Second-Rate Detective

Lorenzo Holmes had arrived in Old Dunling six years ago and now made his living as a private detective in this city of steel and steam.

Another person had died.

That was what people had been discussing that morning.

According to the Queen's Daily, a man had been shot dead at the border between Ilins in the East District and the Inner District. Because it was close to the wealthy residents of the Inner District, the patrol officers had responded quickly, but as on many previous occasions, they found nothing.

According to Suaran Hall's autopsy, the man had been struck head-on at close range by a Shotgun. The scattered pellets had torn the front of his body into an unrecognizable mess of flesh and blood. However, judging by his sun-darkened skin and faint fishy smell, Suaran Hall surmised that he had been a sailor. They did not know why this sailor had appeared there that day. The place was far from the harbor, and he should have had no reason to be there.

Another unsolved case, at least in the public's eyes.

No one was surprised by the outcome, nor were they panicked. They had grown used to it over the years.

This was Old Dunling, the heart of all Inverwig, the heart of the whole world. Humanity's first steam engine had been born here.

That was why countless outsiders came here every day. Some sought wealth, some knowledge, and some power.

The massive influx of people had worsened public security. To maintain order, Old Dunling had been divided into four districts, each nested within the next.

At the very center lay Inverwig's seat of power, where Queen Victoria resided in Platinum Palace. The Royal Third Mobile Force was stationed there as well. Beyond it was the Inner District, where Old Dunling's wealthy and noble mostly lived under twenty-four-hour patrol protection. Outside that was the Outer District, divided into four smaller areas. Most residents lived there, making it the largest part of Old Dunling. Finally came the Lower District.

Based on visitors' documents, Old Dunling opened its districts to them one by one. If you were dressed in rags, you could not even enter the Outer District. At best, you could loiter in the Lower District, which in a sense barely counted as a district at all.

At first, it had been a slum. But as more and more people came here, the Lower District continued to expand until it grew so large that even the Magistrate had no choice but to take it seriously.

Thus, a chaotic and disorderly district emerged. The largest black-market transactions in all of Old Dunling took place here, and it was the final furnace where all hidden information went to be burned. It stood only a thin line away from the world everyone pursued.

The dead sailor had been from the Lower District. To Inverwig's residents, people from the Lower District barely counted as human. They were merely filth sullying this beautiful city.

The sailor's death became everyone's gossip, and no one cared in the slightest—except for one person: the one who had killed him.

Lorenzo walked along the edge of the Lower District. There was practically no infrastructure here. His boots sank deep and shallow into the muddy road. If it were not for making a living, Lorenzo would never have come here.

He wore a black-dyed deerstalker that pressed down his pale blond hair, a dark red tie at his chest, and a broad gray-black trench coat that perfectly concealed the firearms beneath it. Holding a cane, he checked the pocket watch in his hand from time to time, looking like a merchant in a hurry.

Lorenzo's attire was perfectly appropriate and no different from that of an ordinary passerby. But now that he was in the Lower District, the people here saw him as a fat sheep that had wandered into their midst.

People from different countries and regions watched this fat sheep from the corners. This place was beyond the patrol officers' jurisdiction. Even if someone died, there was rarely any accountability. After all, the flow of people here was enormous, and countless people arrived in the city by ship every day.

All kinds of people were among them, and they knew very well who they could prey upon and who they should not.

A few newly arrived outsiders took an interest in Lorenzo and quietly divided up his possessions. Some wanted his coat, while others wanted his pocket watch.

The rest merely watched indifferently. Since the Lower District had become Old Dunling's black market, a new underground industry chain had formed here. Most people bold enough to rob others belonged to gangs, and anyone who helped would only drag themselves down with them.

On the filthy street, the group surrounded Lorenzo, their eyes vicious.

"Nice clothes you've got there, friend."

The leader looked at Lorenzo with a smile. It was not kindness; he had merely noticed that Lorenzo's pocket watch was worth far more than it looked.

"If I were you, I wouldn't do this."

