shadow of britain

Chapter 603 Mysterious Guest
The difference between men and women is that the older a woman gets, the more she is interested in women's affairs, while the older a man gets, the more he retreats from men's affairs.

——Chekhov's Notes

The wind was howling in the city, and the blizzard was like a white velvet carpet, covering the entire town.

The world outside the window has been swallowed up by the cold wind and snow. The air is biting and snowflakes are dancing in the wind, as if freezing all life.

The only traces left on the street were that it was almost covered by ice and snow. Occasionally, a few footsteps could be heard, but they soon disappeared in the endless white.

It was still noon, but the blizzard had made the sky dark and gloomy. Even the lights in the distance were obscured by the thick curtain of snow. The whole world seemed to have fallen into silent silence.

The walls of the inn were covered with mold due to long-term dampness, and the air was filled with a mixture of old musty smells and oil smoke. The thick carpet on the floor was tightly bonded to the ground, as if it had grown out of the ground.

There were only a few pieces of weak charcoal on the stove, barely maintaining a faint heat, but it only made people feel a little warm, far from enough to resist the biting cold that seeped in through the cracks from outside.

Arthur sat at the dining table. On the table was a dim kerosene lamp. Perhaps because it was too old, the inner wall of the lamp was burnt black by the coal smoke.

Such unappetizing lighting coupled with a simple Russian dinner would make one feel nauseous just by looking at it, let alone eating it.

Pickled cucumbers, hard rye bread and a dish of slightly greasy beef stew.

Arthur picked up the bread and played with it in his hands. The stone-hard texture almost made him think he had picked up a piece of coal.

But after all, the Jazz also came from a poor background, so he had his own way to deal with such a dinner.

He took out the knife Garibaldi had given him and sawed the bread into small pieces like sawing wood. Then he put the small pieces of bread into his mouth and held them for a while until the surface was wet with saliva. Then the knight began to chew hard with all his strength by moving his cheeks.

How would you describe the taste of this bread?
You can never savor it like a delicacy.

The texture of this bread is not only hard, but even after chewing it, you can still feel the large grains between your lips and teeth, and when you lick your teeth with your tongue, you can still sweep off a few large pieces of unprocessed bran. The bread is sour and bitter, not only does it cut your throat when you swallow it, but when you take a deep breath, you can always feel a strange moldy smell in your stomach.

Fortunately, there is a serving of beef stew to calm my churning stomach, but it can only suppress the strange smell.

This beef stew was far inferior to the Provencal stew in Paris restaurants. Not only was it bland and boring, with only salt used for seasoning, but part of the greasy soup had frozen in the cold weather, with chunks of solidified fat floating in the turmeric-colored soup.

After stuffing all these things into his mouth, Arthur felt nothing but discomfort in his mouth.

But what can be done?

The singing and dancing of London, the decadence of Paris, and the arrogance of Göttingen, that is the treatment that Sir Arthur Hastings, an upper-class British gentleman, should enjoy.

Black bread, beef soup and pickled cucumbers were the way of life that suited Artur Agaresovich Hestingov, a minor civil servant and 14th-rank civil servant of the Russian Empire.

Five days and five nights of hardship made Arthur's face even paler, and the only 200 rubles left on him seemed to evaporate in an instant. Oh, maybe it's not appropriate to say this, because even with the remaining 110 rubles, after paying for the hotel's board and lodging and the fare to Druisk, there were only rubles left.

And then, he would have to rely on these 110 rubles to hold on until the day when the "Tsarist Russia Hu Baoyi" Shubinsky came to rescue him, the "Great British Jade Unicorn"!
If worse comes to worse and Shubinsky doesn't come, Arthur will have to find a way to get out of this damn place on his own.

These days, he went to almost every government agency he could go to, including the city hall, the post office, and the police station. However, he couldn't even get past the first line of defense set up by the guards, let alone meet the mayor, the police chief, and other important figures. In Druisk, meeting with officials was as difficult as finding light in the dark. And if he couldn't meet with the officials, he could only walk around in circles and couldn't do anything.

These fucked up things are strung together to form an unsolvable knot.

If this continues, Arthur might really have to consider Agares' unreliable suggestion and find a main road to hide and ask the heroes passing by to borrow some money for the journey.

After all, he is a master swordsman of the Fiore school, and he should be able to master this business quickly.

If he had known earlier, he should have learned a few more tricks from Victor when he was in Paris.

