Chapter 152: The King’s Speech (in )

Chapter 151 – The King’s Speech (2 in 1)

Amidst the pouring rain, a thick wall was formed, which blocked the connection between people, even if they were less than a meter apart, they were unable to touch the hearts of the companions around them.

Underneath the Arc de Triomphe in Wellington is the smallest police station in London, often ridiculed for being too small, but today it is home to the strongest police force in the Greater London Police Service.

More than 300 officers have been temporarily recruited from all over the neighborhood and gathered here.

The grime-covered road was lined with barricades, and under the archway were several wagons with ironing shields with a hint of rust, borrowed by Inspector Tony from the Tower of London armory at Arthur’s behest.

From the mud formed on the surface of the shields after mixing with rainwater, it can be seen that these old antiques must have been stored for some years, they may have been made in the 16th century, or perhaps the 17th century, the Middle Ages, or the Renaissance, no one can figure out their true age, perhaps only the Tower of London, bred from generation to generation to breed the crows to know the details of their origins.

Arthur, assisted by a couple of officers, stepped on the roof of the wagon and leapt onto a platform built from wooden crates a long time ago.

Behind him was the towering, nearly fifty-meter-high Arc de Triomphe de Wellington, on top of which was displayed the statue of the Duke of Wellington leaping from his horse, which towered like a giant in the sky, bringing a heavy sense of oppression like the dark and gloomy sky.

The rain washed over and over again on the bronze statue, like a waterfall of rainwater rushing all over Arthur’s shoulders, but could not shake his body in the slightest, not because he could carry the power of the rain, but because he found that there are many police officers below the eyes have appeared to be shaken.

He knew they were reluctant to do this job, and perhaps it would be better to let them go back to patrolling in the pouring rain than to let them do this.

But someone had to step up to the plate in an emergency like this, and Scotland Yard had to be standing by for the first policing crackdown mission since its inception.

Arthur’s eyes swept over the eyes of everyone present, his eyes slightly reddened, not sure if it was due to Agareth or the rain that had gotten in.

The figure of the Red Devil drifted behind him as Arthur’s penetrating voice pierced through the rain, vibrating the eardrums of every officer present, and whether they did so willingly or unwillingly, the deafening, soul-stirring sound poured directly into their ears.

“My colleagues, every upstanding officer of Scotland Yard. I am pleased to see you here, braving the rain, the muddy roads, the difficult tasks, the long distances, you have been drawn from every police district.

With consistent courage and accountability, you have proved once again why the Greater London Police Service is worthy of the public’s trust, the recognition of the Cabinet and Parliament, and every shilling you get your hands on.

I, Arthur Hastings, stand here today, as you can see, with a pair of white gloves, a swallow-tailed uniform, and instead of a police officer’s knife and flintlock pistol, I simply carry only a civilized cane.

I am not ordering you as some Scotland Yard Superintendent of Police for the East London Region, but as an old patrolman who has been in the front line for a year’s time, I would like to talk to you about the problems we have had, are having, and will have in the future, the ones we have encountered, or will soon encounter!”

Accompanying Arthur’s roar, his clenched fist swung violently into the air, his rigid and powerful arm striking through the rain curtain with a thud that seemed to be able to shatter the air.

Only a thunderclap could be heard, and lightning broke through the gloomy sky of London, plunging everything into darkness, and the only thing that could be seen in the eyes of the more than three hundred Scotland Yard officers was the magnificent statue of the Duke of Wellington, which was illuminated by the lightning, as well as the pair of glittering red eyes that were concealed under the black shadow of the statue.

Arthur’s figure seemed to overlap with the Duke of Wellington, and it seemed that the statue standing under the Arc de Triomphe at this moment was not Scotland Yard Superintendent Arthur Hastings, but the Duke of Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, who had galloped his horse on the battlefield of Waterloo.

Several superintendents who had followed Arthur and retired from the Army only felt goose bumps growing all over their bodies, and they couldn’t help but subconsciously burst out a foul mouth, not as an insult, but as a lyrical expression of emotion.

“Holy Shit!”

None of the police officers present took a deep breath, and their panicked hearts slowly returned to calm, each of their eyes fell on Arthur’s body, even when they were praying in church, they had never paid such attention to concentration as they did now.

Though the rain was heavy and the water was pouring, they could no longer hear those murmurs, all they could hear was the beating of their own hearts competing with the thundering, Arthur’s voice.

“We’re not a mob or an accomplice, we’re just a bunch of former cobblers, blacksmiths, carpenters, horsemen, thatchers, fitters, builders, bakers, and unemployed laborers and landless peasants!

