The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 978 Theodore Gabriel Thackeray

The bronze execution platform was very spacious.

It was about as high as Roland's chin, three or four steps.

Citizens gathered around it from all sides, braving the scorching sun.

Some small vendors took the opportunity to profit, shuttling between shoulders and waists, shouting "fresh cold beer" or "French fries" - and some particularly experienced bosses made sufficient preparations early, borrowed many large parasols, buried them in the mud, and shouted for rental.

The shade that I normally enjoy with a cup of coffee requires three or four times as much today.

“We have to find the right location.”

Kingsley was feeling the heat, too.

He thought it was just: arrive, squeeze in for three to five minutes, escort the prisoner, recite a prayer that no one could remember, chop off the head with a knife, drink blood wine, and leave - this would not take more than half an hour.

But actually.

It took the three of them twenty minutes just to find a suitable viewing spot among the crowd.

He wasn't wearing his 'ventilated' silk hat: a special summer hat with a slit in the top and little hinges that would flap in any gusts of wind.

Steam was rising from his head.

"We want to rent a parasol."

Kingsley looked around: Obviously, no matter where you are, the rich are treated more fairly than the poor - with the execution platform as the center, this empty space was "consciously" divided into three areas.

They are located in the 'poor area'.

As long as you have good legs and no major problems with your cervical spine, you can watch this area for free.

The left side is the highest grade.

There are also fewer people.

Even further away, he saw families with their servants sitting on picnic blankets early in the morning, with the servants serving them, pouring hot tea and cutting ham.

The right side is the middle level.

Specially prepared for gentlemen with money in their pockets.

parasol.

Sleek round arched column coffee table.

As long as he selected a shop and negotiated a price, he could take his girl to a seat - the right side was wider and more sparsely populated than the left side, but if Kingsley was prepared, he would definitely go to the left side and ask the servant to spread a picnic blanket for him.

"Why don't you let the maid follow you."

Kingsley blamed Roland a little - Kingsley, who would not get angry even if he was kicked in the ass, seemed to be unexpectedly paranoid about this matter: he believed that sitting on the left was respectable, while the cafe, parasols, and small high tables on the right were a sign of lack of status.

Even if a detective doesn't care about his appearance in private, he is no exception in such occasions.

"How can you blame me when you don't even employ a laundress?"

Roland pushed his shoulder aside and led the way to the right.

"Sir, you don't have any hired help?" Florence was very surprised.

Men are not able to take care of their own lives.

Especially this detective.

In Florence's eyes, Kingsley now looked like a savage.

"Someone will come to take my clothes, miss, I just don't like people disturbing my life." Kingsley said with a straight face.

"How can servants disturb your life? They are like mice in the kitchen, they only sneak out to work when no one is around - you should really hire some good ones, they will definitely change your mind..."

Florence was incredulous.

It was only after she arrived in London that she became a "single" - in her hometown, from childhood to adulthood, she was surrounded by at least three maids every day.

It was hard for her to imagine what it was like for a man to live his own life.

A cave full of moss? "It's really rude of you to look at people like that."

Florence's big eyes flashed with a smile. She moved closer to Kingsley unnoticeably, tiptoed and asked in a low voice: "What kind of man is Mr. Collins? I have never seen anyone more handsome than him..."

Kingsley paused for a moment. "…Only fools would focus on superficial things. Miss Florence, I don't think you are such a person."

"But I am also a woman," Florence was good-tempered. Not only was she not annoyed, she also asked, "How long have you been friends with Mr. Collins? Do you often encounter strange things like that day... very 'special'?"

The crowd swayed.

Florence nuzzled Kingsley's arm.

"It's not the kind of life you imagine. I must remind you that the world you know from storybooks is very different from the real world..." At this point, Kingsley seemed to realize that he was a little too 'excessive', and lowered his voice to add: "I'm afraid that your docile and amiable personality will suffer."

Florence sighed.

"Haven't I already suffered?"

Kingsley was silent.

Roland negotiated quickly - he 'bought' two tall coffee tables from the owner of the coffee shop at three times the price.

They could each have one table (Kingsley stood), and there was endless coffee, tea, and beer - if they paid a little more, the boss said he could also provide them with better quality red wine or champagne.

"No one drinks red wine in the sun. No matter how much he likes it, he doesn't have to imitate the raw materials."

Kingsley pulled out a chair and coincidentally sat between Roland and Florence.

He had two tables, one on his left and one on his right.

"…Ha, raw material," Florence was amused: "It's not that you don't have a sense of humor."

Roland nodded: "He just doesn't want to care about anyone other than himself."

When there is no place to find a place, the tea drinker starts to feel bloated.

Another twenty minutes passed.

The thickest part of the crowd began to stir: they began to jeer, shout, and raise their hands high.

A narrow road to make way.

The believers in golden robes walked slowly towards us.

There were three of them in front and behind, and in the middle of the escort was a woman with her head covered by a sack - it was obvious that she was a woman. Her wrists and ankles were extremely thin, her thighs were a bit thick, and a few strands of brown curly hair emerged from the bag and coiled around her collarbone.

Her hands were tied in front of her body with hemp ropes, and she was pushed step by step by the believers behind her towards the huge execution platform.

The crowd gradually became quiet.

"Female prisoner."

Kingsley held up his coffee and took a sip.

"I'm curious about what crime she committed that even hanging is not enough to 'cleanse her soul'."

"Maybe I just took the wrong bread." This was not what Roland and Florence said - next to their coffee table, next to Florence, a man was sitting under an umbrella drinking black tea alone.

——He had unrestrained golden hair draped behind his head, hastily tied with a root-like knot. Eyes as clear as the blue sky, face and body like a sculpture:

Her features were deep and three-dimensional, her shoulders were broad and her waist was thin, and she had a bright smile on her lips.

He was wearing a pair of trousers with a dark green pattern, and his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thin turquoise chain around his neck.

This is a handsome and classical man.

Even someone as 'harsh' as ​​Kingsley had to admit that it was hard to tell who was better between him and Roland.

In some ways, he should even be more popular than Roland.

"Good day, all three of you," the man with a bright smile raised his red teacup to the three of them, "I am Theodore Gabriel Thackeray."

(End of this chapter)