The Shadow of Great Britain

137: Chapter 95: The Great Dumas’s Desire for Wealth 137: Chapter 95: The Great Dumas’s Desire for Wealth Outside the Greenwich police station, Fiona, dressed in a long skirt, tucked her pale golden hair behind her ear as she stared at the pipe held in her palm, feeling conflicted.

Behind her were members of the “Little Brothers of Cambridge” who had been released along side her.

The group of lads, varying in height and build, looked at Fiona’s inscrutable expression, one by one stepped forward to comfort her, “Fiona, it’s no big deal.

Isn’t it just like always, selling your body?

At least the brothers are all out now, and we’ll cover your expenses these next few days.”

Fiona couldn’t help but glared at them upon hearing this, “What do you mean ‘selling my body’?

This time it was souls!

We have no way back now, you idiots!”

The guys looked at one another, all at a loss as to what was setting off their boss today.

Someone whistled teasingly, “Selling souls?

Is that some new trick you’ve come up with recently?”

Little did they know that Fiona, upon hearing this, unapologetically slapped him across the face.

A crisp smack echoed in the air.

The man, holding his cheek marked with a red palm print, was stunned for a good while before he remembered to get angry.

Rolling up his sleeves, he glared, “You bitch, you really think I wouldn’t hit you?”

“Try me,” she retorted, then drew a flintlock pistol and shoved it into his mouth, “James, listen to me, from now on, you do what I say, and how I say it.

If you have a problem with that, I will send you to meet God right now.”

With the barrel of the gun in his mouth and sweat on his brow, James felt strangely familiar with this pose.

“Where…

where did you get the gun?

Weren’t ours all confiscated?”

“Where do you think I got it from?”

Fiona stirred the gun barrel in James’s mouth, then slowly pressed it against his upper palate, flirtatiously playing with her golden hair with her fingertips before throwing a seductive look towards the front of Greenwich police station.

There was no one at the police station entrance except for Detective Chief Inspector Arthur Hastings leaning against the door, smoking.

Arthur noticed Fiona’s actions, tapped out the ashes from his pipe, and remarked nonchalantly, “Just don’t kill anyone, at least not here.”

With that, Arthur turned and walked back into the police station.

Covering her chest with one hand, Fiona unabashedly, overflowingly happy, responded, “Darling~ I’ll do anything you say.”

The lads couldn’t help but swallow.

They inquired, “Fiona, are you with him now?”

“That cop, he seems like he’s not of low rank.”

“So…

so you’re planning to become a cop’s wife?”

With her head held high, Fiona proudly surveyed her troop beneath her, “I’m not that lucky.

But with the kind of relationship we have, if you guys upset me, I can still have him lock you up!

Just like I said before, from now on, you all have to listen to me.

I say what business we run, and we run it.

As long as we don’t make him angry, we’ll soon be wealthy.”

The guys glared at one another, still hesitating.

But when they saw Fiona’s pistol begin to point at them one by one, they quickly acquiesced to their instincts.

“Alright…

alright, we’ll do whatever you say!

As long as it brings in money, what does it matter what business it is?

We’ve always trusted your smart head, not to mention now that you also…”

No sooner had he spoken, than Fiona’s gun was already pressed against his forehead, “Don’t mention his name.

You know what’s between him and me, and let us keep it between us.

If anyone dares speak recklessly outside, don’t blame me for not considering our past camaraderie.”

The lad, facing Fiona’s fierce expression, managed a stiff smile and nodded slowly, “Okay…

Fiona, whatever you say.”

Smiling slightly, Fiona nodded, “Also, from now on, don’t call me by my name.

Fiona isn’t what you should call me.

Just like when you first met me, address me by my surname, call me Miss Ivan.”

In the Greenwich police station, Red Devil stood on top of the dome hat over Arthur’s head, watching the scene outside.

Agares laughed heartily as he rubbed his hands together and said, “Oh!

My dear Arthur, it seems you’ve chosen a fine young lady to act as your undercover agent.

Barely has she received the power you bestowed upon her, and she’s already eager to use it.

Seeing her always reminds me of an old friend; damn, it does bring back some nostalgic feelings.”

Arthur glanced at him and asked from the hallway, “You with your terrible personality, and you still managed to have female friends?”

Agares covered his mouth with a chuckle, “Oh, Arthur, I do have quite a few female friends.

But the reason I befriend them has nothing to do with their gender, rather it’s because they possess certain qualities I admire.

