turn a blind eye to minor infractions by his subordinates was already commendable.

Expecting him to actively overstep his authority would be asking too much.

Arthur lit a cigar, took a deep puff, and asked: ”How’s the bureau lately? I’ve been away too long, and it’s hard to get news from the outside.”

”How could it be? It’s the same mess as always. The guys parachuted in by the Home Office are experts at writing reports, climbing the ranks quickly, but when it comes to actual work on the streets, it still relies on us old hands.”

Plunkett paused here before adding: ”However, the Intelligence Bureau has been doing well lately. Rowan hasn’t let the Home Office guys meddle with us, and our old colleagues who were transferred out of the Police Intelligence Department are being gradually reassigned. Oh, right, Superintendent Fuller from Division Four had a relapse of an old injury earlier this year, so Director Field moved him to a secondary role.”

”Who’s in charge of Division Four now?”

”Jones, Brayden Jones the Chief Inspector, your old subordinate from Greenwich and Tower Hamlets.” Plunkett was clearly pleased with this choice, speaking with a smile: ”Director Field filed a report with Minister Rowan to bring him over from the Tower Hamlets precinct.”

Arthur was equally pleased with this choice.

After all, Jones was the only one who never bowed to headquarters during the Scotland Yard’s ’De-Hasting’ campaign a few years back.

If it weren’t for the fact that the Tower Hamlets precinct, which Jones oversaw, was such a hot seat, Rowan might have taken him down earlier.

But now, Arthur and Rowan have mended their past differences, and their relationship improved even further after Chief Cali’s memorial ceremony.

So, the suppression of Jones by Scotland Yard naturally became a thing of the past.

In fact, Jones’s standing in Scotland Yard had progressed beyond just being a figure of the past.

After all, Scotland Yard, established on a base of retired military veterans, inherently admired ”tough bones” like Jones, who stand firm despite the wind and rain.

Previously, when Jones was viewed as a remnant of the Hasting faction to be purged, the officers couldn’t openly express their admiration for him.