19th-century London remained on the cusp between light and darkness.
The morning sun had risen, but its rays brought no brightness to the pitch-black surface of the Thames. The white mist almost swallowed the entire river, with only faint red lights from small boats moored at various docks visible through the haze.
In the city ahead, chimneys stood like forests. Though it was still early, they eagerly spewed thick, foul-smelling smoke, filling the air with their toxic fumes. The already gloomy weather became even more oppressive as the scant daylight was further obscured.
On the narrow streets along the riverbanks, drunkards recovering from their hangovers, homeless farmers, and unemployed workers wandered aimlessly. They inhaled the polluted, toxic air in large gulps, their unhealthy, waxy-yellow complexions a testament to their poor health.
In the shadows of the alleyways, pickpockets with shifty eyes were already on the lookout for their next targets.
Singing prostitutes lingered outside their garbage-strewn, sewage-filled tenements, trying to attract customers. The recent economic downturn had forced them to extend their working hours, hoping to exchange their services for a bit of bread and sugar.
Arthur, dressed impeccably, stood out starkly in contrast to them. The glares and curses he received along his path spoke volumes about the image of the recently established Metropolitan Police in the eyes of these impoverished people.
In the chaotic, noisy, and filthy East End of London, people had another name for someone like Arthur.
They called him a "skinner," believing that the police, like apple peelers, were slowly stripping away what little "skin" they had left, interfering with their businesses, disrupting their lives, and squeezing their already limited space to survive.
If this had been when he first started, Arthur might have reacted to their curses.
But after more than six months, he had become numb to it.
Up ahead, two ragged drunks were locked in a brawl.
As a seasoned officer, Arthur was well-versed in handling such situations.
If you want to reason with drunks, it's best to knock some sense into them first. This simple principle was a valuable lesson Arthur and his colleagues had learned after being attacked by drunks multiple times.
Without hesitation, Arthur drew his truncheon from his belt and delivered a blow to each of their heads.
Arthur shouted, "If you two bastards don't want to end up in jail, you'd better stop right now!"
The two drunks, enraged by the blows, rolled up their sleeves, ready to teach Arthur a lesson. But before they could turn around, Arthur's police sword was already pressed against their throats.
"I'll say it again, if you don't want trouble, you'd better leave this place immediately!"
The cold touch of the police sword instantly sobered the drunks.
One of them wiped the blood from his nose and repeatedly apologized to Arthur, "This is just a little scuffle between friends. We're from Salford, Manchester, and this is how we show friendliness. There's no need for you to make a big deal out of it."
The other drunk, missing half a tooth, quickly echoed, "Y-Yes, Officer, we don't want any trouble. We'll leave right away."
With that, the two hurriedly picked up their discarded felt hats, supported each other, and staggered away.
After dealing with the two drunks, Arthur noticed several street vendors pushing carts of fried fish or carrying woven bags filled with food around the street corner.
They also noticed Arthur in his uniform, but their reactions varied.
A small portion of them wisely chose to leave the area, but the majority were unwilling to abandon this bustling street, even at the cost of their lives.
It was the best time of day to sell breakfast, and leaving now would mean losing more than half of their daily income—something they could not afford.
So, even faced with the fully equipped and recently triumphant Officer Arthur, they refused to retreat an inch.
The ethereal figure of Agares swirled around Arthur, laughing malevolently, "Arthur, look at their eyes—fierce, malicious. They'd drown you in the icy, foul-smelling Thames if they could. To them, you might be more of a devil than I am."
"Indeed! Perhaps over the past six months, I've lived more like a devil than you. The street vendors see me as the government's lapdog, the authorities suspect me of Jacobin sympathies, the Jacobin supporters think I'm sent to spy on them, while the military police who actually monitor them believe I'm tipping them off. The magistrates think I'm in league with criminals, while the criminals believe I want to send them all to the gallows. This world is absurd."
