The Shadow of Great Britain

Their first edition, from one to three in the morning, would be snapped up by newsboys lining up early.

The reason they could be this fast, aside from the strong information collection ability of the overseas department, was mainly due to the speed of messenger transmission.

While other newspapers were still using postal services to send manuscripts from the European Continent, The Times’ agents were already waiting in Dover. When the steamships from Calais and Ostend arrived in Dover, they would immediately receive the packages and send them to London via express train.

Every major occasion, or when a headline-grabbing sudden European news occurred, The Times would even spend heavily to charter a special train to quickly transport the reports recorded by resident reporters back to London.

However, after the invention of telegraph technology, The Times had gained a more convenient and faster choice.

Furthermore, due to their close relationship with the Empire Publishing Company, The Times could always gain priority access to the telegraph.

When someone gains an advantage, naturally there will be someone at a disadvantage.

Half an hour to an hour after The Times took the news, its competitor, The Morning Post, which often voiced for Viscount Palmeston, could only begin to dispatch. As for other miscellaneous tabloids, they could only be ranked behind The Morning Post.

Albert nodded with contemplation: ”It seems The Times is the true king of public opinions. And what about your Empire Publishing Company? How do you fare in the matter of press freedom?”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh when he heard this: ”Your Highness, why do you think that Empire Publishing is tied to politics?”

”Aren’t you in the publishing business?”

”We?” Arthur calmly explained: ”Your Highness, Empire Publishing has never intended to compete with The Times for the title of ’the Conscience of England’. Such matters are too costly and troublesome. The publications under Empire Publishing are all well-behaved children, not participating in politics nor mingling in party struggles. Just like Scotland Yard, we have always maintained strict political neutrality.”

Albert clearly didn’t believe Arthur’s defense: ”What publications are under Empire Publishing?”

Arthur smiled and listed them one by one with raised fingers: ”Firstly, The Economist, this weekly is the most significant publication of the London Financial City, specializing in research about finance, trade, and national debt. The Economist is not interested in which party is in power, its purpose is to inform people on how money flows and teaches how to find investment opportunities from the flow.”

Albert nodded slightly: ”Sounds like something bankers and stockbrokers would be interested in.”

”Exactly, you recognized its readership at a glance,” Arthur replied with a smile: ”Then there’s British, a purely literary magazine, mainly publishing poetry, essays, theater reviews, and serialized novels. The content sometimes involves the members of the House of Lords and the Lower House, but mostly it’s fictional. It neither praises nor complains, but simply teaches people how to speak more elegantly, write letters, drink tea, and propose.”

Albert pondered for a moment and then burst into laughter: ”Is this teaching the British how to become British?”

”You’re absolutely right, otherwise why is it called British?” Arthur gleamed: ”Its subscribers are half middle-upper class ladies and the other half are young men trying to please the ladies.”

Soon after, Arthur raised the third finger: ”Then there’s Spark. This magazine focuses on the new field explored in the recent London publishing market and has been our main profit source in recent years—cheap popular fiction, characterized by quick printing, thin profit margins, and large sales. To ensure production, we’ve established a dedicated writers’ workshop, presenting weekly serials, encompassing shootouts, pirates, romance, ghosts, everything. You could casually ask an apprentice on Charing Cross Street, and he’s likely read Spark.”

Arthur finally extended the fourth finger, becoming a bit more serious: ”Lastly it’s Nature. Although Nature has maintained a circulation of about three hundred copies per issue since its inception and has never been profitable, this does not hinder Nature from being my most favorite and valued publication. Because it’s not for politicians nor citizens’ amusement but for natural philosophy researchers and enthusiasts to understand the latest scientific progress. We publish natural philosophy papers: electromagnetism, geomagnetism, astronomy, geology, chemistry, mechanics, optics, etc., everything related to science is covered. Nature is my ideal publication, not discussing politics or factions, only truth.”

As Arthur finished speaking, the wheels on the cobblestone road gently paused, emitting a low friction sound.

The driver tightened the reins, and the horse’s breath turned into clusters of white vapor in the morning fog.

”We’ve arrived, Your Highness.” Arthur glanced outside the window with a slight smile: ”Welcome to Imperial Publishing.”

Albert followed his gaze to see a three-story stone building standing at the street corner. Its exterior wall was gray-white, with an embedded deep blue copper plaque inscribed with golden English letters—IMPERIAL PUBLISHING.

The building wasn’t particularly tall, yet it appeared extremely solid.

Above the second-floor windows hung a small iron flagpole, where the red, blue Union Jack was fluttering in the wind.

As they ascended the steps, they heard a commotion of hurried footsteps from inside the door.

The door opened with a ’pop,’ and a young man dressed in a deep black tailcoat, with a silver brooch pinned to his chest, almost dashed out in a trot.

He looked tense, first gave Arthur a hat-taking salute, then glanced at Albert, immediately realizing the guests were extraordinary, even slightly softening his voice.

”Good morning, Sir! I didn’t expect you to come so early.” The junior employee greeted respectfully while opening the door: ”Mr. Tennyson and Mr. Dickens thought you would visit Buckingham Palace today. Please come in! Please come in!”

Arthur smiled, removing his hat, and said to Albert: ”This is the company’s front office manager, Mr. Andrew Fenner. He has been on Fleet Street since he was twelve, practically grew up with the printing press.”

Upon hearing this, Albert extended his hand to him: ”Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fenner.”

Fenner was flattered and said: ”I’m also very pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”

They walked into the hall.

The pungent smell of ink greeted them, but it was much more orderly compared to the noisy exterior.

Gold-plated display racks hung on the walls on either side of the hall, with rows of classic works published by Imperial Publishing neatly displayed: Hastings Case Files, The Count of Monte Cristo, Mourning Collection, Oliver Twist, Bound Prometheus, The Three Musketeers, The Pickwick Papers, North Sea Collection, Robinson Crusoe, Young Duke, Impromptu Poet, Notre-Dame de Paris, Red and Black...

Seeing these masterpieces, Albert couldn’t help but be stunned.

He subconsciously approached those gilded bookshelves.

Below each book was a small copper plaque, marked with the author’s name and publication year, etched in fine, tidy handwriting.

Inside the cover of Oliver Twist, he discovered a flourish signature written in pen—Charles Dickens.

On the title page of The Count of Monte Cristo, there was the signature of the Frenchman in his usual flamboyant script—Alexandre Dumas père.

Below Notre-Dame de Paris, the slightly brisk and defiant pen strokes read—Victor Hugo.

The front page of Mourning Collection also contained the recognizable tender and almost hesitant ink—A. Tennyson.

”These...” Albert asked in a hushed tone, a sense of reverence in his voice: ”Are they all originals?”

”All of them are.” Arthur’s gentle voice came from behind him: ”Every author signs one or two copies as samples when publishing the first edition, either as a gesture or souvenir. Some we archive, and others are sought after by collectors. What you see here is just part of Imperial Publishing’s private collection.”

Albert’s fingertips lightly brushed over the spine of The Three Musketeers, through the display cabinet.

”This truly is...a wondrous feeling.”