We come from all corners of the world, from all parts of the country, we are English, Scottish, Welsh, and Irish, but at the end of the day we are the public and the nation of Great Britain!

The words in the Police Instructions are not a fucking fart, the phrase ‘the police are the public and the public are the police’ is neither a big picture for you all nor is it an attempt to get the public to let their guard down against us!
Rather, it’s because, before we put on these tuxedos, the fucking group of us are, indeed, a bunch of ordinary folk no different from the public marching today!
The relationship between the public and the police was established in the Winchester Act of 1285, when justices of the peace were chosen from the public and rotated through the parish by citizens of good character and behavior, a tradition that continues to this day!
It is for this reason that I see so many strong, good, upright lads standing about!

Today we are going to suppress a demonstration initiated by a group of workers, and I don’t shy away from talking about the purpose of our action, and I empathize with the resistance that is more or less present in your hearts.

I know that you are skeptical about today’s action, but I must also recall the efforts that the government is making to improve the living conditions of the workers.

In 1802, our top man, Sir Robert Peel Sr, the father of Sir Robert Peel, the Home Secretary, sought to address this problem by bringing to Parliament for passage an Apprentice Health and Morals Act, the first factory law in not only the history of Britain but also in the history of the world dedicated to the protection of the rights and interests of workers!
It stipulated that apprentices should not work more than 12 hours a day, improved factory sanitation and ventilation, and required factories to educate every apprentice in at least one of reading, writing, or arithmetic during the workday and business hours.

In 1815, Sir Robert Peel, Sr. introduced an amendment to extend the scope of regulated factories to include cotton, wool, and linen, which were the worst abusers of child labor, to strictly limit the number of hours worked by children under the age of 18 to ten and one-half hours a day, and to oblige factory owners to provide one and one-half hours of reading, writing, and arithmetic instruction for the first four years of their employment in the factory.

In 1819, the textile mills were prohibited from employing children under the age of nine, and in all mills, children under the age of sixteen could not work more than twelve hours a day, and mills were required to provide a half hour for breakfast and an hour for supper.

Yes, you might say that these laws didn’t really work because they were not enforced because they lacked proper regulation.

That’s right! This is exactly why the workers took to the streets to protest.

I’m not trying to defend the government, I’m just trying to make sure that everyone understands that Britannia’s cabinet is still functioning properly, and that it’s still pushing the envelope to keep amending the laws.

Because everyone understands that we, the Scotland Yard police, are not allowed to have a political stance, and that we exist only to help create a good environment in society where normal communication and exchange can take place, and that it is important to let the workers have a voice, but not to let the workers break through our defenses if the situation gets out of hand and leads to the deployment of the military police!

Letting the workers back in is not about destroying freedom, nor is it about guarding this soulless statue behind me, because everyone understands that this triumphal arch has another alias, it is called the ‘Constitution Arch’!
Scotland Yard was established in the first place, and we work so hard to patrol so far and work so long every day in order to maintain the constitutional tradition and social order that has been passed down since the bloodless ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688!
If the situation is allowed to continue to expand, we will likely witness bloodshed after bloodshed, and we will take responsibility for refusing to let history repeat itself!

We will not allow to see the next Peterloo massacre, St. George’s Fields tragedy, Gordon’s riot, or the fucking Catholic Queen’s riots!

Our mission is, has been, and will continue to be the preservation of public property and life!

Many members of the public think, even many of our own, that Scotland Yard is nothing more than a year-old organization, that our law enforcement is untraceable, that our style is brutal and ruthless!
They believe that we are nothing more than a bunch of violent machines that exist to deal with the public and squeeze out the vendors, the workers, the prostitutes, and a bunch of poor people!

They call us ‘Blue Devils,’ ‘Lobster Pincers,’ ‘Peel’s accomplices,’ ‘Britain’s French gendarmes,’ ‘The government’s murderous Praetorian Guard’!
Most of the headlines on the news about us Scotland Yard officers carry the words ‘brutal,’ ‘despotic,’ ‘vicious,’ ‘thuggish ‘
But here today, right here, we are going to clarify to the public & the entire community of Great Britain that they are wrong, they are dead wrong!!!”

Another thunderbolt, as lightning streaked across the sky and rain dripped down the jaws of the three hundred or so officers, the sky was still overcast, but at least there was some light in their eyes. They stood straight in fifteen lines, while in the aisle left in the middle of the line, Officer Tony was distributing the old, old-looking shields to them in turn.

The weight of the shields was heavy and weighed on their shoulders, but the weight of the shields placed in their hands lightened the stone that weighed on their hearts.

