Wild Heart Bar

When Angel woke up, she found that the sun outside had already sunk westward. The slanting sunset bathed the entire bedroom in golden light.

After the Tarot Club ended earlier, Angel had felt that it was still too early for dinner and decided to catch up on some sleep. She tidied up Lily Granger's room a little, lifted the dust cover, and found the bed beneath it unexpectedly clean. So she claimed it as her bedroom and fell straight asleep.

She looked up at the wall clock. The hour hand had already passed five in the afternoon.

Resisting the tempting suggestion in her mind that said, I want to sleep more, Angel went to the kitchen. Using marinated mutton, washed and chopped potatoes, and onions, she made her first proper meal in this world.

"Isn't this even more bare-bones than breakfast?" Looking at the mutton stew with potatoes and the sliced white bread before her, she could not help recalling the tangy, salty Feneboote Noodles and rich, creamy mushroom soup from the Silver Crown Restaurant. It truly was easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go from luxury back to frugality.

She still needed to save money for a false identity and any other needs that might arise. She currently had no income, and living off her savings meant she had to save wherever she could.

Having accepted that, Angel bit into the white bread, then picked up a spoon. Ignoring the fact that the soup had not cooled yet, she scooped up a spoonful of mutton broth, blew on it symbolically, and drank it.

Too much salt... Or perhaps the mutton had been marinated for too long. The soup tasted like brine mixed with the gamey stench of mutton, but Angel had skipped lunch. She still gulped down the scalding broth, and even the not-quite-fermented bread began to taste delicious.

Sure enough, when people were hungry, everything tasted good.

She quickly finished the mutton soup and bread. The intense fullness made Angel narrow her eyes in satisfaction. If she did not need to go out that night, she would have wanted to return to her comfortable bedroom and lie down immediately.

"Ugh, even after changing worlds and identities, I still can't escape being worked to the bone..." Angel sighed inwardly and began preparing for the night's operation.

She first went to Cole Granger's bedroom on the second floor and found a set of clothes suitable for movement. Though they were a little too large, they were still far better than a dress.

Then she returned to the study, took out the revolver, unloaded every bullet, disassembled the gun, and began maintaining it before use.

The tools came from Cole Granger's collection. He had bought them on the clerk's recommendation when purchasing the handgun. They were comprehensive, but he had never used them.

"Just as expected, even the rifling is worn..." After carefully inspecting the revolver's condition, Angel pursed her lips. The barrel material was poor, the bullets were too hard, and the weapon had received no maintenance. This result had been inevitable. The damage greatly affected shooting accuracy, and the tools she had could not repair it. She could only clean away the residual powder from the chamber, cylinder, and hammer, lubricate the frame, polish the wooden grip, and restore the weapon to its best possible condition.

The bullets, wrapped in oil paper and neatly arranged in a box, were .45 caliber. The enormous recoil would sharply reduce the accuracy of rapid fire, but for a handgun that was essentially a "close-combat weapon," greater lethality and stopping power were its unique advantages.

After selecting twenty and inspecting them one by one, Angel loaded the revolver to capacity and put the rest into speed loaders, five rounds per set.

Next came the true close-combat weapon: the dagger Cole Grant, as an "Assassin," preferred to use.

It was a short steel dagger with fullers on both sides, a coating to reduce reflections, and a leather sheath. As a former Templar Knight, Angel was not proficient with daggers. She merely tested a few swings, memorized its weight and length, sheathed it, and strapped it to her left thigh.

She put on a cloak, hiding her face and weapons. From the study desk drawer where the money was kept, Angel counted out fifty pounds. After thinking for a moment, she added another twenty in case of emergencies.

Fully armed, Angel stood quietly in the living room until the hands of the wall clock neared nine. Only then did she open the back door and step into the brightly lit streets of Tingen City beneath the Crimson Moon.

Instead of taking one of the hired carriages found everywhere, or using the cheaper, more crowded rail Public Carriage, Angel walked along Daffodil Street to the adjacent Iron Cross Street.

