shadow of britain

Chapter 134 The Beautiful Gray
London, Tower Hamlets.

Dusk has come, and the setting sun in the sky reflects on the yellowed sewage flowing from the tannery workshop, which has been coated with a layer of gold. The continuous sewage stream spreads all the way to the horizon. At first glance, it looks like a golden road leading to the zenith.

As the night gradually fell, the tavern on Brick Lane in the Whitechapel District gradually became lively.

It is crowded with merchant sailors who come to have fun, wharf workers or kiln workers in nearby brick factories, etc.

The air is filled with the smell of sour and fermented sweat, and the hot steam from the freshly baked food can be seen everywhere. The sound of rude guests bragging and beer mugs can be heard, and occasionally a few tavern maids can be heard angrily scolding after being molested.

The waitress pointed at the sailor's nose and yelled, "You uneducated bastard! Try pinching it again? See if I don't chop off your hand!"

The drunken sailor hiccupped. He leaned back in the chair, so drunk that he didn't even have the strength to stand up. He looked up at the ceiling, but he still kept asking for cheap.

"Little baby, don't be angry. Where did you buy this ass? Why does it feel harder than a stone? Your tavern is too bad. The beer that should not be watered is not as strong as sea water, but the bread and the butt that should be watered are harder than the other."

When the waitress heard this, her face was flushed with anger. She raised the tray in her hand and was about to throw it at the sailor's head, but before she could make a move, she saw a person standing in front of him. That was the new owner of the tavern—Judd Martin.

The round-cheeked Mr. Martin had a philistine smile on his face. He put one hand on the tray raised by the waitress, and then said in a low voice, "Annie, it's almost done. We still have to do business."

Annie complained a little aggrieved: "But uncle..."

Martin reprimanded: "Don't do it, this place is no better than my hometown. If you want to make a living in London, you have to suffer a little bit of grievance. We are not a noble daughter, untouchable. If you really don't want to work here, you should find yourself a good husband and family. I will spend money to hire someone else. Do you know how much I spent on this store and the application for a liquor license? Girl, you can do it, uncle, it is not easy for me to earn money, please don't mess with my business."

When Annie heard this, she drooped her eyes and blinked twice, seeing that her eye sockets were moist.

Judd Martin had no choice but to take out two penny coins from his pocket and put them on the waitress's tray: "Okay, okay, take this money, and buy something you like later. There is still some bacon and ham in the kitchen. You can cut some and eat after you finish your work."

The waitress broke through her tears and smiled. She kissed Martin's side face, and the distressed expression just disappeared: "Thank you uncle."

Watching his niece walking lightly towards the kitchen, Martin couldn't help but scratched his face and complained, "Girls these days are too shrewd. If anyone marries my niece, a farxin can cost her a shilling."

He was about to go back to the counter to continue his business, but halfway through, he seemed to remember something, and Martin hurriedly shouted to the kitchen: "Annie! The ham should be cut into the size of two fingers at most. Girls, don't eat too much of that!"

Just as Martin finished speaking, suddenly, he heard the sound of the shuttered waist door of the tavern being pushed open.

Martin raised his eyes and saw that there were three or four strong men wearing short-sleeved tops. Judging from the lumpy muscles and veins on their arms and their deformed ears, they were definitely not to be trifled with.

And the most important thing is that Mr. Martin also saw groups of younger brothers holding all kinds of shining knives outside the tavern from the gap between the shoulders of the strong men.

Mr. Martin hurriedly took out two bills from under the counter. After pondering for a while, he still didn't hand over the money immediately. Instead, he greeted them with a smile and asked tentatively.

"Gentlemen, I don't know what you want to drink today? Our family..."

Unexpectedly, before he could finish his sentence, the other party sat on the high stool in front of the counter and pinched Mr. Martin's face with his callused palm.

"Martin, you don't know me anymore?"

Mr. Martin looked at the other party carefully, and hurriedly bared his teeth and squeezed out a smile that was uglier than crying.

"It turned out to be Mr. Fred's right-hand man—Mr. 'Hammer' Ward. Didn't you hear what Mr. Fred said? I have already passed his approval to open a shop in Whitechapel."

"Fred?"

Ward smiled, let go of Martin's jaw, and said, "Martin, can you not always mention the name of a dead person? He probably doesn't know which fish is lying in the belly at the moment. If you want to seek his protection, I can throw you into the sea.

By the way, I would like to inform you that I will have the final say on the affairs of the Whitechapel in the future.If you want to survive, you'd better show me some due respect and sincerity. "

When Martin heard this, he knew that he couldn't escape today.

He hurriedly took out the two tickets that he had prepared long ago, nodded and bowed his head, and said, "In this case, a small gift is not a respect."

Ward looked down at the ticket, and the corner of his mouth twitched suddenly: "Two?"

As soon as the words fell, before Martin could answer, he heard the sound of a gun being pulled out and the safety on.

The burly men behind Ward pointed their guns at the astonished guests in the tavern, and shouted with staring eyes: "Whatever you look at, get out!"

