In the Greenwich District, at 18 Central Street, a three-story building with an unremarkable exterior stood.
Night had fallen, and through the faded blue curtains, a single oil lamp could be seen illuminating a desk in the second-floor window.
Arthur, clad in his police uniform, sat at the desk, his face illuminated by the warm, yellow glow of the lamp.
From the neighboring apartment, the sounds of a couple arguing and a child crying echoed through the night.
Normally, at this hour, Arthur would push open the door and step out for a walk. His sleep had been shallow for years, and only when everything around him fell silent could he find a semblance of peace.
But tonight was different. He wasn’t bothered by the noise, nor was he tormented by his inability to sleep. His entire being was focused on the work before him.
Two documents lay spread out on his desk: the “Scotland Yard Internal Regulations” and the “Police Instructions,” which outlined the principles and standards governing police conduct.
He would occasionally glance at them, pause for a moment in contemplation, and then pick up his quill to jot down his thoughts on a nearby sheet of old newspaper. Once he had written, drawn, and carefully considered his deductions, he would meticulously transcribe them onto clean, white lined paper with the precision of a printing press.
He flipped through page after page of the “Scotland Yard Internal Regulations” and the “Police Instructions,” time slipping away with each turn. When he finally closed the last page and looked up, the oil lamp on his desk had burned out, and the sun was rising outside.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, stretching his weary limbs. Suddenly, five long, slender fingers adorned with black nail polish pressed against his desk, lifting the dozen or so pages he had painstakingly compiled over the night.
Agareus’s familiar voice, laced with both madness and a hint of calmness, echoed in his ear. “Such beautiful handwriting. Arthur, if I ever return to Hell, you should come be my scribe.”
Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed his face, replying without hesitation. “Agareus, don’t give me empty promises. By the way, where were you last night? I didn’t see you all night.”
The Red Devil’s laughter filled Arthur’s ears. “You were so engrossed in your work, I couldn’t bear to interrupt you. So, I went for a stroll to Windsor Castle. Arthur, you know, your king is about to die. His urine is even purple!”
Arthur was taken aback. “How do you know that?”
“Of course, I saw him pee!”
Arthur sighed. “Do you have a fetish for that? What’s so interesting about a fat old man?”
Agareuss laughed. “While there’s nothing particularly interesting about him, I have to keep a close eye on him. He exudes a stench of decay that even ravens can understand. I followed the ravens kept in the Tower of London last night to find him.
Arthur, think about it. A king on his deathbed, a cowardly man clinging to life, a soul that has enjoyed all the earthly riches—how could he willingly embrace death?
I guarantee he’d gladly give up half his wealth and power, even his soul, in exchange for ten or five years of life. It’s a bargain!
Arthur, think about it again. Don’t be so stubborn. I only want his soul, the rest is all yours.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair, stroking his oily hair, which seemed to have become even more greasy from the lack of sleep.
“I have to admit, Agareus, I’m starting to get tempted.”
Agareus’s smile faltered at these words. He first touched his forehead, then reached out to feel Arthur’s.
The Red Devil looked confused. “You’re not sick, are you?”
He glanced at the rising sun outside and Arthur’s slightly darkened circles under his eyes. The Red Devil carefully made his judgment, pointing at Arthur. “You must be delirious from lack of sleep. You’re agreeing so readily, it’s not like you.”
Arthur found Agareuss’ reaction amusing. “What do you think I am? I finally worked up the courage to strike a deal with you, and this is your response?”
The Red Devil frowned, pondered for a moment, and then slapped his hand against the desk, bursting into laughter. “You’re trying to trick me? Arthur, you’re too young to play that game with me! Back in the days when I followed Solomon…”
“When you stormed Jerusalem.” Before the Red Devil could finish his sentence, Arthur chimed in.
He complained, “Agareus, can’t you come up with some new phrases? You’re supposedly one of the greatest scholars in Hell, a master of astronomy, mathematics, and language, yet you can’t even speak with a bit of finesse?”
Arthur’s unusual behavior had thrown Agareus off guard. He didn’t even immediately retort with insults. Instead, he asked tentatively, “Have you changed your mind? Don’t you want to leave this cesspool by boat anymore? Don’t you want to stop coasting through life?”
“This cesspool can be left by boat?”
Arthur twisted his stiff neck. “To be honest, at this point, the North American colonies aren’t that much better. If you go there, you’ll either have to find some uncultivated land and become a farmer or work your way up from the bottom as a laborer in a city factory.
I hate it here, but at least I have a few friends.
In the North American colonies, I’d be a stranger in a strange land. I’d have to start from scratch and adapt to a new environment.
Besides, leaving just because I hate it makes me feel like a loser. I can’t be content until I shake things up, until I turn the world upside down.”
Agareus looked at Arthur’s sincere expression, and a smile slowly spread across the Red Devil’s face.
“My dear Arthur, you’ve finally come to understand this truth.”
Arthur picked up his now-cold tea and took a large gulp. He leaned slightly forward and asked Agareus, who was still sitting on the table.
“Tell me, what should I do?”
Agareuss’ smile widened, his mouth stretching like a cracked pumpkin, almost reaching his ears.
But his voice remained hoarse, laced with a deadly allure. He picked up the document that Arthur had spent three days painstakingly completing. “Arthur, haven’t you already figured it out?
As a renowned scholar of Hell, I discourage you from asking questions with pre-determined answers. I’m not interested in filling in the blanks.
But as a valuable client and a student I’ve carefully cultivated, Professor Agareus is both pleased and satisfied that you’ve done your homework for the upcoming lessons.
Think back to the knowledge you learned in your history classes at London University and your experiences.
Just as you behaved when you faced Sheriff Willocks, I acknowledge that individuals may raise their swords against the strong. But at the same time, I firmly believe that the masses will always target the weak.
With your individual strength, it’s impossible to change the entire societal landscape and the accumulated ills of history.
The masses don’t crave freedom, they crave enslavement. They yearn to submit, instinctively bowing to those who claim to be their leaders.
A leader’s influence rarely comes from reason, but rather from prestige and emotion. And this prestige and emotion belong solely to the individual, having absolutely nothing to do with your title or position.
As you cited from the “Meditations” in front of that young court clerk, “People despise each other and flatter each other, each man wishing to rise above the rest and each man groveling before the others.”
The masses are incapable of discernment. They can’t judge the truth of things. Many flimsy arguments can easily gain widespread acceptance.
What you need to do is inject your ideas into their minds and reinforce them through repeated actions. Once this repetition reaches a certain threshold, your arguments will be buried deep within their hearts, becoming the tenets they hold as truth.
They will never allow anyone to question their truth, nor will they tolerate anyone holding what they consider to be false beliefs. This fanatical sentiment is deeply rooted. It can only be shaken by replacing it with another extreme emotion.
When that time comes, you will become their god. You will wield power greater than controlling the wind and rain. Perhaps this influence will continue for centuries among your descendants.”
Agareus’s smile gradually faded, and his figure began to disappear from Arthur’s sight. The curtains swayed, a gentle breeze swept in, and the document was blown into Arthur’s hand.
The bedroom was silent, and Arthur could only hear a faint whisper of a devil’s low murmur.
“Go forth, Arthur. This will be the foundation for your greatness.”
(End of Chapter)