That old guy is more than just a Paris detective. Although Victor only admitted that he had robbed a few British merchant ships with French pirates during the Napoleonic Wars, Arthur felt that when the old guy was young and frivolous, he must have done a lot of robbing on land.

But then again, robbing on the road was not a very decent thing for Sir Arthur Hastings.

But then again, the robber was the thief Artur Agaresovich Hestingov, so what does it have to do with the Jazz?

Ugh……

It is true that a penny can make a hero fall, but a little kindness can move a chivalrous man.

I am Arthur Hastings, the Cultural Counselor of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in Russia. In fact, I am not dead, nor have I lost contact, but I have been living in a small hotel in Druisk. I now need 500 rubles to go to St. Petersburg to take up my post, either silver rubles or paper rubles will do. You give me the money, and when I arrive in St. Petersburg, I will immediately release you from your serf status, give you a piece of land, and let you become a boyar master.

Would anyone believe such words?
Oh! If even the devil doesn’t believe in this kind of thing, how can you expect humans to believe in it?
It is better to ask for help than to ask for help from yourself!
After all, Sir Arthur Hastings was a man who came out of the pigsty in Yorkshire, the gangsters in Greenwich, and the hail of bullets under the Tower of London. If he was defeated by such a small difficulty, wouldn't he be looked down upon by Talleyrand, the old French cripple?

Arthur picked up the big bowl and ate the stewed beef clean with great enthusiasm, even the grease on the edge of the bowl and the meat residue at the bottom of the bowl were not left out.

Don't underestimate this little thing. If you want to squat outside the city hall for an hour or two in this cold weather, it's all because of this little bit of meat!

Agares glanced at Arthur's poor appearance and let out a breath of disdain. The Red Devil snorted, then adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses that he had found from somewhere, picked up a long article written on parchment, and recited the famous work written by the knight with deep emotion.

"I loved learning when I was young. But because I was a hired farmer from the countryside of York, my family was poor, my parents died early, and I couldn't get books to read. I could only borrow books from local book collectors in York, copy them by hand, and return them on a certain date. When the weather was extremely cold, the ink I made with charcoal ash froze into solid ice, and my fingers could not bend or stretch, but I still did not stop copying books..."

Arthur could endure material poverty but could not stand the spiritual torture. He glared at the Red Devil and was about to tell the story of Baal again, but unexpectedly he heard the door of the hotel being pushed open.

The sound seemed unusually loud, echoing in the quiet hotel with few guests, breaking the brief peace.

Arthur looked up and saw a figure as tall as a bear walking into the hotel in the dark sky.

Although this man's back is a little hunched, it does not prevent everyone from seeing that he must have been a very strong young man when he was young.

He was a silver-haired old country gentleman wearing a bear-skin hat and a fox-skin coat. From his shoulders covered with snowflakes, one could tell that it was snowing heavily outside.

His hat was a little wet from being exposed to the snow for a long time, and the cold weather made the old man's shoulders tremble slightly, as if he had just struggled out of the snow.

The shop owner's eyes lit up instantly, and the smile on his face was almost greasy, with a hint of undisguised flattery. He hurried forward, almost grabbing the man's sleeves with both hands, and kept complimenting him: "Isn't this Mr. Zakharov? It's snowing so hard, you really came here bravely! It's really cold today, are you not frozen?"

The old country squire frowned, looking a little impatient, but he also knew that this was the local custom, and it would be inappropriate if he did not respond.

He snorted lightly, shook off his snow-stained sleeves, and said coldly: "Well, the snow is a bit heavy. However, I still have to say that I still have to come to your place when I have time. After all, this place is always complicated with human relations. If I don't come for a long time, don't let people think that this place is so cold that even people's hearts are frozen."

The innkeeper could tell something was wrong but he didn't dare ask any further questions. He just thought that the old man was in a bad mood today.

"Oh, the master is right. You came here in the snow and specially came to have a cup of tea and a sip of sour wine. You really bring honor to our place!" The owner's smile became more exaggerated, and he whispered, "There's nothing good to see here. If you don't like it, we dare not force you. What can we prepare for you to warm you up? Our rooms here have warm beds and hot pots. Don't be dissatisfied with the food. They are all made at home. They are not very particular. As long as they can fill your stomach, it's fine!"