Several Scotland Yard superintendents looked at the crowd of protesters approaching in the distance, perhaps because the lightning had ignited the long suppressed enthusiasm in their hearts, or they thought that the barricades placed in front of them were a provocation to them.

The irrational crowd was already smashing store windows and attacking nearby police officers.

The sound of breaking glass and the cries of fear and anger shattered the already fragile and delicately balanced environment.

A policeman was pushed to the ground, and in an instant four or five workers surrounded him and punched and kicked him, while the enraged policemen, after enduring for a while, could not help but begin to draw the civilized canes on their belts and fight back.

In no time at all, the crowd of demonstrators and the group of police officers were seen to be bleeding, and the blood reflected red on the workers’ singlets and the blue tuxedos of the police officers, as well as on the gray stains on the ground, which could not be distinguished from clean or dirty water.

Several superintendents spat on the ground and pulled out their civilized canes, intending to use them as command staffs.

They glanced at the Scotland Yard officers already armed with shields and forming squares, and several of the superintendents grinned and cursed.

“Fuck, this feels like more than a battle. Superintendent Hastings is quite the morale booster.”

“After all, they’re all called Arthur, so there’s got to be some Duke of Wellington in there, right?”

“Shield with command scepter, kinda medieval.”

“Cut the crap and get on with it?”

Several superintendents looked at each other, then turned around in unison and saluted towards Arthur in the pouring rain, “London Metropolitan Police Force, all districts and divisions of the police force, all integrated, Commander, please give the order!”

Arthur glanced at the crowd in the distance and took a deep breath, veins popping out of his neck, his voice penetrating every eardrum and every piece of glass present.

“On my command! All major district detachments, in zigzag formation, run forward, storm the demonstration and compress the crowd of demonstrators! Anyone who acts violently will be arrested, with free use of civilized staffs, shields, and other weapons!”

At Arthur’s command, the sound of the police whistles of several superintendents of the London Metropolitan Police Force immediately replaced the sound of thunder as the most shrill and piercing sound under the field.

“Feet follow the whistle, trotting forward in small steps!”

Beep, beep, beep ……

Under the command of the superintendents, the police squads advanced slightly clumsily, holding their ironing shields and rubbing their shoulders together, initially uncomfortable, but after a short period of adjustment, they soon took fragmented, neat steps.

At first the whistles were slow, but as they gradually drew closer to the crowd of demonstrators, the superintendents’ whistles suddenly became poignant and urgent.

Beep beep beep!!!
“Impact!!!”

Accompanied by the howls of the Superintendents, the police square crashed into the demonstration crowd like a waving brick, the unorganized and caught off guard workers stumbled by them, the front ranks tried to retreat, but the rear ranks still didn’t understand what was happening.

Like a sandwich, they were all crammed together.

But a terrified shout of ‘police out’ soon triggered panic and confusion in the demonstration ranks.

Accompanied by a civilized cane that lashed at their heads like a whip, some workers tried to flee, others tried to resist.

And in Arthur’s eyes, all he could see was a beaten man bleeding from the side of his face and wearing a short-sleeved singlet pointing a finger at him from a distance.

Just as Arthur saw him at a glance, so did Agareth, riding on the head of the statue of Wellington, see the man.

The Red Devil suddenly raised an eyebrow as he snapped his fingers with a wicked grin, amplifying the man’s voice abruptly in Arthur’s ears.

Arthur snapped, no one knew what he had heard, they only saw Arthur’s hand fumbling for something in his pocket.

His throat was dry and scratchy and he was tempted to whip something out, but he fumbled for a few moments before he suddenly remembered that what he had put there had been given to Tony.

Those around him who were paying attention to him might have thought he was surprised because of the booming thunder and lightning, while the citizens of London who stood watching from their windows on the side of the road thought he was surprised by the images of bloody violence.

After the disorientation, all one could see was that the young Scotland Yard superintendent said nothing; he just stood there alone, right under the statue of Wellington, like a shadow that no one cared about.

Arthur raised a hand and wiped his rain-soaked face; he made no expression, nor did he know what expression to make.

He just couldn’t forget the sound of the desperate roar that came from the man covering his bloodied face before he fell to the ground.

It was like a condemnation from the soul, and like a hiss from hell.

–Fuck you, you betrayed the working class!
Agares gently turned over the pages of the parchment scroll in his hand and slowly pushed his glasses.

The devil smiled and whispered, “Arthur …… perhaps you are right, this is your destiny to become king. Struggle or pain, it’s all, and you’re still to blame?”

(End of chapter)