His voice carried a hint of helplessness, as if he had grown accustomed to it. Lorenzo did not care much about his situation.

That was simply how things were in the Lower District. He had previously killed several desperate fools in front of dozens of spectators, thinking he might establish some reputation. Yet every time he came, this still happened. Lorenzo had thought someone was targeting him, but later he realized that those people were simply no longer around.

This was the Lower District, a temporary dwelling place for outsiders. Under Inverwig's laws, it was not protected by the kingdom, and its residents did not even count as citizens. Beyond it was the mouth of the Thames River, where Inverwig's largest harbor stood. Someone loitering in the Lower District might be here today, then sail off to other seas on a fishing boat tomorrow.

The gangs were another reason. The black market had only so much profit to offer, and gang members clashed in the Lower District every day over those industries. People died daily, their bodies thrown directly into the Thames River. After passing through the Steam Hub's filters, the corpses would be incinerated along with the refuse.

It was not that no one remembered Lorenzo. They simply died too quickly.

Bright blades flashed before Lorenzo's eyes. Just as he was considering how to deal with these suicidal thugs, urgent hoofbeats rang out. A pitch-black carriage stopped by the street. Seeing the scene, the driver did not hesitate. He drew a pistol and fired at the thugs.

He truly did not hold back. After several gunshots, the thugs' corpses lay before Lorenzo. The people on the street fled in panic at the sound, and soon only he and the carriage driver remained on the empty road.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Perhaps because of his age, he could not see Lorenzo clearly. Yet his shooting had been so precise that it was difficult to judge this carriage driver.

"That's me."

After glancing at the insignia on the carriage, Lorenzo got in without hesitation. He did not sit inside the cabin, however, instead taking a seat at the front beside the driver.

"What was that about?"

Lorenzo looked at the corpses on the ground with disgust.

"Stowaways. There have been more and more of them lately. Most are criminals who think they can begin a new life in Old Dunling, without realizing that starting anew means saying goodbye to their past... They still think like thugs, which is why they've caused so much trouble recently."

The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage slowly began moving along the muddy road.

"Doesn't Shrike do anything about them?"

"My lord has been very busy lately. Two gangs are about to go to war over territory, and my lord has been mediating between them. Those gangs have important industries under them. My lord does not care who wins or loses, but their conflict will inevitably affect those industries. Their lives are not worth that much."

"Hmm... Sounds like his style." Lorenzo nodded as he spoke.

"By the way, Mr. Holmes, please let me know beforehand if you intend to come next time. I will pick you up and spare you some unnecessary conflict."

The driver spoke again, thoughtful as a butler.

Lorenzo nodded without speaking. Although he had only been in the carriage for a short while, his destination had clearly arrived.

Beyond layers of dilapidated buildings stood a hidden castle, piled together from all kinds of rubble and hung with tattered flags and iron frames, like the work of some artist.

As he walked toward the strange castle, its half-open gate swung fully open before him, revealing the Lower District's true face.

It was already late October, and the weather had turned cold, yet Lorenzo still felt a wave of heat the instant he entered. It was not merely physical; it stirred something within him as well.

The space inside was much larger than it appeared from outside. Priceless paintings hung on pale golden walls, while marble floors reflected people's figures. Servants in ornate masks carried trays and served drinks at every gaming table.

A woman's distant voice sang from the raised platform at the center, guiding the atmosphere of the entire casino.

Fine iron cages around the room burned incense. Its fragrance was pleasant, but it contained trace stimulants that drove still-hesitant guests to wager all their chips.

This was the Lower District's true face: a world of debauchery and extravagance.

Unlike the Inner District, this place was beyond regulation and had become a haven for many nobles to move stolen goods. They appeared to be gambling, but they were actually redirecting wealth through another channel. The hidden daily currency transactions here reached sums ordinary people could never imagine. Of course, many thrill-seeking nobles came here as well. They were all honored guests of the Lower District.