Ward put a gun to Martin's chin and said, "Martin, you have to be glad that I didn't come here specially to find you today. So I can forgive you for being rude the first time. Tell me, where is Fiona? That stinky bitch asked me to meet here and said that she planned to compete with me. You shouldn't have meddled in her business, right?"

"No, of course not." Martin raised his hands high, his cheeks dripping with sweat, and said, "So the person Miss Ivan mentioned was you? She... She asked me to give you a letter."

"A letter? Hahaha!" Ward put away his pistol, raised his eyebrows and whistled: "Is that stinky bitch trying to express her love for me?"

Trembling, Martin took out the letter from under the table, and handed it over respectfully with both hands.

Ward opened the letter nonchalantly. He pulled out the letter paper, looked at the front, and then at the back.

However, both sides are blank with nothing written on it.

A bad feeling rose in Ward's heart, he jumped off the high stool and shouted at the guys behind him.

"It's not right, we have to go back quickly!"

A group of people hurried out the door.

Ward looked up at the horizon, the sunset had already set, and at this moment, a new moon was rising from the horizon.

The brilliance of the moonlight sprinkled on Ward's face, revealing his sweat and surprised expression.

The streets of Brick Lane were empty, not even a sound could be heard.

In the hazy moonlight, he could only see a few pairs of red eyes standing on the roof by the side of the road. They were the ravens that flew here from the Tower of London. No one could smell the breath of death better than these little creatures.

Ward only felt a chill down his spine, and dense beads of sweat wet his shirt, making it stick tightly to his back.

"go back!"

However, as soon as he uttered these words, he heard a bang, and Mr. Martin's tavern closed the door just right, leaving Ward with only the rickety sign hanging on the door, which said 'Close' crookedly.

Martin's Tavern is closed from now on.

From the street to the end of Brick Lane, the lights in each house were turned off one by one. The light receded like a tide, replaced by the sound of uniform footsteps on the street, bowler hats, black tuxedos, hard high-top riding boots that splashed in the sewage, spotless white gloves, police officers’ knives swinging with the steps, and faces with unclear expressions under the shadows.

Among the countless hazy faces, Ward could only see a red spot that flickered on and off.

The red dot suddenly went out, and under the moonlight, Ward saw a white glove stretched out in front of him, followed by an incredibly calm voice.

"Meet the new Sergeant Claydon Jones of the Metropolitan Police Tower Hamlets Police District Whitechapel Parish Division."

Ward glanced at the white glove in front of him, and then at the shadow behind the glove. Those were pairs of black 'eyes', very round, so they must be very deadly.

Ward showed an ugly smile, he tried not to let his body tremble, and slowly stretched out his hand to hold the pair of white gloves.

Unexpectedly, the moment he was about to touch the glove, a slap had already been thrown to his face.

Snapped!
Perhaps because of a guilty conscience, or perhaps because of fear, the strong Ward was slapped to the ground.

However, before his dizzy head could recover, he felt something stepping on the side of his face.

He raised his head slowly, and finally saw the face in front of him clearly. There were some blood scabs on the forehead of that face, and the left eye was also a little bloodshot. However, this face, which looked slightly funny, looked so dangerous against the backdrop of the moonlight.

Jones stepped on his head, leaned over and asked, "Do you still know me?"

Ward looked at Jones, his pupils shrank, and he finally remembered who the new Sheriff of Whitechapel was.

Ward swallowed, and grinned, "Brother Jones, that's all in the past. It's Fred, the son of a bitch, who wants to beat you, and we're just following his orders. Don't take it to heart."

Jones nodded slightly when he heard this, and behind him, groups of red-eyed ravens flew up.

"You're right, there is a clear distinction between public and private. So, I hope you don't take it to heart today, because... I am also just executing orders."

Gunshots sounded outside the window, and the second floor of the beer hall was a private private room.

At the small round table by the window, sat a young man with black hair.

He was holding two teapots with great interest to make drinks.

In the teapot, one is filled with soft milk, and the other is filled with bitter coffee. When the two are carefully blended in a one-to-one ratio, they become a delicate and beautiful ash.

The red devil was leaning against the window, and the fire light outside the window from time to time illuminated his face, his mouth was full of sharp silver teeth, and the saliva was dripping down the corners of his lips.

"Arthur, you have grown up. You have finally begun to know how to taste coffee. The mellow and dense taste is by no means comparable to the monotonous and immature milk flavor."

When Arthur heard what the Red Devil said, he didn't answer, he just took a sip from his teacup.

The coffee was indeed too bitter, and he didn't know how he would drink it without milk.

He gave Jones a condescending look, and the guy shot and broke Ward's leg.

The Red Devil smiled and whispered beside Arthur: "Arthur, you are right to save his life. Tom and Tony can't do this kind of thing."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door outside the house.

The door was gently pushed open, and Mr. Martin stood there nervously holding a tray.

The corners of his face were sweating, but he smiled and complimented, "Mr. Hastings, I'm here to bring you ham."

(End of this chapter)