After parting ways with Elder, Arthur slowly strolled along his usual patrol route towards Scotland Yard.
He paid no attention to the street vendors occupying the sidewalks, only reluctantly advising them to leave when shop owners strongly protested.
This was a philosophy Arthur had learned after six months at Scotland Yard.
The Metropolitan Police are responsible for the security of an area with a population of 1.5 million people, the largest in the world, and one-tenth of them are directly or indirectly involved in street vending.
The prisons around London had long been overcrowded, so it was impossible for Arthur to lock everyone up.
And while the Royal Navy might be able to sail the seas, defeat the Dutch and Spanish armadas, and crush Napoleon's fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar, even they didn't have the capacity to exile all of London's vendors to Australia.
To arrest or not to arrest—that was the tough decision Arthur faced repeatedly over the past six months.
Fortunately, from now on, he wouldn't have to face such dilemmas anymore.
Agares followed behind Arthur like a defeated rooster, head hanging low, utterly dejected.
Noticing his friend's low spirits, Arthur asked, "Agares, what's wrong? You look like a defeated Frenchman with that sour face."
"Arthur! You're dragging me off to sea to watch whales, and you expect me to smile? Should I be happy about this?"
After saying this, Agares squatted in front of a fish stall, looking with disdain at the half-dead herring blowing bubbles on the counter. He sighed, covering his forehead.
"What virtues have I accumulated to end up like this? In the coming years, will I have to rely on these ugly, slimy creatures to keep me fed?"
Arthur had no sympathy for Agares' complaints; instead, he was eager to correct the devil's misguided values.
"Agares, speaking like that shows a lack of respect for this country's history. For a long time, the Royal Navy was sustained by these 'ugly creatures' you're talking about.
Back when Henry VII wanted to promote mercantilism, encouraging the fishing and shipbuilding industries, he introduced the Fish Days Act, which mandated fish consumption during Lent and on fasting days.
By Elizabeth I's time, the scope of Fish Days had been expanded to three days a week. Eating fish was a duty and obligation of every subject under the Crown."
Agares was furious, conjuring three torches out of thin air, juggling them like a circus clown while hopping about and taunting Arthur.
"Using British law to bind a Duke of Hell—Arthur, you sure are full of yourself! I refuse to eat fish, and what can you do about it?"
Arthur shrugged, "According to the law, failing to eat fish on designated days could result in a six-hour punishment in the stocks. But with your attitude, which is particularly severe, I would recommend ten days in prison. However, that was all in the past. Nowadays, eat or don't, no one cares."
"No one cares? Then why bring it up?"
Arthur answered earnestly, "Because you called me an excellent University of London graduate this morning, so I thought I'd demonstrate my excellent academic qualities. Although these qualities usually don't come in handy in the daily work of the Metropolitan Police, I thought I should give you, my main sponsor, a little return."
"I don't need that kind of return! If you really want to repay me, use that clever little brain of yours to find a way out other than floating at sea."
"Unfortunately, Agares, it's too late for that. If you had obediently sent me to Oxford or Cambridge back then, or if I hadn't graduated during an economic downturn, I might have had other options.
But now, the sea is my only path. Agares, this is all your own doing."
"Oh! My dear Arthur," Agares pleaded in a low, pitiful tone, "if I apologize now, is it still too late?"
Arthur pointed to the police badge on his hat and said, "If apologies worked, what would we need the police for?"
"Damn it! So, you're dead set on this? If that's the case, why haven't you taken off that disgusting uniform? Didn't you get paid this week's salary already?"
Arthur replied, "This is called finishing what you start, standing firm until the end. As long as I haven't formally submitted my resignation, I'm still a member of the Metropolitan Police."
"Oh, Arthur…" Agares pretended to wipe tears with a handkerchief, "I almost believed your nonsense. What are you up to, you wicked little scoundrel?"
Arthur glanced at him, "After being disgusted by this place for six months, do you think I'm just going to leave quietly?"
"Oh! Now we're talking!" The devil's face lit up with excitement. "What are you planning? Set fire to Scotland Yard, or stab your lousy superior?"
"Neither."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to stab Scotland Yard and then light a fire under my superior's seat."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"No, Agares, you don't understand. It's not the same at all."
Arthur suddenly stopped walking, standing at a busy street corner.
Behind him lay the noisy, filthy East End of London, filled with the stench of decay and corruption.
But the world before him was completely different.
Neat rows of clean houses and tidy streets, a blend of Gothic spires, and lavish medieval buildings seamlessly integrated with modern, elegantly designed structures. Ornate carvings contrasted with pitch-black, peculiar fences, while ornate carriages and well-dressed gentlemen and ladies filled the area around Parliament Square.
In less than three miles lay the heart of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. To the east was the London Parliament, representing the nation's legislative body; to the north, Whitehall, filled with administrative offices; to the west stood the Supreme Court of Great Britain, and to the south, the Westminster Abbey and St. Margaret's Church, symbols of the Anglican Church.
All this was a striking contrast to the darkness and filth behind him, dazzling to the eyes.
And Arthur's destination today was right here.
His gaze drifted northward through the bustling crowd.
4 Whitehall—headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.