I’m certainly not like your friend Eld, possessed by Asmodeus, who can’t take a step forward upon seeing the opposite sex.”

“So, which old acquaintance does Fiona remind you of?”

Agares smiled as he fluttered his wings, “Do you know Nemesis?”

Arthur laughed, “You even know the gods of Greece?

Nemesis, the inevitable goddess of revenge living on Mount Olympus.

Agares, I thought the devils born in the Mesopotamian region didn’t mix well with those gods.”

The Red Devil didn’t take heed of Arthur’s skepticism; it was as if a breeze swept through the hallway of Greenwich Police Station, leaving only his voice echoing in the hall.

“Each region has its beliefs, and each era has its deities; there’s nothing surprising about that.

The departed don’t necessarily stay gone, and the existing aren’t guaranteed to last forever.

How the future unfolds depends very much on your own efforts…”

Arthur took out his handkerchief to wipe the dust on his face and shook his head, “When it comes to playacting and tricks, it’s got to be you.”

He opened the door to his office only to see a chubby man sitting in his chair, frowning with a feathered pen in his hand.

Seeing this, Arthur tiptoed over, careful not to disrupt the chubby man’s thoughts.

He peeked over the back of the office chair and saw a familiar title on the manuscript in front of the chubby man — “The Revenge of Edmond Dantes.”

Great Dumas clutched his head, feeling as if it were about to split open.

He muttered to himself, “Although the main plot is set, what kind of beginning can really draw readers in?”

“How about a broken engagement?

A genius, or rather, a promising young man, whose bright life plummets into an abyss for reasons unknown, even his betrothed elopes with another.

I think nothing could captivate readers more.”

Great Dumas turned abruptly, surprised, “You know how to write books?”

Arthur shook his head, “I don’t, but I’ve read them.

Speaking of which, are you suddenly starting a new book, conscientiously planning to finally pay me rent?”

Upon hearing this, Great Dumas scoffed disdainfully, “What do you know?

This is a playwright’s sudden stroke of inspiration, a creative urge bestowed by God, and money is just there to provide a trivial push.

Besides, you insist on having me near you; I can’t go elsewhere to watch plays, and British restaurants do nothing for my appetite.

I need to give myself some motivation to keep going.”

Arthur leaned against the wall and nodded, “So, your motivation to live comes down to one title?

Even the swindlers in the London Stock Exchange release some news, yet you plan on fooling your readers with just a title.

You still lack the craft to be a literary swindler.”

Great Dumas retorted angrily, “You speak as if you’re an expert.

Just a Scotland Yard policeman, and people might think you wrote ‘Henry III and His Courts’!”

Arthur said, “I’m indeed not an expert, but I think I could provide some reasonable help and advice.

Next week I’m attending a gathering at General Cordington’s home, where besides scientific discourse, we could discuss literature or whatever else.

If you could write the beginning by next week, I might be able to help you make a name for yourself in London’s high society circles.”

Great Dumas expressed skepticism, “You’re this kind-hearted, Brit?”

Arthur shrugged, “Believe it or not.

While I’m doing this not solely for you, I feel that with my limited scientific knowledge, I probably can’t last three or four hours at a private gathering.

Rather than being grilled on scientific questions, I’d prefer to discuss literary techniques.”

Upon hearing this, Great Dumas believed him and nodded, “You’re quite frank.

But I must admit, the idea you just mentioned is quite good.

The discovery that the fiancée eloped with someone else, ruining great prospects, indeed aligns well with my thoughts.

I had originally planned to make the protagonist a promising sailor who, due to a frame-up, gets clanged in iron, then is shipped to an island prison.

If I add another element where his fiancée is stolen by someone else at the very beginning, it could indeed make the readers more indignant, and as the protagonist later initiates his revenge, it could make their experience much more gratifying.”

Arthur then asked, “So, have you figured out how to let the protagonist escape from the island prison yet?”

“This…

I haven’t started thinking about that yet; I’m still considering how to write the beginning.”

Arthur bent down slightly and said, “I think you could set up a mentor-like character in the island prison for him, perhaps…”

“Mentor?” As he was just saying this, Agares suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

The Red Devil, donning a monocle, nodded, “Speaking of mentors, it should be a devil with extensive knowledge.”

Arthur glanced at him and continued, “I think the mentor could be an old prisoner knowledgeable in chemistry or perhaps natural history…”