The Shadow of Great Britain

”What your security plan protects is the Crown and the Nobility, not the people. What your laws protect is property and private interest, not life. The city you govern looks neat and orderly in your eyes, but in ours it is covered in wounds!” As he spoke, Pinkerton was almost grinding his teeth. ”Maybe in many people’s eyes, you’re a Junior Knight, you’re the Permanent Under-Secretary of the Home Office, the man every Scotland Yard constable looks up to! But to me, you—Arthur Hastings—you are an accomplice of this unjust system!”

The inside of the carriage was unnervingly quiet.

Arthur leaned back in his seat, his hands resting naturally on his knees, his expression showing neither anger nor any sign of being convinced.

It was as if that torrent of accusations just now had not been directed at him at all, but at the sound of the rain outside the carriage, at the noise on the street corner.

By his ear the voice of the Red Devil suddenly rang out.

The voice was not loud; it even carried a touch of flippant delight.

”Look at that, what a lovely scene. A nineteen-year-old brat has driven our distinguished Sir Arthur Hastings to the point where he can’t get a single word out. Arthur, aren’t you quite the talker? Aren’t you always best at tearing other people apart? What’s wrong? Now that it’s your turn to be torn apart, your tongue’s in a knot?”

”Feels good, doesn’t it? Getting slapped in the face by reality and yet being unable to hit back. See, I knew you’d have a day like this sooner or later.”

”Don’t pretend, my little liar. You’re not one of them. You’re smarter than they are, more realistic than they are, and more dangerous than they are.”

”You think I’m laughing at you? No, I’m congratulating you, my dear Arthur. Congratulations on finally making it this far.”

The carriage jolted, as if it were slowly sliding down some invisible slope.

The air was so heavy it felt tight; even the faint burnt smell left by the ember in the pipe seemed to cling to his throat like ash he couldn’t scrape off.

When Pinkerton finished that long speech, he was actually already waiting for the result.

What he was waiting for was not an explanation, not a scolding, but the fury of Arthur Hastings—the public enemy of the people—once his hypocritical mask had been ripped off.

Back when he provided the security plan to the Charter Party, he had already imagined his own end, his neck hanging from the gallows outside Newgate Prison.

The silence in the carriage stretched long, very long.

So long that Pinkerton thought his future had already reached its end.

And then...

Arthur lifted his hand.

Lightly, casually, with no anger and no mockery.

Clap, clap, clap!

He started to applaud.

Pinkerton abruptly held his breath, his heart feeling as if something had grabbed it hard.

He did not feel happy; his first reaction was humiliation.

He was being laughed at, being mocked, being treated like a clown.

But there was not the slightest trace of derision on Arthur’s face; the applause was not the accessory of a loud laugh, nor was it the prologue to a bitter, angry laugh.

Arthur’s gaze was still calm, like a lake without ripples. He looked at Pinkerton and spoke in a tone so light it seemed out of step with the intensity of the confrontation just now: ”Very well said.”

Pinkerton was stunned.

”I’m not being sarcastic,” Arthur added, as if afraid he would misunderstand. ”It really was very good. You have observed poverty. You have seen injustice. You have experienced the cruelty of the law. You have put forward criticism, and you have raised questions. Your anger is sincere, your logic is complete, and your stance is the stance a young man with a conscience ought to have. You truly are a bona fide graduate of the University of London.”

”And...” He paused slightly. ”You are very brave. Braver than your father, and braver than the vast majority of your peers.”

The carriage swayed lightly at the turn of a corner.

Raindrops tapped against the window frame, as if echoing this strange, eerie rhythm.

He leaned gently back into his seat, as though he had finally met a young man worth taking seriously. ”You thought I would be angry? Because you questioned me? Because you cursed me? Because you called me an accomplice? Come now, Allen, in your mind I can’t possibly be that lacking in composure, can I?”

After Arthur’s applause fell silent, Pinkerton’s heart did not calm; instead it beat faster and more wildly, as if it were about to burst through his chest.

He stared at Arthur, stared until his eyes turned red.

”Since you know...” His voice tightened. ”Since you know all this injustice, know why the poor are poor, know why the law favours the rich... then why do you still... still insist on being an accomplice?”

The wooden carriage seemed to give a faint, sharp creak under the impact of this sentence.

Pinkerton’s breathing went completely out of rhythm. He thought he had finally jabbed at Arthur’s one forbidden scale, thought that in the next second Arthur would raise his voice, or sneer, or slam the table.

But Arthur did not.

He merely looked at Pinkerton quietly.

As if he had heard questions like this countless times, as if such questions had never truly moved him.

After quite a while, he finally spoke: ”Allen, I’d like to ask you a simpler question first. If Britain really became a Republic—not the moderates, but the faction you are in contact with now—if they had their way, if the revolution succeeded, if this country overthrew the King’s Power, overthrew Parliament, overthrew all the accomplices you speak of, then you, Alan Pinkerton, what exactly do you plan to do to make society better?”

Pinkerton felt as though he’d been punched.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; he truly had never thought this question through.

Up to this moment, all he had considered was overthrowing the Royal Family.

The air in the carriage went hollow for half a beat.

”I... I...” Pinkerton squeezed out a few syllables with difficulty. ”I would... I would let... let people be able to... I would learn from the United States... The republican system of the United States is fairer than Britain’s! Everyone can vote, they don’t rely on the Royal Family, they don’t rely on the Nobility, they...”

Arthur let out a soft laugh. ”Which United States are you talking about?”

Pinkerton froze.

Arthur’s gaze settled on his face. ”Is it the United States that permits the buying and selling of human beings? The United States that locks Black people into cotton fields and can whip them to death without it being a crime? The United States where a Black man from a free state can be kidnapped and sold back into slavery the moment he crosses a border? The United States where Congress debates whether slaves are human beings or just property? Or is it the United States where a man who owns five hundred slaves can still stand in the Senate and eloquently preach freedom and rights?”