Chapter 1290: Chapter 168: The Victorious Gathering of the Secret Police

Eld Carter is getting married, and his friend, the secret police chief, Arthur Hastings asked him: “Why didn’t you invite me to your wedding?”

Eld Carter replied: “Do I need to invite you? You surely already know the time and place of my wedding, right?”

——”A Collection of 19th Century British Political Satirical Jokes”

“Want to come meet Colonel Shubinsky with me?”

Arthur’s question sounded like the Devil’s murmur; despite knowing there might be a life-destroying poison lurking behind, Bismarck just couldn’t resist.

Young people always have such unrealistic fantasies, believing they are smarter and more astute than their peers, thus capable of handling playgrounds where only the most cunning and deceitful dare tread.

Bismarck followed closely in Arthur’s footsteps, walking out of the box and down the stairs with him. Even he himself had not realized when it started, but he had already begun to accept his role as the little follower with ease.

With big brother Arthur Hastings leading the way, what reason does he have not to take a peek at that mysterious new world?

“Sergei, my good brother, is that you?”

Arthur stepped forward, raising his hand to greet his old friend.

This British rascal clearly had already confirmed the other’s identity but had to pretend to be excited as if it was a chance encounter.

He first warmly shook hands with the surprised Shubinsky, then casually asked about the newspaper in the other’s hand: “Did you also see the news about the premiere of ‘Turandot’ today?”

“This?” Shubinsky opened the newspaper and said: “No, I was actually reading a joke.”

Bismarck glanced over the article in the newspaper, which was nothing more than an ordinary current affairs newspaper, recording many trivial matters, showing nothing amusing at all.

Thankfully, Arthur shared his view and even voiced the question for him: “A blacksmith was sentenced to three years in prison, what’s so funny about that?”

Shubinsky took out a nose snuff bottle from his coat pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Arthur, signalling him to take a sniff: “If you don’t understand the backstory, then of course it’s not funny. But as far as I know, the reason the blacksmith was taken to court was that after getting dead drunk, he loudly insulted the Austrian Emperor, shouting to the entire tavern’s customers: ‘His Imperial Majesty lives in my rear!'”

Arthur took the nose snuff bottle, sniffed it: “Sergei, how can you repeat the story so bluntly. If you weren’t Russian, you might have been sent to court by now.”

Shubinsky laughed heartily: “Arthur, you obviously thought the same thing as the newspaper editors. To report the reason for the sentencing with appropriate wording, without repeating the insulting words to the Emperor, the journalists racked their brains. So, it turned out to be what you see on the newspaper.”

Hearing this, Bismarck hurriedly reassessed the newspaper.

It was boldly written there — Blacksmith Bower sentenced to three years’ imprisonment for divulging some unsettling information about the Emperor’s residence.

“Oh God!” Bismarck muttered: “If I didn’t know the reason, I would have thought this blacksmith intended to assassinate the Emperor.”

Shubinsky noticed the little follower beside Arthur: “Who is this?”

Arthur motioned for Bismarck to find a seat, then explained to Shubinsky: “This is my assistant. I forgot to tell you, Sergei, I’m no longer a police officer at Scotland Yard, I am now the Academic Director at the University of Gottingen.”

“Academic Director? My heavens! You ran from Britain to Hanover, even your profession turned 180 degrees.”

Colonel Shubinsky rested his forehead in his hand: “Friend, it sounds like quite a bit has happened to you since I left London.”

“Who said otherwise?” Arthur jokingly pointed at a scar near his eye: “Ultimately, Sergei, you have a bit of responsibility here. If your Third Bureau could handle things in Poland properly, I almost wouldn’t have been sent to meet God by the exiled Poles in Britain.”

“Oh…” Shubinsky pressed one hand to his chest, speaking with deep apology: “I also heard about the explosion in Liverpool, but didn’t know you were the one affected. Fortunately, nothing happened to you, the only pity now is that you didn’t see the thousands of Poles in shackles and chains walking along Vladimir Avenue. Though I know it doesn’t help, at least when you see these deservedly punished Poles being exiled to Siberia, you can get some satisfaction.”

“Let’s not talk about these discouraging things.” Arthur warmly called Bismarck to get up: “Come on, Otto, let’s go to the theater bar with Colonel Shubinsky to order a couple of drinks.”

The three came to the tavern, Arthur instructing the bartender to serve dishes while warming up his relationship with Shubinsky.

“Sergei, you left London in such a rush. Running straight back to St. Petersburg, you must have been promoted, right?”

Shubinsky’s face beamed with a bright smile; although he was a secret policeman, he didn’t wish to achieve glory unnoticed by friends.

“Indeed, there were some small adjustments within the Third Bureau. The Polish uprising was indeed a bad thing, whether for you or for Russia, but for me personally, I did gain a little advantage. When His Majesty the Tsar ascended the throne in 1825, the Decembrist uprising erupted. So, to deal with the possible ensuing rebellions and conspiracies, he placed quite a high status on the Third Bureau. And the Polish uprising made His Majesty decide to accelerate the construction work of the domestic security system.”