Buckingham Palace.
"Yes, such talk has emerged from the Writers' League."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
At Captain Race's report, Victoria couldn't help but smile faintly.
To use the opponent's plan to elevate national prestige and then steal away the attention—an interesting maneuver, indeed.
"Quite the amusing little ploy."
It wasn't perfectly smooth. But from the perspective of the Writers' League, who weren't politicians and needed to present only their best side to the public, it was likely the gentlest method available.
"The taste of the masses is certainly a tricky thing."
In fact, it might have been easier to cater to the aristocracy. The rest would follow naturally if you satisfy the crucial few at the top.
"So, has Bernard Shaw departed for Russia?"
"He boarded a cargo ship bound for Calais the night before last, Your Majesty."
"He couldn't have gone far then."
Murmuring, the queen nodded.
"Contact the British embassy in Russia and instruct them to offer him any assistance he may need."
"Assistance… Your Majesty?"
"Though the man himself is an unpleasant and insolent fellow, at the very least the Writers' League hasn't misused my name as the Royal Society of Literature did."
Victoria smiled mischievously.
No matter how conservative she might be, and even though she was a fan of Hanslow Jin as an individual, she was a shrewd old fox who had spent her entire life in the political arena. She had no desire to see any one side gain complete dominance.
The more the two groups fought, the more the British literary industry would flourish.
However, that aside…
"How dare they use my name without permission."
She couldn't help but quietly seethe at the unauthorized use of her name.
If they had done it out of admiration or respect, that might have been one thing. But to use it as part of some petty scheme?
A mere chess piece—how dare they use their master's name so recklessly?
Ordinarily, she would have rained down punishment on them. She had planned to personally put those upstarts back in their place. But… the Writers' League's response had been faster than expected.
And unexpectedly, it seemed rather amusing.
"In this case, it would certainly be more interesting to sit back and watch than to cancel it outright."
The queen was a demanding spectator who enjoyed a well-matched contest.
After spending so long watching the slippery members of Parliament tear each other apart, seeing the Royal Society of Literature and the Writers' League struggling so fervently was, in its way, quite endearing.
"Then, what is Hanslow Jin doing in response? Is he simply waiting?"
"Well… it's strange, Your Majesty."
"What do you mean?"
"Completely separate from this, he's suddenly put his name on a bill regulating the use of lead."
"… What?"
Lead?
Queen Victoria repeated, perplexed.
Why on earth is he heading in that direction?
***
At first, I couldn't understand it, either.
Sure, I used lead as a tool for assassination in my stories, but wasn't it already common knowledge that lead was harmful? So why was I suddenly needed in this situation?
However, after hearing from Arthur Conan Doyle and the science fiction writers of the Writers' League, many of whom had ties to the scientific community, it became clear that this was no light matter.
The roots of the issue trace back to Wilhelm Röntgen's discovery of X-rays.
"Find it! The key to the secret!"
"If even one of us makes a breakthrough…!"
"Let's have our own Röntgen moment!"
It was the 1890s, the end of the Belle Époque.
Despite the dazzling progress in science, or perhaps because of it, scientists were even more driven to seek fame and accomplishments, scouring the gaps in humanity's knowledge.
One of the most notable examples was Dmitri Mendeleev's periodic table of elements, devised around 1870.
Yes, the one that starts with Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, and Beryllium…
You've probably either memorized it yourself or seen your friends muttering it like they were going mad, back in school.
As a humanities major, I had assumed it was just a simple sequence. But it turns out, that order isn't random at all—it's based on chemical properties like the number of protons in each element's nucleus. So it's more like a complex formula.
That's why there were gaps, like with element number 43.
In the latter half of the 19th century, there were many such gaps in science, and scientists strove to fill them, chasing glory and renown.
The question was: how?
At least with elements, the periodic table offered some kind of roadmap. In other fields, there were few such guidelines.
It was in this context that my novel DawnBringer and its mention of X-rays became a guiding light for scientists, giving them a straw to grasp at… or so I was told.
Hmm… even though I'm a humanities guy, I guess, being from the future, I do know things others wouldn't.
Lead was one such example.
But there were already people who knew about the dangers of lead.
"This is the man."
"Hm."
I looked at the paper Arthur Conan Doyle handed me, titled On Acute and Chronic Lead Poisoning, and noted its date and author.
[1891, Thomas Oliver, Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.]
This was the man who sought my advice through Joseph Bell, Doyle's mentor and a physician at the same Royal Society of Edinburgh.
Who would've thought there'd be such a pioneer decrying the use of lead in the 19th century?
"Professor, you're a physician yourself. Did you know about lead poisoning?"
"Of course. It's well-known in medical circles that lead and certain other heavy metals are dangerous. But research was needed to determine if it was specifically the lead causing the harm, or some other toxic substance, and that research… well…"
"Ah, I see."
