shadow of britain

Chapter 669: Dark! It’s really dark!

The charcoal fire in the fireplace was about to go out, and Arthur was leaning against the carved oak bedpost. The morning light seeped in through the gray glass window, clearly illuminating the purple bruise on his left cheekbone.

The maid, Martha, knelt on the Persian carpet, dipping her rough fingertips into the ointment, but her movements were extremely gentle.

She thought that the Englishman's skin was as pale as the saints in the church murals, as if it would break if the slightest force was applied.

Thinking of this, the maid Martha's fingers that were dipping in the medicine suddenly paused. She glanced at the gold pocket watch on the bedside table. The watch chain was broken and stained with dried blood, which was left by the robbers last night.

"You should be thankful that they didn't take your snuff bottle, sir." Masha lowered her head, revealing a lock of long brown hair from under her gray headscarf. "The wild dogs in Moscow now even dare to lick the emperor's boots. Last month, the granary of the wine merchant Ivan was burned to ashes. The police didn't catch the arsonist, but instead came and took away the last barrel of vodka in his cellar."

Arthur's cheekbone was still aching, but he was in the mood to joke: "Maybe I should wear a statue of the Virgin Mary. I heard them say that only the Virgin Mary can keep me safe when walking in Moscow at night."

Although Arthur was hit hard by the robber, it also aroused the old London policeman's passion for life which had been dormant for a long time.

On the way back from the Moscow Theater last night, Arthur, fighting with the gangsters in the snow, showed a bit of the heroism of an old man trying to show his youthful vigor.

The Moscow night was like a skinned beast, with cold winds blowing snow and hail that scraped against the stone walls of Kitay-Gorod.

The silver-tipped raven was encrusted with ice crystals, and Arthur ran his thumb over the mermaid skin that wrapped the handle.

The short gangster rushed forward first, slashing his dagger in an upward arc, and using the boning method commonly used by Novgorod gangsters to tell the British knight about the simple customs of Russia.

Arthur turned and stepped back half a step, tapping the opponent's wrist bone with his cane like a wind gauge, and Fiore's backhand sword skill "Bee Sting" showed its fangs in the minus twenty degree weather. The silver carving on the tip of the cane accurately chiseled into the gap between the ulna and radius, and picked up the short gangster's short knife and flew into the cart full of firewood on the side of the road.

As the burly man stumbled back, the sole of Arthur's deerskin boots crushed his instep, and the cane chopped off his collarbone.

The classic Fiore-style foot lock technique combined with the "Lumberjack" vertical slash immediately defeated the group of criminals.

How should I put it? Arthur hasn't fought so vigorously for a long time since leaving the front line of Scotland Yard.

Even though he had a student like Bismarck, who called himself the "Gottingen Sword Wolf", as his sparring partner in Gottingen, a sword duel was at most a small appetizer compared to this life-and-death fight.

Arthur had to admit that Bismarck's strength was actually quite good, and the "Storm Triple Attack" that this kid usually used was particularly noteworthy.

This style of pretending to stagger to lure the enemy deeper, then suddenly hitting the cheekbone with the hilt of the sword, striking the lower abdomen with the knee, and chopping off the enemy's sword with the backhand was very much in line with Bismarck's cunning nature.

If the opponent is fighting Bismarck for the first time and does not understand Bismarck's tactics, it is indeed easy to suffer a great loss.

But once you see through Bismarck's tricks and crack his three tricks, you can just hang him up and beat him with a hammer.

Arthur told Martha about his past of strict management of the school with a smile. Martha looked at the smug master and muttered to herself: "After all, he is still a young man in his twenties."

If she were still a little girl, she would probably admire such a guy, but she is already 40 years old and a mother, so she will only think that such a guy is really stupid and is simply irresponsible for his own life.

Martha couldn't help but say, "Thank God, you won in the end. If your old mother knew you were fighting with a bunch of hooligans in the snow, she would be so scared that her heart would jump out of her chest. Please, don't do such a stupid thing next time. Why don't you take a good carriage and insist on riding a horse-drawn sleigh like others, giving robbers a chance to rob you?"

Arthur scratched his nose. He had not yet recovered from the excitement of last night. "What's wrong with a horse-drawn sleigh? I see that nobles in Petersburg and Moscow all ride this. Besides, the roads have been icy these days. Riding a carriage may not be as safe as riding a horse-drawn sleigh."

Martha laughed briefly and the medicine jar clattered on the silver tray. "Were those criminals finally sent to the police station?"

Arthur nodded gently and said, "He is currently being held together with the arsonists we caught in the theater last night. I will have to go to the police headquarters as a witness to assist in the investigation later."

When talking about the deliberate arson last night, Masha couldn't help but exclaimed: "These people are simply crazy. When I went to Sukharev Tower to buy cod yesterday, there was a fire there. Didn't you see that the flames were like red snakes slithering along the wooden townhouses. I thought at the time that this would be the worst of today. Who knew that someone would go to the theater where the emperor watched a play and set it on fire again at night."

