Chapter 96: The Sacred Oath of the Knights of the Round Table
Chapter 96 The Sacred Oath of the Knight of the Round Table
Greenwich Police Station, in Arthur’s office.
Knock knock knock!
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Sheriff Jones pushed the door open and the first thing that caught his eye was his disheveled hair, torn, bloody shirt collar, and bruised, swollen eyes.
Arthur, who had been ambling along, looked up and couldn’t help but open his mouth slightly in surprise at the sight of his ghastly appearance.
He asked, “Clayden, what happened to you?”
Jones covered his sore shoulder and reluctantly smiled, “Nothing, sir. You know, in our line of work, we occasionally get unlucky and run into this kind of thing. It’s just that some lawless asshole blocked me in an alley and beat me up.”
Arthur sniffed and pounded the desktop, he turned around and picked up the officer’s knife hanging on the wall, and cursed with his mouth open, “Attacks on police officers happen all the time, it’s just lawlessness! Where are those guys, I’ll personally lead people to apprehend them!”
Hearing this, Jones shook his head and said, “Those guys came prepared, they all wore hoods, I guess it might be because I caught too many body thieves, so they found someone to take revenge on me. If you go over now, they must have run away long ago.
Forget it. Every officer in our district has been through this before, but this time it’s my turn. It’s just a bit of a superficial wound, I’ll be fine in two days, don’t bother worrying about it.”
When Arthur heard this, he still seemed to be a bit indignant, he read, “Although all the guys have encountered it, but the case should still be filed, treating this kind of violent attack on the police, it must be dealt with severely. Jones, you in the next few days will first leave the police work, next Wednesday Liverpool-Manchester railroad opening defense you also don’t go along, just at home to get well.
You can rest assured that I will give you an explanation for this attack on the police. You have been meritorious in the murder and theft of bodies, and now you have also shed blood for Scotland Yard, no matter what I can’t let you chill out!”
Hearing this, Jones hurriedly stood at attention and saluted, “Sir, I’m fine with it. A small injury doesn’t affect the work.”
Arthur heard this and frowned as he walked up and patted his shoulder.
“Jones, I know you’re very dedicated to police work, and I’ve seen all the results of your work within the patrol area. In the four months or so since you arrived, you’ve been personally involved in patrols almost every day, and you’ve been very efficient in solving crimes such as burglaries.
Usually the owner loses something in the morning, and within a few days you are able to arrest the offender. This kind of crime solving speed is beyond the reach of even the Greater London Police Department headquarters.
A young officer of your caliber is exactly the kind of person we should be protecting. Don’t worry about your injuries, I’ll submit a report to HQ to clarify your injuries and the reason for your absence on vacation.
Also, don’t be reluctant to go to the doctor, your medical expenses are covered by the bureau, don’t worry about that. Now, obey the order!”
When Jones heard this, a hanging heart was finally released, and a hint of cunning flashed in his eyes.
He thought he had hidden it well, but he didn’t realize that it was all seen by Arthur whose eyes were glowing with a faint red light.
Jones saluted, “Yes, sir! It is an honor to serve you!”
He turned and walked out the door, gently closing the office door behind him.
Only a click was heard as the door to the house closed and a shadow was cast over Jones’ face.
A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he muttered under his breath, ”Scotland Yard’s strongest voice? Just a brainless fool. I don’t blame you for being naive, I only blame this world for being heartless. Scotland Yard’s police inspector, his term of office will just end next month if he gets it wrong.”
He smoothed out his crumpled collar, twisted his head to either side, and hummed a relaxing tune as he headed out of the police station.
And within the walled-off office, Arthur’s fingertips were similarly rhythmic on the desk’s top, the same jaunty cadence Jones was humming, the same Bombardier’s March that had been played on the battlefield of Waterloo.
And pressed under Arthur’s rhythmic fingertips was a letter of reply from Lord Peel, which was very simple and expressed an idea of exceptional clarity. –The change of the head of the ceremonial defense of the railroad will be announced by me directly to Scotland Yard on Tuesday evening next. The center of gravity of the Greenwich Police District is temporarily shifted, and the immediate objective of your district is changed to the necessity of resolving at all costs this diplomatic crisis with France, which threatens to cause a public outcry at home.
Inside the office, the sound of Arthur tapping on the desktop suddenly stopped.
The sky was covered with dark clouds, and only the sound of pattering running water could be heard; it was raining again in London.
Inside the dimly lit office, it was impossible to see Arthur’s face, only a pair of pale red eyes in deep thought could be seen.
Knock knock knock!
Another knock sounded outside the door.
“Come in.”
It was a voice that was mild with a hint of lethality.
The door was gently pushed open, and in entered a reformed Dennis, as well as Arthur’s right-hand men, Tom and Tony.
They walked in unison to the desk, the dimness making it impossible for them to see anything.
The only thing they could see under these lighting conditions was a pair of eyes that glittered with the luster of scarlet rubies.
The three officers didn’t even dare to breathe out loud, the vague sense of oppression coming from the air made them feel a fear that seemed to come from the depths of their souls.
That was the scent of danger, the calm before the storm.
“Dennis.” The voice was not loud, but it held enough intimidation.
“Yes, sir!” Officer Dennis stood straight, as if slacking off a bit could cost him his life.
“Can I trust you again?” The voice sounded again.
The words sounded banal, but they opened the knot in Dennis’ heart that he had been waiting for four months, and with a trembling body, he gave the most standard salute of his life in the direction of the crimson eyes.
“Your will is my mission!”
A thunderbolt flashed through the window and the room was suddenly clear.
The lightning’s rays illuminated the brilliant star of Bath, lit up the crimson eyes, and stamped out Arthur, who had one hand on the back of his chair eyeing Dennis with the books that lay before him.
It was an old book, traded in from a used bookstore, its yellowed pages already indicating its past experiences.
Perhaps not every Englishman had read it, but whenever its name was mentioned, it always brought back some old, dusty memories.
— Never brutal, never indiscriminate, never treacherous. Forgive an enemy who begs for mercy, help a woman who asks for help. Uphold just laws, and never fight for money, under penalty of death.
Agareth stood aside as the Red Devil pushed back his freshly-replaced single gold-tinted mirror and pressed his long, withered fingers to the header of the page where the book’s name was spelled out – The Death of King Arthur.
(End of chapter)