Shrike had told him about this before. Under Inverwig's laws, every person here had committed enough crimes to spend the rest of their lives in prison. Of course, that would also reduce Old Dunling's noble class by at least a third.

No one stopped Lorenzo. Unlike the short-lived outsiders outside, the people here had lived long enough and knew very well who Lorenzo was.

Pushing open one iron door after another, Lorenzo easily reached the deepest part of the underground, where he met the employer for this job.

The man wore an exquisite silver mask engraved with thorns and birds. Seated behind an oak table, he too was surrounded by incense. A gramophone's song flowed slowly through the room. With his eyes closed, he waved his hands like a conductor until Lorenzo's arrival broke the world in which he had been immersed.

"Welcome, my friend!"

Seeing Lorenzo, he greeted him with a smile.

This was the Lower District's true ruler, the Shrike before whom every gang bowed their heads.

Butcher Bird Shrike.

Lorenzo sat across from him without ceremony and got straight to the point.

"There was nothing on him. Before he died, he was like a madman. I couldn't get anything out of him, and there were no leads to investigate."

"Hmm? Was that really all?" Shrike took out a glass from beneath the table and poured in his favorite liquor. "Lorenzo, you're the best detective I've ever seen. You must have found more than that, right?"

Hearing Shrike's words, Lorenzo sighed helplessly.

"It's only speculation."

"What speculation?"

Shrike became interested upon hearing Lorenzo's words. As expected, Lorenzo Holmes had never disappointed him.

"I found his trail through drug dealers. A sailor from the Lower District with little income, yet he went to different drug dealers every day to buy hallucinogens. When I found him, that sailor seemed to have injected a massive dose of hallucinogens. His speech was incoherent, and with patrol officers everywhere near the Inner District, I could not get much out of him...

"So I guessed that he must have encountered something—something that terrified him so badly that he could only rely on hallucinogens to escape it."

Lorenzo's voice was soft, as if he were reading a chilling story.

"Why do you think it was something frightening?" For some reason, Shrike cared greatly about the word fear.

"Because I shot him in the chest. Dozens of pellets tore through his heart, lungs, and bones. Even under the effects of hallucinogens, he would have felt pain and sobered up.

"You should know that everyone fears death. With just a little prompting, he would have treated every word I said with absolute respect for the remainder of his life. Whatever I asked, he would answer."

"But he didn't. He kept saying things in some foreign language I couldn't understand... Though pellets had destroyed his face as well, I could see a kind of beautiful relief on it."

"It was as though I hadn't killed him, but saved him from some nightmare."

Shrike froze at those words. He did not address Lorenzo's speculation. Instead, he focused on Lorenzo's actions.

"You killed him? You should have brought him here alive!"

"Huh?"

Lorenzo paused.

"You never said you wanted him alive. And could you please pay attention to your identity? You're Shrike, the boss of the entire Lower District. The council nobles want you dead, and the gangs below want you dead too. Only if you die can they become the next boss."

He casually took the glass and drank from it before continuing.

"I'm looking out for you. Anyone who knows my identity more or less knows about our relationship, and you repeatedly stressed that this matter had to remain secret. I figured it was important, right?

"They all want to bring you down, so I won't leave them any leverage over such an important matter. Look, only a sailor died. No one will connect it to you."

Lorenzo set down the glass and spread his hands.

"Best of both worlds."

"So your best of both worlds was killing the only lead, then coming here to drink?"

Shrike's tone was calm as he steadily took a revolver from beneath the table. Its silver-bright metal surface was engraved with reliefs of gods and demons, so exquisitely made that it hardly looked like a firearm.

"I hope you understand one thing. You are my employee, and I am your employer. If you act like this, you won't receive payment. You'll receive a bullet instead."

Without even raising his head to look at Lorenzo, he loaded bullets into the cylinder one after another. He loaded five, leaving one chamber empty, then spun the cylinder and pointed the gun at Lorenzo.

"You're the finest detective I've ever seen, but what you did this time was truly stupid... So shall we test your luck? One chance in six."