Arthur removed his top hat and looked at the Metropolitan Police badge on it, murmuring, "Agares, I've been thinking, maybe it's time for a change."
Agares' eyes lit up at these words, and he even adopted a rare, saccharine tone, "Oh! My dear Arthur, you've finally come to your senses. If you had partnered with me sooner, you might have become Prime Minister by now. Whoever opposes you, just kill them, feed them all to me, like you did with Professor Dempsey. Come on, let's plan our next target. How about starting with that sergeant who keeps giving you a hard time?"
"I sincerely appreciate your enthusiasm," Arthur said, "but that's not what I meant by a change."
"Not what you meant?" Agares asked, bewildered. "Then what do you mean?"
Arthur didn't answer his question but instead waved his hat and called out loudly to a man in a trench coat haggling with a vendor up ahead, "Elder, over here!"
Hearing Arthur's shout, Elder muttered a few curses at the vendor before jogging over to Arthur.
"Hey, Arthur. The weather's lousy today, and I'm in a foul mood, but seeing you makes me feel a lot better."
Arthur asked, "What were you arguing with the vendor about just now?"
Elder couldn't help but curse, "Arthur, you have no idea how rude that bastard was! He sold me four oysters, three of which were already rotten, and still charged me four pence. It's outright robbery! If you hadn't called me over, I would have gotten into a fight with him!"
Arthur replied calmly, "Elder, if you'd really fought him, it would've put me in a tough spot. I just dealt with two brawling drunks."
"Who cares, you can just turn a blind eye while I brawl."
Elder pulled out a pipe from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and filled it with tobacco from a tin case in his breast pocket before lighting it with a match.
He took a deep drag and blew out a smoke ring, finally feeling more at ease.
Elder asked, "Enough about that. Have you thought about what I asked you the other day? Instead of sticking around this cesspool, why not join me on the ship? We could use a well-educated naturalist like you to travel the world with me—an easy, enjoyable life with double the pay. Who knows, you might even meet a few exotic ladies. What's not to like?"
He pulled out another pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco, and, without asking if Arthur wanted it, shoved it into Arthur's mouth and lit it.
As his hands busied themselves, Elder continued to persuade Arthur.
"Arthur, you really need to think this through. There's no future in staying with the Metropolitan Police. I hear most of the officers there are unemployed textile workers or farmers from the Northeast, and even the Irish can get in.
We, graduates of the University of London, may not be officially recognized, but that's all because of the dirty tricks played by those rotten Oxfords and Cambridges, colluding with the Archbishops. In terms of knowledge, we're far superior to them.
Yet, outstanding individuals like us are denied degrees simply because our school admits nonconformists. Is there anything more absurd than that?"
Arthur took a puff from the pipe and said, "Of course there is."
"Like what?"
"For example, I know a well-off, well-connected fellow who practices the state religion and has an uncle who's a Rear Admiral in the Royal Navy, but he still insists on attending the University of London, claiming he wants to make it on his own. Yet in the end, he still has to rely on his uncle's connections to get a job on a ship."
Elder burst into laughter and punched Arthur on the shoulder, "Arthur, that was harsh! I didn't see it that way before, but now I do. We're all swimming in a cesspool, and if you can't see the filth, it's not because the environment is better, but because you've already gone under."
Arthur fell silent.
Elder asked, "Arthur, why aren't you saying anything?"
"Elder, I really can't imagine."
"What?"
Arthur sighed, "That you graduated with a degree in Classical Literature."
Elder laughed heartily, "That just shows how little you understand Classical Literature.
Nero once said: 'No one's body, whether man or woman, is chaste; most just hide their depravity well.'
He was a son of a bitch, but he wasn't wrong about that.
For a writer, no one's mouth, whether man or woman, is clean, and most of them don't even bother to hide it. I, too, hope to be one of them someday.
But let's not talk about that. What have you decided? Are you coming aboard?"
Arthur nodded, "I guess I owe you one this time. I'm pretty fed up with