The Shadow of Great Britain

Politicians love principles like foxes love henhouses.

——Arthur Hastings

When Arthur left Buckingham Palace, the sky had already darkened.

With a crack of thunder, rain began to drizzle again over London.

As his carriage drove out of the palace gates, the guards were tapping the beat for the change of shift, the wheels splashed through puddles, churning up a continuous stream of water flowers.

Arthur casually wiped a small patch of fog from the carriage window, seeing the outside avenue soaked by raindrops, the branches of the sycamore tree hanging low, with dewdrops rolling along the veins to the ground.

Rainwater slid down the window, streaking long lines across the glass.

Those water lines continuously distorted, twisting the shadows of trees, pedestrians, and streetlights, causing Arthur to click his tongue lightly in his mind.

In such weather, one ought to light the fireplace, hold a cup of hot tea, and sit in the armchair by the window, enjoying the tranquility and comfort of the world.

But, Arthur’s wishes often go unfulfilled.

”Look at him! Look at our Buckingham Palace Savior!” Agares rested his elbow on Arthur’s shoulder: ”My dear Arthur, you were truly brave and fearless today, you are simply the greatest self-sacrificer of our time!”

Arthur didn’t even bother to roll his eyes: ”Just say what you mean, why beat around the bush?”

Agares acted as if he didn’t understand human speech, sighing lightly while he rested his head on his hand: ”Your selfless demeanor today... sigh, suddenly makes me understand Saints a bit.”

”Really?” Arthur said expressionlessly: ”Then congratulations on your successful transformation.”

Having been with Arthur for so long, Agares nowadays is not easily angered by such low-level sarcasm.

He was indifferent to Arthur’s mockery, clutching his chest, completely indulged in his own theatrical performance: ”Do you know? Your performance today made me think you were Saint Sebastian.”

”The one tied to a pillar and shot into a porcupine?”

”Exactly.” Agares proudly puffed his chest: ”When Roman Emperor Diocletian ordered the execution of Saint Sebastian, I happened to be there. Coincidentally, I was also there when you were shot dead under the Tower of London. So tell me, if you’re not his reincarnation, what else could you be?”

Arthur was too lazy to raise his eyes, merely saying blandly: ”Then according to you, you are also the reincarnation of Prophet Moses.”

Agares was taken aback: ”What?”

Arthur explained it to him carefully: ”Moses killed an Egyptian foreman in his youth, and to escape Pharaoh’s pursuit, he had to flee to Midian. And you? Did something in Hell that couldn’t see the light of day, and ended up being kicked by Baal all the way to the Mortal World.”

”Hey, that’s not... you...” Agares’ eyes widened: ”That was political persecution, how could Moses’s trivial affair be compared to me?”

”Political persecution? Fine then...” Arthur shrugged, taking up the newspaper beside him and shaking it open: ”Anyway, every political failure says so.”

Hearing this, Agares’ face turned red, he glared intensely at Arthur’s head: ”Oh? Really! Wonderful, are you sure you want to dredge up old accounts?”

Arthur focused on the newspaper, concentrating on the stock market trends: ”You say what you want to say, but please don’t spit on my face, it’s unhygienic.”

Agares was so angry that he laughed aloud: ”You have the nerve to call someone else a political failure? Think about your own days in Hanover, now when I close my eyes, I can see what you were like back then!”

He pinched his voice, mimicking Arthur’s tone: ”Outrageous, the nation is doomed, I used to command thunder at Scotland Yard, and now I’ve been thrown into the university to sit on the cold bench!”

Arthur flipped another page of the newspaper: ”I don’t recall crying like that.”

”Of course, you don’t remember!” Agares was shaking with anger: ”That wasn’t crying! It was dry howling! It’s different from crying! You were saying you’d let go of glory and shame, while secretly copying your resume in the dead of night, listing every title from Assistant Police Director to Saint Anna Medal recipient! In the end, you even drew a question mark for yourself, muttering to yourself whether this last one needs adding. When I saw it, I nearly laughed my teeth off!”

Arthur tried to interrupt at this point, couldn’t help but put down the newspaper and said: ”Agares, that’s enough...”

”Enough? Far from enough! We’re just getting started!” Agares’ mouth fired like a cannon: ”Your longing to return to London was far more severe than Moses’ desire to return to Israel! When in St. Petersburg, every day before eight in the morning, you’d stand by the window pretending to casually look at the weather, but actually you were staring at the postman across the street, waiting for his arrival.”

”I was waiting for the diplomatic mailbag.”

”Mailbag? Oh? Really? If you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve thought you were waiting for God to come and take you up to Heaven! Every time you saw the postman pass by the embassy door, you’d become restless, hastily throw on a half-wet coat, and shamelessly sidle up to ask: ’Is there anything for me?’”

Arthur wanted to retaliate, but Agares didn’t give him the chance to retort at all: ”Every day upon entering the office, you would lean back on that shabby sofa, sipping tea as thin as dishwater, while staring at the Morning Paper, The Guardian, The Times from London. If your name wasn’t mentioned there, your face immediately sank as if weighed down by a scale, sulking at your desk for a while, then began to fantasize that perhaps tomorrow someone would come to take you back. And as you fantasize, you’d surreptitiously write letters to London! You think I’m oblivious? I know everything! I simply couldn’t be bothered to expose you.”