Like its name suggested, Iron Cross Street was not merely one street. It consisted of two streets crossing at right angles, divided into Upper Street, Lower Street, Left Street, and Right Street. Daffodil Street intersected with Iron Cross Left Street, while Angel's destination—Wild Heart Bar—was on Iron Cross Lower Street.

She slowly crossed City Hall Square at the intersection, avoiding circus clowns handing out flyers, then followed Iron Cross Left Street, wide enough for six carriages to pass side by side, until she reached Iron Cross Lower Street.

There was indeed a reason Iron Cross Street was divided into up, down, left, and right. Lower Street was clearly much more rundown than the Left Street she had just passed through. Not only was it narrower due to the numerous vendors occupying the road, but its paving stones were uneven from years without maintenance. Even the pedestrians' clothes and spirits were noticeably different from those on Left Street, let alone Daffodil Street.

Almost every building along the road was a three- or four-story apartment block. There were no private balconies, and laundry hung chaotically outside the windows. Filthy water flowed across the doorways, and trash was scattered everywhere. Though it was a main street, it looked dirtier than even the back alleys of Daffodil Street.

Walking here, Angel even had the illusion that garbage might be tossed down onto her head at any moment.

Iron Cross Street was no longer as lively at night as it had been during the day, but quite a few vendors still tried to make one last sale, and there were no fewer pedestrians than elsewhere. Angel clutched her pocket tightly, wary of possible pickpockets in the crowd. She skirted the mobile stalls amid endless cries of hawking, breathing air mixed with appetizing aromas and foul stench as she trudged through standing water and garbage.

After much difficulty, she arrived before Wild Heart's somewhat ostentatious roaring wolf-head sign. Greedily breathing in the alcohol-laden air, she actually felt as though she had been reborn.

In the memories Angel had inherited, Cole had visited Wild Heart Bar several times. Sometimes he had met clients there, and sometimes he had come to gather information. To him, it was an information hub and a drunkard's paradise, but anything but a dangerous place.

Yet in Angel's eyes, Wild Heart concealed far more danger than its appearance suggested.

She had merely circled the bar's outer wall once when she drew the attention of the burly man standing guard at the entrance. The bare-chested doorman, his muscles knotted, stared intently at the "hooded stranger," as if ready to call for reinforcements at any moment.

The second-floor window of the apartment building across the street remained open, yet there was no light inside. Angel could sense faint gazes sweeping over her from within. Those were likely the bar's hidden sentries.

A carriage was parked beside the bar's back door. The driver dozed in the seat, and the horse was already harnessed. The moment its owner boarded, it could depart immediately.

It might have belonged to some noble who had parked at the back entrance for privacy, or it might have been an escape route for an important person from the bar. Angel believed it was the latter.

There was also more standing water on the street before the bar than elsewhere. On close inspection, several drains near the bar had stopped functioning. Unless municipal workers had been negligent enough to let them clog, the sewers beneath this stretch of road had likely been repurposed.

Returning to the bar entrance, Angel gained a deeper understanding of this utterly unremarkable-looking establishment. She hesitated over whether it was worth taking such a risk for an identity document, but in the end, she decided to trust the Hanged Man from the Tarot Club.

If I've been set up, I hope Mr. Fool punishes him.

After silently complaining, Angel stepped into the bar.

It was nearly midnight, yet the bar still had plenty of customers. Most were nearby residents stopping in for a drink after work, though there were also unemployed laborers with nothing to do, numbing themselves with alcohol. In the shadowy corners, furtive conversationalists plotted new schemes. In the middle of the hall, a crowd of excited drinkers gathered, sometimes shouting wildly and sometimes hanging their heads in regret. Inside two cages partially sunk into the floor, games of Dog Catches Mouse were underway. The gamblers stared fixedly at the dogs they had bet on, wishing they could turn into dogs themselves, crawl into the cages, and slaughter the competition.