Arthur quipped, "It's a good thing they didn't succeed. After all, I have no interest in dueling with a fire snake."

Masha put down the silver tray with the medicine jar, picked up the knitting needles and continued her work. "It's a pity for such a good show. You are a guest from Moscow, and you came all the way here. You should have received the best hospitality. However, not only did you not get to watch the show, but it was almost robbed by a few scoundrels. The police are so careless about their work, no wonder the emperor is furious."

Although Martha said it was a pity, Arthur didn't feel it was a pity that he didn't get to see the show.

Because according to the arrangement, the play they were supposed to watch yesterday was Glinka's opera "Ivan Susanin".

Or if you prefer, you can call the play by its new title, "A Life for the Tsar," which it received 100 years later.

The content of this play is not complicated. It tells the story of Ivan Susanin, a Russian farmer, who led the Polish army into the forest and eventually sacrificed himself in order to protect Tsar Mikhail Romanov during the Polish-Lithuanian invasion of Russia in the early 17th century.

From the perspective of literature and drama, this play is extremely artistic, especially the scene in Act 4 where Susanin senses his impending death in the forest and sings the tragic aria "My Dawn Will Not Come", which can be called a classic.

If Arthur is alone and has nothing to do, he is even willing to pay for the ticket out of his own pocket.

However, Nicholas I's visit to Moscow and his personal attendance at the premiere of Ivan Susanin in Moscow at this critical juncture added more unpleasant elements to this already politically charged play.

Nicholas I did not accompany him to see the end of the play. The people sang "Ode to Glory" to praise the Tsar and the martyrs.

From a certain perspective, at least it's a blessing to eat one less fly.

You eat one less fly, but get hit by one more stick. All in all, you barely suffer no loss.

"Jazz!!!!!!"

Just as Arthur was calculating whether he had made a profit or a loss, he heard a long, mournful howl coming from outside the living room door.

Mr. Blackwell, the secretary who had come from Petersburg hundreds of miles away, opened the door with a briefcase under his arm. "Sir, I heard that you have at least three broken ribs!"

Arthur glanced at the guy. Blackwell was so fast that he didn't have time to lie down on the bed and pretend to be seriously ill.

Being caught off guard, the old actor from Scotland Yard had to pick up the pipe on the bedside table and asked in a natural way: "Why? Are you happy?" Blackwell took out a handkerchief and wiped away the non-existent tears: "God is my witness, I was praying all the way to you on the sleigh at night that you would not die next to the Slavs' coarse pottery chamber pot."

He glanced at Martha's half-finished wool socks and said, "But seeing that you can still chat with Mrs. Martha so calmly, I feel relieved. I guess you even faked your broken ribs to defraud the subsidy?"

"Minor injuries don't keep you from leaving the front line. Three broken ribs are not a big deal." Arthur shamelessly flicked the ash into the fireplace. "The subsidy should be left to those who need it more. I heard that Count Brudolf of St. Petersburg had his gold-plated dentures taken away when he was walking on Nevsky Avenue?"

"Correction: It's a diamond-studded molar." Blackwell pulled out a document from his briefcase. "Even more exciting is General Suchterin, who was pressed into a snowdrift by three beggars wrapped in bear skins in front of the Winter Palace Square last week and robbed of all his personal belongings, including his love letters. Now there's a popular saying among the ladies in St. Petersburg: The only ones faster than the Tsar's guards are Russian robbers."

Arthur said in amazement, "I was a little resentful before. I thought that all bad things couldn't happen to me. Now I feel more balanced. Even Count Brudolf, the Russian Minister of the Interior, and General Suchterin, an old diplomat who had served in the Netherlands, Sweden and other countries, have stumbled. What else can I complain about?"

At this point, Arthur whispered, "Martha, please make me a pot of tea with milk and sugar, and bring it up with some preserved fruit. By the way, tell Gregory that Mr. Blackwell is here, and that we can make a more substantial lunch today."

"I understand, sir."

Arthur watched Martha leave the room, and the Cultural Counselor's momentum suddenly rose.

"Now let's talk about your negligence in your job." Arthur tapped the brass bell with his pipe. "Three ticket stubs from the Ballet Theatre were mixed into the embassy expense account sent to London last month - don't tell me they were material for Viscount Palmerston to study the current state of Russian literature and art."

Blackwell froze for half a second while unbuttoning his bow tie, then revealed a fox-like smile: "You know, Princess Golitsyn is passionate about English literature. When we discuss Paradise Lost, we always need something to liven things up..."

"Have you discussed the need to use the embassy's special funds to buy her a mink cape?" Arthur pulled out a stack of account books from under his pillow. "By the way, I really can't praise the literary talent of the sonnet you wrote for the Duchess..."

The icicles outside the window suddenly broke and hit the cast iron railing of the balcony, making a clear sound like chimes.

Blackwell's hand trembled slightly as he took out the snuff bottle. The malachite-inlaid lid reflected the corners of his mouth twitching. "How did you know this? I... I wrote everything in coded language."

