Backlund's nights always arrived a little earlier than elsewhere. Though it was still the tail end of summer, the sky had already gone completely dark by seven in the evening.
Pale yellow fog hung thick in the air as one streetlamp after another slowly lit up, yet even that did little to improve visibility on the streets.
Having just settled in, Sherlock Moriarty made a few simple adjustments to his appearance before arriving in Backlund's Bridge District. The familiar surroundings reminded him of Iron Cross Street, and a bright smile spread across his face.
With a snap, he opened his flashy gold pocket watch. Seeing that the minute hand was still five minutes away from the top of the dial, he pushed open the heavy black wooden door and entered the tavern, reeking of alcohol and sweat, beneath the watchful gaze of the burly doorman.
Like the bars in Tingen, this tavern hosted gambling on dog-chasing-rat contests. On the other side, two boxers were enthusiastically beating each other up amid the spectators' cheers.
Adjusting the gold-rimmed glasses he wore as part of his disguise, Sherlock immediately spotted the man seated at the bar. Though he wore cheap work clothes, his strikingly handsome face was enough to make every passing gaze linger on it.
"A glass of Southwell Beer. My treat."
Sherlock had barely approached the counter when he heard Mr. Devil order a beer. Before he could speak, a glass had already been placed before him, accompanied by Mr. Devil's magnetic voice:
"I thought you were some small fry, but I never expected you to be one of that great man's subordinates. What a twist of fate!"
"Mr. Sno, you know me?" Klein's heart skipped a beat. He had met Sno only once, yet Sno had seen through his disguise