The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 717 - 345 Unspoken Rules

London, Westminster, 4 Whitehall, Greater London Police Department.

The Scotland Yard was as busy as ever today, with police secretaries from various police stations in London shuttling back and forth between offices and halls with stacks of daily files.

However, when passing by the Police Intelligence Department’s office, everyone couldn’t help but slow down their pace.

Nobody had any clear idea why the high-profile Officer Hastings was piling up bunches and bunches of metal wires in the office.

After squatting outside and watching for a long time, someone couldn’t help but ask, "Has the Intelligence Department been equipped with new gear again? Officer Hastings now despises police batons so much that he plans to make some cat-o’-nine-tails himself?"

The officers who had retired from the Army looked at the pile of metal wires and couldn’t help but shudder, "Cat-o’-nine-tails... I haven’t heard that term in so many years since I left the service. But honestly, it’s a lot more practical than a police baton when dealing with thugs. The toughest guy in our 93rd Regiment couldn’t take more than ten lashes without screaming like a moaning woman."

"Heh, indeed a tough guy if he only starts yelling after ten lashes. Speaking of which, if it’s just the cat-o’-nine-tails hitting us, we could handle it. But who knows which son of a bitch made the rule that the one executing the punishment must be the regiment’s drummer, really letting whoever has the strongest arm do it, those damn bastards!"

"Guys, be thankful, at least when we were whipped, we only had to take off our shirts."

"What do you mean by that? There have been cases of getting whipped bare-assed? We’re not kids, only those little brats would get their butts whipped by the teacher!"

"Ah! You actually guessed right. Have you forgotten? Many of our officers graduated from regular military academies, and they were often whipped bare-assed when they were kids. But since kids are frail, the military academies generally used birch branches soaked in water instead of the cat-o’-nine-tails."

"Oh... That explains why those guys are one more psychologically twisted than the next. So, they all have such traumatic pasts,"

"Actually, our Army’s psychopaths are relatively fewer, probably because many of our officers didn’t attend proper military academies but graduated from regular public schools. Though public schools also involve pulling down your trousers to spank you, it’s definitely not as severe as in military schools."

"But the poor devils in the Royal Navy, all their officers are graduates from military schools. While attending lessons there, who could guarantee his butt hasn’t been whipped raw?"

"Though, the Royal Navy maintains more decorum; if those cadet officers commit minor offenses aboard the ship, they are taken to a cabin for the punishment alone. Only for serious offenses are they brought on deck for public execution. And if they commit an unforgivable crime, like mutiny or rebellion, then they’re really out of luck."

"What, the worst is just being hanged, right? Can it get any more severe than that?"

"Whether it’s severe or not depends on your luck, specifically how many ships are moored in the harbor at the time. They’d sentence you to 250 to 300 lashes, then divide that number by all the ships in the port, planning over several months to haul you to every ship in the fleet for your punishment."

"Hmm... that does sound like a real bastard move."

"And that’s not the worst part. According to Royal Navy rules, you have to make your own cat-o’-nine-tails. If the quality isn’t up to scratch and it breaks during the punishment, then none of the previous lashes count, and you have to start over."

"Ouch..."

The officers all gasped in horror upon hearing this, and some quickly interjected.

"Stop, stop talking about it, I’m starting to feel itchy on my back. Damn it, back when I was being whipped, all I thought about was never coming back. But having not been whipped in so long, I kinda miss that taste..."

"Sam, are you a masochist?"

"Actually, Sam’s got a point, the whip does get addictive at times. I know a guy who does this business; I’ve visited a few times, affordable prices, decent service, and most importantly, the ladies’ technique isn’t as rough as our drummers’, they gauge the force just right."

"This... Scarlett, don’t lead me astray, I just started trying to save money."

"Sam, look at you penny-pinching; no wonder you’re still stuck at sergeant. Without giving yourself enough reward, how do you keep motivated to climb higher? Moreover, it’s just a shilling, can you get a full set of torture instruments and find such skilled artisans anywhere else for a shilling? Oh! You have no idea, after each whip from that lady, I feel so relieved, as if I’m meeting God!"

"Scarlett, you don’t need to spend a shilling or even use a whip to meet God. Just don’t bring your armed self into my jurisdiction at night, better yet wear your gold watch, and I guarantee that within one night, you’ll be close to meeting God. Even if you don’t meet Him right away, you’d surely be close."

Policing secretaries were chatting away in front of the office door, when suddenly they heard hard footsteps approaching from behind.