"Oh, my dear Henry." Arthur raised his eyebrows. "I told you long ago that I have more connections and ways than you. I have a friend in London called Charles Wheatstone. Mr. Wheatstone may not even be able to give a lecture at the Royal Society, let alone have a love affair, but if you ask him to decipher a coded love letter, he can do it in less than five minutes."

"Sir!" Blackwell retorted at the top of his voice, "You can't ruin a romantic love story."

"Destruction?" Arthur used his pipe to pick up the pink letterhead with a faint scent of perfume in the account book. "My job is to protect the dignity of British literature for the country. If you compare Milton's Satan to a Russian bear wearing silk stockings, those old pedants in Oxford and Cambridge will see this and write a joint letter to the Privy Council to accuse the Foreign Office of treason."

Blackwell suddenly knelt on one knee, and this posture made the hem of his coat sweep the copper spittoon under the bed. "Sir, please consider that we drank Count Daramo's wine together in Petersburg! That mink cape has intelligence value and strategic value. You know, Princess Golitsyn's boudoir is connected to the West Wing Gallery of the Winter Palace!"

The newly added pine logs in the fireplace crackled, and beads of sweat formed on the tip of Blackwell's nose. "I can also explain those theater ticket stubs... Actually, they were collecting intelligence on Polish exiles for the embassy!"

"Take the ballerina back to the embassy to collect?" Arthur took out a small gilded mirror from his arms, and the back of the mirror was engraved with: To my dear Henry - Natasha.

Arthur calmly opened the Moscow News, which was reporting on a British diplomat's brave fight against Moscow robbers, and the accompanying picture was a cartoon of him fishing by the Neva River.

Blackwell saw the dense set of evidence that Arthur had placed in front of him. Even in sub-zero weather, beads of sweat appeared on his body as if he had just entered a sauna.

"Forget it. Look at you, Henry. What can I say to you?" Arthur covered the corners of his mouth with the newspaper. "The Ministry of Foreign Affairs did raise questions about the expense account, but I didn't push you out. I just wanted to kindly remind you to be careful next time."

Blackwell straightened his back as if he had been pardoned and blessed by God. "What's your reply?"

"In the report to London, I wrote: Blackwell sacrificed his appearance to get the Winter Palace plan. As for the mink cape, I classified it as cultural research material for the Caucasus region. At the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mr. August Schneider, the assistant undersecretary in charge of verifying this matter, has expressed his understanding. In short, this matter is over."

Blackwell quickly grabbed the quill on the table and held it like a dagger. "You broke three ribs, so you don't have to deal with the medical bills yourself. I'll draft a report on your injury right away, and I'll help you get the medical certificate from Dr. Hobbs."

Arthur nodded slightly when he heard this: "Please note that I was outnumbered and fought against several robbers."

Before Arthur finished speaking, Blackwell immediately added: "Of course, at least add that he was injured while dealing with three retired Cossack cavalrymen!"

"Hmm..." Arthur nodded repeatedly with satisfaction: "I say, you remember."

"The first sentence reads as follows..." Arthur's pipe drew an elegant arc above the parchment: "On the night of the 24th, while on diplomatic duty, I encountered seven thugs armed with standard sabers..."

"Seven?" Ink splashed from the tip of Blackwell's quill. "You only dealt with three drunks last night..."

"Seven people secretly wanted by the Tsar! Three have been arrested, and four are on the run!" Arthur tapped the floor with the tip of his staff repeatedly. "Two of them are Georgian officers who participated in the Caucasus Rebellion, and three are Polish exiled nobles - the last two..."

He glanced at the frostbitten scabs on the back of Masha's hand as she pushed open the door and held the tea tray. "Just write Crimean Tatar spy."

Blackwell licked the tip of his pen in understanding. "Got it! And also note that they were awarded service medals by the Tsar, and that they became bandits because they were dissatisfied with the unpaid military pay."

He suddenly lowered his voice: "But isn't the standard military knife too specific? If the Russian Army Department is serious about verifying it..."

"Then change it to a Turkish scimitar that is suspected to be used by Napoleon's former subordinates." Arthur took a sip of tea: "Remember to emphasize that I was injured to protect the sword given to me by His Majesty the King - the masters in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs love to hear such stories of loyalty to the king the most."

Upon hearing this, Blackwell gave a thumbs-up and praised: "Brilliant! Brilliant!"

Under Arthur's guidance, it didn't take long for Blackwell to write an impeccable investigation report.

Arthur picked up the report and took a look at it, then nodded with satisfaction and said, "That's right."

After saying this, he did not forget to greet Blackwell warmly, "Come over this time, don't be in a hurry to leave, I have to treat you well."

Blackwell was about to agree when he heard this, but then he turned around and remembered that he had not finished his work yet.

The secretary took out a document from his briefcase and handed it over. "Sir, the entertainment can wait until tonight. Please take a look at this first. Thanks to you, the embassy has just received news from the Caucasus that the whereabouts of Sir David Urquhart has been determined. But..."

(End of this chapter)