Shrike stared sternly at Lorenzo. He was not joking about this.

The smile on Lorenzo's face stiffened.

"All right, all right. You really are no fun."

He waved a hand and tried to push the barrel down, but Shrike immediately raised it again.

Seeing that, Lorenzo understood that he could only explain himself under the gun's muzzle.

"I followed that sailor for many days. His name was Wall, a Viking from the northern seas. For the past few days, he had been moving between several drug dealers without any intention of returning to the harbor. It looked as if his captain had abandoned him."

"When you gave me this case, you only asked me to investigate this person. You said he had a secret."

As though there were no gun pointed at him, Lorenzo became casual again.

"Honestly, the requirements of your case were absurd. You didn't know his secret, yet you asked me to investigate..."

"No identity, no acquaintances, nothing. He was a very clean person, until I saw him inject hallucinogens."

"What was wrong with that?"

Shrike was unusually concerned whenever the matter involved sailor Wall.

"It was absurd, you know?"

Lorenzo made an injection gesture at his own neck as he rambled.

"A whole vial of hallucinogens. For an ordinary person, that was a lethal dose. He injected every last bit, and he did it for several consecutive days. The drug dealers confirmed it. He bought some every day."

"I thought it might be because of a Viking's physique. After all, their pirate ancestors had once sailed right up to Old Dunling's gates."

As he said this, Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. Telling this kind of dark historical tale always made him especially happy.

"I found a Viking in the Lower District and ran a little experiment. After a whole vial of hallucinogens, he was already foaming at the mouth."

"So there was something wrong with Wall's body?"

Shrike caught the crucial point.

"Yes, there was something seriously wrong with his body. And that wasn't all. He was extremely aggressive. Over the past few days, he killed at least six people. Otherwise, where would a sailor get that kind of money? Then I did kill him, but that was also what he asked of me."

Lorenzo recalled the events of that night.

Amid rising white steam and the light cast down by Zeppelins, Lorenzo had been a black silhouette. Beneath him lay twisted, lingering flesh and blood. Dark red blood seeped from every bullet hole, the chest rising and falling violently as a whimpering sound came from the throat. Though he could not understand it, he somehow grasped its meaning.

Kill me!

Take me away!

"Then I drove my Cane Sword down through the bullet wound."

Lorenzo drew his cane. The black wood split apart, revealing the cold gleam beneath.

"I pierced his cervical spine... His carotid artery ruptured, causing massive internal bleeding. He died quickly, but that was when something strange happened."

As Lorenzo told his story, Shrike unconsciously leaned forward, listening closely to every word as he reconstructed that night's scene in his mind.

"He should have died... He had definitely died, yet his heart was still beating. Beating violently. You could say his brain was dead, but his body remained alive, squeezing endless blood from the bullet holes."

"That was completely abnormal. I pierced his heart with my Cane Sword again. Only then did the corpse truly die."

The story ended. Shrike fell silent, seemingly lost in thought. Lorenzo was in no hurry and simply sipped his liquor. He knew that anything placed before Shrike was good stuff, so every extra drink counted.

"You should have brought his body back."

"There was no need."

"No need? You clearly knew there was something wrong with that corpse!"

Shrike was truly angry this time. He looked as though he might fire the next second.

"What good would bringing it back do? This is a casino, not a morgue. You have a group of thugs, yet not even a coroner... Do you know how many bones the human body has?"

Lorenzo looked at Shrike disdainfully and continued.

"Wall's body is now lying in the morgue at Victoria Central Hospital, being dissected by a group of forensic doctors who spent who knows how long studying at the Royal Medical Academy before graduating.

"They'll cut it apart piece by piece and arrange it neatly on iron racks, like a lavish human feast. Every abnormality will be strictly recorded in reports according to protocol. And all of that is sitting there right now, waiting for me to collect it."

Lorenzo took out his pocket watch and checked the time.

"They have two hours before they get off work. Do you have anything else to ask?"