The old squire was obviously in no mood to listen to such flattery. He took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair, waving his hand impatiently: "Well, as long as it's warm, don't delay. I went out today and accidentally got hit in the chest by a few beasts that came out of the snow. It hurts like my heart is being torn apart. I have to have some good cod and strong liquor to relieve it."

"Okay! Please wait a moment, the food will be served to you right away." The owner had just entered the kitchen, but soon came back and asked with a smile on his face, "Sir, why don't you sit in the small private room in the back room? I'll light the fire to drive away the cold for you."

The old country gentleman took out his pipe, found a match and started to light it. He glanced at the shopkeeper and said, "You are so attentive today!"

The shopkeeper wiped his hands with a rag on the counter, then stood hunched over beside the old squire and asked humbly, "You are indeed a former eighth-rank civil servant who worked at the Winter Palace. Nothing can be hidden from you."

The old country gentleman crossed his legs and took a puff of cigarette, not even looking at the shopkeeper: "Humph! I don't know you, you bastard. You are the most cunning businessman in the city. I came all the way in the snow to take care of your business, and you are not grateful, but you even set your sights on me! This is just because you met me and the kind-hearted old Grigory. If you met those sons of bitches in the city hall, the city court, and the post office, they would have taken you to prison for interrogation!"

The shopkeeper did not dare to echo the old squire's insults against the mayor and the judge, but he did not dare to disobey him either, so he could only flatter him: "Everyone in Druisk knows that you are the kindest person. Even the priests in the church dare not say that you are more pious to God than you. You have the lowest rent for the land. You are also the most active in donating money and materials to the poor and showing loyalty to the emperor. Every time people on this street mention you, they say that you are a benefactor sent by God. For us ordinary people, seeing you is like seeing God. It is a blessing for us to be taken care of by you!"

I don’t know if it was because he was used to hearing such flattery, but the old country squire actually took the shop owner’s words as true.

Not only was he not ashamed, he even nodded while smoking and said, "Although everyone says that the people below us are ignorant, ignorance does not mean that we do not understand things. In my opinion, if you become the mayor, you might be able to do a better job than Bakalkin!"

Seeing that he had made the old man happy, the shop owner quickly struck while the iron was hot and said, "You are really embarrassing me. How can a small person like me have such a great blessing? Let alone becoming the mayor, if I were to take a look at the emperor's face, I would probably collapse on the ground in fear and even forget how to walk."

The old squire snorted when he heard this: "Your performance is better than that of the mayor! Bakalkin, forget meeting the emperor, was so scared that he peed his pants when he heard the news that the imperial envoy was visiting incognito."

At this point, the old squire was worried that the shop owner would not believe him, so he raised his pipe and pointed at the policemen who were cleaning up the garbage outside the window in the heavy snow: "Look at those black animals in dog skins, look at their temper. They don't complete their work properly at ordinary times, but have to wait until the imperial envoy is about to arrive before they think of making a surprise attack. It's like cleaning the pigpen thoroughly and then hanging a sign saying "Exquisite Farm", but the imperial envoy still has to smell the stench when he enters the door?"

However, the shopkeeper did not react much when he heard this: "What is an imperial envoy?"

When the old squire heard this question, he felt that he had just been talking to a cow. He waved his hands impatiently and said, "You are ignorant after all. You don't even know the imperial envoy? He is the master who came to inspect from Petersburg!"

"From Petersburg?" the shopkeeper suddenly realized. "So what rank is he?"

"Generally speaking, he must be at least a sixth or seventh rank..." The old squire saw that the shop owner was not surprised, and quickly changed his words: "But this time it's different from the usual situation. This time it was sent by the emperor himself, so he must be a fifth rank official! Who knows, that gentleman might be the commander of the gendarmerie of some province!"

"Fifth rank? Nine, eight, seven, six, five..." The shopkeeper counted on his fingers. As he counted, he felt his calves trembling. Finally, he couldn't help but exclaimed: "Then he is several levels higher than the mayor!"

Seeing that he was frightened, the old squire said smugly, "Don't worry, it's no big deal. When I was working in Petersburg, I was surrounded by such high-ranking officials."

The shop owner could not help but stand in awe upon hearing this, and his tone became even more humble: "No wonder everyone respects you so much. In the past, I only knew that you were close to the emperor, but I never thought about it in detail. Even those who work in the same office as you are all extraordinary people."

The old squire nodded slightly, enjoying the compliment from the shopkeeper. Suddenly, his nose twitched and his brows furrowed sharply: "Damn it! Is my salmon mushy?"

