The Shadow of Great Britain

"Editor?" Albert raised an eyebrow, seemingly not having thought of this idea.

"Yes." Eld said while waving his fork: "An editor is the helmsman of the publishing world. Authors are like the wind, printers like sailors, and publishers like the noble ladies shouting on deck. Without an editor steadying the helm, the ship would either run aground or sink."

Albert listened thoughtfully: "Then... if I really were to become an editor, where should I start learning?"

"Start with the hardest work." Eld answered without hesitation: "Editing, typesetting, proofreading, arguing, getting scolded. Especially the last two; an editor who hasn’t been scolded by the patron isn’t a real editor."

Saying this, Eld wiped his mouth with a napkin and said solemnly: "To be honest, young man, if you’re truly interested, once you graduate from Bonn University, if you can’t find a job temporarily, write me a letter. I can’t guarantee anything else, but I can find you a place in Imperial Publishing. Be it proofreading or editing, there will be a spot for you."

Disraeli turned green at these words.

Though Imperial Publishing is a flourishing business, it certainly isn’t affluent enough to invite the Prince of Saxony-Coburg to be an editor.

Of course, if it were as the secretary to the chairman of the board, that might still be conceivable.

After all, even Louis Bonaparte served as Arthur’s secretary, so Albert becoming a secretary wouldn’t be too much of a compromise.

Disraeli’s hand, holding the wine glass, froze mid-air; then he glanced at Dickens, who almost immediately lowered his head at these words, now busily cutting bread, while Tennyson similarly pretended to busy himself with wiping his knife.

Only Arthur appeared to be the only truly sober person in the room, yet he had no intention of speaking, slowly sipping his wine, leaving the stage entirely to Eld.

Eld was blissfully unaware, speaking with enthusiasm: "I’m serious, Albert, the threshold for the editing field isn’t high; the key is having a sense of responsibility. Even though we’ve just met, you seem like a steady, punctual, hardworking, and reliable young man. Considering how well we got along, if needed, the doors of Imperial Publishing are always open to you. Don’t hesitate, because having attended university myself, I know how tough it is for graduates to find suitable employment in a bleak market."

Albert nearly choked on his wine, quickly coughing a few times, trying to maintain politeness.

Of course, he wasn’t worried about job prospects; though his aspiration to work in publishing was partly genuine, he understood well that as the second son of the Grand Duke of Coburg, without his marriage finalized, he had little say in determining his future.

Nonetheless, Albert was moved by Eld’s sincere invitation: "Mr. Carter... you... you flatter me. I... I wouldn’t dare claim I’ve what it takes to be an editor."

"Humility is a virtue." Eld laughed even more happily: "But let me remind you, publishing is where humbleness is least welcome. Edit scripts when needed, chastise authors when necessary, even if the author is a Lord. An editor’s pen is worth more than a parliamentarian’s vote."

Arthur sipped his Bordeaux, cheerfully complimenting: "Eld, what you said is truly philosophical."

This seemingly casual response made Disraeli glare angrily at Arthur, as if blaming him for not stopping Eld sooner.

Arthur pretended not to notice, instead raising his glass slightly: "Come, let’s toast to the future editor."

"Cheers!" Eld beamed, being the first to down his drink.

Seeing everyone raise their glasses, Albert imitated their manner, heartily laughing: "Cheers!"

He mimicked Eld’s posture, tilting his head back, gulping down half a glass of Bordeaux.

However, perhaps drinking too quickly, Albert couldn’t help but cough repeatedly.

Ever-attentive Tennyson quickly handed over a handkerchief, looking on with concern: "Careful, don’t choke."

Eld, on the contrary, slapped the table and laughed heartily, completely unaware of the subtle change in atmosphere: "Good show! That’s how a man should be! Drinking Bordeaux should be done in one go, a few coughs mean nothing, you’re sure to achieve great things in the future!"

Albert’s eyes reddened from choking, yet he was still smiling: "Cough, cough... This wine is stronger than I expected. But it’s okay, Mr. Carter, it was a pleasure meeting you today. What can I say, you are indeed the man who could write Robin Hood, and I truly admire you."