I could only nod in agreement.
Even if you wanted to study the effects of lead, it required human experimentation—and, inevitably, you'd end up going against the companies profiting from lead.
In the modern era, you might wonder if that's such a big deal. But lead was everywhere at the time, embedded in daily life. It held enormous power. It would've been harder to find industries that didn't use it.
But then…
"Your novel became the game changer."
Arthur Conan Doyle pointed to Temple Bar—specifically, Vincent Villiers.
"An assassination using lead. Given your popularity, it's no surprise that public awareness of lead poisoning would skyrocket."
"… Hmm."
I nodded reluctantly.
"Lead, huh…"
It's definitely a problem.
Even before I knew Mary at home was Agatha Christie or that Mr. Miller would die young, I'd been careful to keep things like mercury or asbestos away from our dog, Monty.
It's unavoidable, really. Coming from the 21st century, I'm terrified of all the substances that were casually used back then—Paris Green, asbestos, mercury. And there's so much more to come. DDT, radium… It's hard to believe anyone could live a normal life in that era.
And I know that the only reason I can take these precautions is that Mr. Miller trusts me completely, and we live in Ashfield, where the air is good and we have proper ventilation.
But what about the future? What if the children end up living in London? What if they're exposed to these toxins and carcinogens every day?
Ideally, I'd like to prevent that from happening… but the problem is…
"I'm not sure if this is something I should get involved in."
"Why not? You've taken on many causes before—your foundation, educational books, all sorts of campaigns."
"Well, that was more… indirect charity work, wasn't it?"
Sure, with the Alice and Peter Foundation, I had my reasons for starting it. But ultimately, it was something I did because Mr. Lewis Carroll wanted it, and I was just funding it. I didn't feel like I was directly addressing society's injustices.
But this… this could easily become more than just a personal project. It could get complicated in all sorts of ways… which is why I'm hesitant.
As I crossed my arms, deep in thought, Arthur Conan Doyle lit his pipe and spoke.
"Well, I understand how you feel. I didn't touch on current affairs when I wrote Holmes, either."
"Exactly, right?"
"Honestly, what writer of popular literature wants to get deeply involved in politics? Well, except for people like Bernard Shaw—though he's a writer, he's more of a journalist at heart."
I nodded in agreement with Arthur Conan Doyle's comment that, for people like them, literature was a tool of ideology. That's how participatory literature and resistance literature have evolved—a rebellion against the mainstream culture, what one might call anti-mainstream culture.
On the other hand, popular literature, especially subculture, tends to be ambiguous by nature. It's pure popular art, driven only by the public's interest.
But when we talk about "the public," it's hard to define them as a group sharing the same tendencies or interests. Salaried workers at large corporations are part of the public, but so are day laborers struggling to make ends meet. Family men with a wife and kids waiting for them at home are the public, and so are teenagers like our Monty and Maggie.
Understanding this instinctively, not just pioneers of genre fiction like Arthur Conan Doyle but even 21st-century web novelists rarely expose their political leanings outright. Even if they do, they never show it in their works, because while some readers might be drawn to it, others would distance themselves in opposition.
"Besides," I thought, "this time, the corporations will get involved."
As I mentioned earlier, comparing lead-related industries of this era with today's standards is difficult. Lead permeates every aspect of life, involving numerous industries. Imagine combining petrochemicals, sugar, and consumer goods industries into one giant conglomerate. That's the scale we're talking about.
Think of it like those urban legends about Big Brother-style corporations, manipulating research papers and using massive advertising campaigns to mislead the public. The lead cartel had already done that long ago, trying to bury anyone who published rebuttals. If it weren't for the intervention of the U.S. government back then, some innocent person might have ended up at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico.
That's what makes these entities formidable, even for a popular literature writer, unless they're involved in participatory literature.
Arthur Conan Doyle then spoke up.
"If this makes you uncomfortable, I don't mind stepping in."
"Sorry?"
I looked at Arthur Conan Doyle, puffing on his cigarette.
"Why would you, sir?"
"Well, for one, I was a doctor… and besides, our Mary is about to start school soon."
"Huh? Mary?"
"Not Miller's Mary, my daughter, Mary Doyle."
Ah, of course. His eldest daughter was also named Mary. A lovely child, a year older than our Mary.
"To be honest, your writing gave me a real jolt. How could it not? As a doctor, I've done my best to keep my children away from hazardous materials like lead, but in a place like primary school, they probably still come into contact with it."
"It's not your fault, though."
"Even so, I can't leave a lead-ridden London to my children."
Arthur Conan Doyle said this firmly, his face set in determination.
"So don't feel too pressured. If you decide to step back, I can take over."
"Sigh, as if I could."
With him saying this much, how could I possibly withdraw?
Besides…
"I'll join you."
After all, I know more about this subject than anyone else.