"Ah!" The shop owner hurried back to the kitchen: "I was so engrossed in what he was saying that I forgot what I was doing."

"Then hurry up! If the salmon gets mushy, I won't let you off!"

The shop owner hurriedly ran into the kitchen, but just as he ran back, he turned back again: "Master, I almost forgot to tell you, that is... Look, your son-in-law, our police chief, Master Skolnikov. That... I know that public security inspections are necessary, and he is also a diligent person, but isn't it a bit too diligent to inspect me seven times in a month?"

Hearing this, the old squire immediately changed his expression and responded in an official tone: "Alas! Peter Alexandrovich, I also know that it is not easy for you to do business, but you should also sympathize with his difficulties. It is the emperor's will to strictly investigate public security. The Decembrists, the Happiness Association and the Poles are all extremely dangerous. Of course, I know that you are a loyal and honest businessman, but in everything, it is better to be safe than sorry. Although the inspections are frequent, if the matter is investigated clearly, won't your safety be guaranteed? In this way, you can rest assured, the police station can rest assured, and all of Druisk can rest assured. Don't you think this is the truth?"

The shopkeeper replied with a sad face: "Master, I can certainly understand your son-in-law's difficulties. But can you remind him not to take away a few salmon that harm liberal ideas every time he comes to inspect?"

The old squire slammed the table and said, "How dare you! What are you talking about? He was doing it for your safety. Do you know how violent those rebels are? He risked his life to check on you, and you didn't know the etiquette to treat him to a meal. It would have been fine if he took it home and cooked it himself, saving you the effort. But you are still not satisfied! In my opinion, you are probably connected to the Decembrists. I think you don't have this meal today. Come with me to the police station right away!"

The shop owner was so frightened that he almost died. He quickly bowed and apologized: "Look at my mouth. I was also instigated by those salmon. Don't be angry. I will stew all those damn things in the shop and serve them to you so that you can teach them a lesson."

After saying this, the shop owner quickly went into the kitchen and never dared to come out again.

Seeing this, the old country gentleman sneered, crossed his legs again and smoked happily: "Lack of knowledge is just lack of knowledge."

But as he smoked, he always felt uncomfortable somewhere in his body.

The old country gentleman looked around and found that he was not the only customer in the store. There was a young man in a tuxedo sitting at a small table in the corner.

The young man wiped his mouth with a white handkerchief and occasionally glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, as if he was thinking about something.

Druisk was only a tiny place, and there was everyone in the surrounding area whom the old squire knew. However, this young man was a stranger whom he had never seen before.

Maybe he is a foreigner trapped here by the heavy snow.

As the old squire pondered this in his mind, his eyes could not help but scrutinize Arthur's tailcoat.

I don’t know, I’m scared.

The more the old squire looked at it, the more he saw the extraordinary qualities of the dress.

After all, he had been a policeman in St. Petersburg. Although he had never been involved in the upper class society, he had seen a glimpse of it.

That tuxedo, whether it was the tweed fabric used, the exquisite tailoring that showed craftsmanship everywhere, or even the pleated white shirt that matched the tuxedo, was something that not everyone could own.

This outfit would cost at least 800 rubles, right?

The old country gentleman was secretly shocked: "This kid, I guess he is a young man who came out from a wealthy family to gain experience, right?"

Arthur noticed that the old squire was looking at him, so he simply stopped hiding his gaze and looked straight into his eyes.

The old country gentleman felt guilty when he was looked at by him, and his momentum could not help but weaken, and he began to avoid looking around.

Seeing him like this, Arthur couldn't help but feel annoyed. "Damn it, this old scoundrel, why doesn't he come up and talk to him? He's had enough to eat and drink, and now he just wants to smoke a cigarette. And from what he just said, the police chief is his son-in-law?"

When it comes to dealing with a cowardly guy like the old squire, the old cop at Scotland Yard has his own way of dealing with him.

One of the points is that you should put enough pressure on the other party before making contact. You should not take the initiative to make contact, but wait for the other party to come up and cling to you.

But for some reason, the old squire seemed to want to compete with Arthur in endurance and refused to step forward.

Arthur rolled up his sleeves in a distracted manner, accidentally revealing a farewell button badge that Shubinsky had given him in Leipzig. Unexpectedly, when the old squire saw the badge, he suddenly screamed and stood up: "You..."

(End of this chapter)