The bartender polishing wooden cups behind the counter had already noticed Angel when she entered. Her cloak made her utterly out of place here. Even the schemers in the corners considered showing their faces and hands basic etiquette.

Her gaze swept across the chaotic, noisy bar before Angel finally turned her eyes toward the bartender as well. She went around the dog cages and approached the counter.

"What'll it be? Rye beer, 1 penny. South Wales Beer, 4 pence. Freshly arrived Butter Beer, 7 pence. Chilled!" Seeing her approach, the bartender launched into his practiced sales pitch.

"Captain sent me. He said you could help people get identity documents here." Angel did not order a drink and stated her purpose directly.

The bartender stopped wiping the cup. He looked up at the clock hanging high above, its outer glass already shattered. It showed five minutes until ten at night. "It's not time yet. You're early."

"I can wait."

The bartender set down the cup and rag. "Fine. I'll call you when it's time. Want a drink?"

"Then give me a Half and Half, with extra sugar." Only then did Angel remember the code phrase the Hanged Man had also mentioned.

Having heard the correct code, the bartender finally nodded and turned to mix the drink. Before long, a Half and Half made from beer and wine was placed on the counter.

"Wasn't that just the code? You're actually serving me alcohol too?" Angel frowned at the bartender.

"Money's money. That glass is 1 soli."

Angel counted out twelve pence and tossed them onto the counter, then took the glass and sat at an empty table.

She had thought the bartender would call her over as soon as ten arrived, but to her surprise, she sat there until a quarter past ten without receiving any word.

Seeing the bartender actually chatting with another customer, she finally could not bear it any longer. Just as she prepared to get up and ask, the bartender pointed toward her table. The "customer" turned around, and Angel realized that this was the person she had been waiting for.

"New here?" The man wore a black trench coat that concealed his build. His messy black hair was caked with grease, and his face looked as though it had not been washed in half a month. Holding an enormous wooden mug, he dropped heavily into the seat across from Angel. Without waiting for her reply, he continued, "I'm Hagg. Everyone knows I'm always late. I usually don't show up until ten-thirty. Only rookies like you come early."

Angel ignored the veiled mockery in his introduction and stated her request directly. "I need an identity document. I'll provide all the details, and it needs records that can be verified."

Hagg took a huge gulp of beer and let out a satisfied "Ha!" before replying, "Forty pounds. Come get it in a week."

"That's not what Captain said. Thirty pounds." Angel did not particularly care about the extra ten pounds, but experience told her that this sort of concession would only make the other party more unscrupulous.

"Hmph. Tell Captain not to keep using prices from years ago to trick rookies like you into taking advantage of me. Even if he saved my life, it doesn't matter." Hagg became unusually angry upon hearing Angel's offer. "Every time the Kingdom Party changes, we have to bribe people in Backlund all over again. Those parasites keep asking for more. How much do you think we can make? Besides, Tingen hasn't been peaceful lately. A lot of students have disappeared from the university, and I heard several committed suicide just yesterday. The police are checking outsiders everywhere. You don't want to get arrested as an undocumented person, do you?"

"Thirty pounds."

"You can't do business like this... Thirty-five pounds. That's the lowest price, and I'll have it ready in three days." Hagg gave ground.

"I can give you forty pounds, but I need it tonight." Seeing that he had already conceded, Angel adjusted her demand at the right moment and handed over a diary page covered in writing. "The identity information I need is on this. You can make up the rest of the blanks however you like, but don't make it too outrageous."

Hagg was clearly surprised by the recovered extra five pounds. He reflexively took the page she held out, thought for a while, then nodded. "Fine. I'll move you up the queue. Wait here for two hours. Have a drink," he pointed at the untouched glass before Angel, "or go watch Dog Catches Mouse."

Angel shook her head. "I'll wait here."

Though she did not dislike alcohol, drinking in a place where she might need to fight at any moment was not a good choice.

And she had even less interest in such a boring gambling game as Dog Catches Mouse.