Gifts from the North

Lorenzo spoke of it all with confidence. He liked this sort of thing; though he never said it outright, it felt as if he were insulting Shrike's intelligence.

Shrike remained silent. It was always like this. Just when he was about to pull the trigger and kill this damned detective, Lorenzo would prove his worth, then leave him furious.

"So this is your plan? Borrowing those coroners?"

Lorenzo nodded.

"Shrike, you have to admit that every profession has its specialty. I attended some classes at the Royal Medical Academy before." A twisted expression crossed Lorenzo's face, as though he were recalling a nightmare.

"Honestly, it was the first time knowledge had left me confused."

"Of course, you have your uses too. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come to this damned place in the Lower District to see you."

Lorenzo was always this confident, completely unconcerned that Shrike had just been pointing a gun at him.

"Shrike, I came mainly to ask you a few questions."

"What questions?"

Shrike set the gun on the table. Once again, he had fallen into Lorenzo's rhythm. Clearly, he was Lorenzo's employer, the leader of the entire Lower District, yet whenever Lorenzo began one of his long speeches, he would unconsciously feel inferior.

Like a teacher and his student, Lorenzo was that rotten sort of teacher. He taught his students nothing, only toyed with their minds to flaunt his own superiority, as though it gave him satisfaction.

"Shrike, I need to know the full picture of this case."

Lorenzo stared intently at Shrike. His blurry reflection was mirrored in those blue-green eyes unique to Inverwig people.

"A sailor carrying secrets you want to know... Shrike, I'm a detective, not a writer. I need the whole picture to uncover the truth. Otherwise, I can only go home and figure out how to make up a convincing story for you."

Gripping the edge of the table, Lorenzo pulled himself forward. He leaned close to Shrike, and the two looked like intimate friends.

"So, interested in telling me?"

Lorenzo asked with a smile.

The story began half a month ago.

According to Inverwig law, the period from mid-June to mid-September was the fishing ban. All fishing vessels had to remain docked in port and were forbidden from sailing out to fish. Yet one day half a month ago, a fishing boat arrived at Raindona Port through the thick fog.

"My men tracked that ship for a long time. They set off from Nobido in the Viking Kingdom, changed course and passed through the Ice Sea, then finally arrived at Raindona Port half a month ago."

"Doesn't sound suspicious. Every year during the fishing ban, many fishing boats catch fish in other waters, then deliver them here to Old Dunling."

Lorenzo spoke as he listened.

"The problem was that after docking, they didn't unload anything, and no one came out. The ship just sat at the pier. It wasn't until the fish and shrimp started rotting after days under the blazing sun that people noticed."

"So... what value does this fishing boat have?"

That was the fundamental question. Everything had its value, including this fishing boat. A vessel that had not unloaded its cargo—Lorenzo could not understand how it had alarmed someone as important as Shrike.

"It wasn't merely a fishing boat."

Shrike revealed the part of the story he had concealed. The alcohol heightened the atmosphere and made him feel better.

"My business extends beyond Old Dunling; I have dealings with the surrounding areas as well... That ship was carrying something it shouldn't have taken. My men had been tracking it in a new steamship, more than twice as fast as theirs.

"They were originally supposed to intercept them in the North Sea, then send that unlucky fishing boat to its eternal rest beneath the waves and return those Vikings to their Valhalla."

He drained the remaining liquor in his glass and continued.

"But an accident happened. As though Odin himself favored them, that fishing boat entered the Ice Sea, and my men lost their trail in the storm. Then, just as I said, they arrived at Raindona Port. The fish and shrimp were merely a cover. The real cargo had long since been moved."

"So what I need to investigate is that mysterious cargo?"

Lorenzo lowered his head and began smoking his pipe, nodding as he spoke.

"Yes. According to the manifest, that Wall was a sailor on the Silver Fish. Since their arrival, the entire group has vanished without a trace. Wall was the only one I could find any lead on."

"Seventeen people in total, including the captain and first mate. Aside from the dead Wall, the remaining sixteen are still missing."

"But now you've killed the only Wall."

Shrike said irritably.

Lorenzo looked at him, the confusion in his heart no lessened.

"Why didn't you do it yourself? You were only grabbing someone."

"That cargo is connected to a certain duke. My men cannot appear at the scene." Shrike was a king in the darkness, but even he looked troubled when facing a noble duke.

"What about the cargo?"

"I don't know. I only know it was sealed inside an iron box."

Lorenzo laughed.

"See? Another vague request. Can I just grab an iron box from a blacksmith and come collect my reward?"

This time, Shrike did not get angry at Lorenzo's provocation. He was unusually calm.

"Do you believe in things like a sixth sense?"

"You mean intuition?"

"Something like that."

Shrike lowered his gaze to the revolver on the table. The cylinder was engraved with images of demons and gods, and he stared at it in fascination.

"You'll understand the moment you see it... Just like intuition, when you see that iron box, you'll recognize it."

His words were cryptic. Lorenzo had never seen Shrike like this before, and he sensed something was wrong.

"Shrike, there's still a lot you haven't explained clearly."

It was a fragmented story. Even Lorenzo felt at a loss, as though unseen shadows lurked behind it.

"You're merely the detective I hired, not my accountant. You'd best not learn too much about my business."

Shrike refused to reveal anything further, his gaze resolute.

"It's for your own good."

"The rest of the information is here. The carriage is waiting outside. You can read it on the way to the hospital."

As he spoke, Shrike took out a file, flipped through several pages, tore out the parts Lorenzo was not meant to know, and tossed it to him.

"You know how much I trust you. I am the hated Butcher Bird, and you are the Iron Thorn I use to pierce my prey."

Shrike looked at him.

"So get the hell out. If you can't handle this, I'll load the last bullet in too." He meant the revolver with its one-in-six chance.

"Fine, fine."

Lorenzo stood, picked up the file, and turned to leave, but then stopped.

"I can still do things my way, right?"

"I only care about the result."

That was probably an answer. Lorenzo pushed open the iron door and left without looking back.

As he stepped out of that castle of rubble, cold air flooded Lorenzo's nostrils in an instant. The air was so damp, cold, and oppressive.

So cold...

Old Dunling was like this. With thousands of tons of water vapor filling the air day and night, the city was forever overcast and rainy. The vapor gathered above the city like a dome of cloud and fog, concealing everything. Sunlight turned the cloudy sky golden, as though the heavens themselves were burning.

The coachman was already waiting outside for Lorenzo. This time, Lorenzo went directly into the carriage and began reading the file.

The scenery outside the window slowly shifted. After passing several checkpoints, they entered the Outer District. Unlike the ruined desolation of the Lower District, towering Gothic and Baroque buildings stood everywhere here. Tall Steam Towers rose between every block, thick black smoke pouring from their chimneys and turning everything gray-white.

This was the birthplace of steam technology, the most advanced city in the world. With technology constantly being innovated and developed, everyone lived with hope.

The file was bound in an exquisite iron frame, its edges decorated with mottled brass. This was a common decorative style of the era—gears and pipes, as though everything were a steam machine. There were even people who worshiped those scalding machines, believing them to be divine power bestowed upon mankind.

Opening the file, Lorenzo began reading carefully in the swaying carriage.

It was far more detailed than Shrike's account. Most of it came directly from the statements of those investigated. Their words were disorderly, but every last one had been recorded.

Only then did Lorenzo feel more comfortable. In the past, those people handling cases had preserved only the important and concise portions, making some records seem incomparably cold.

It had been Lorenzo's suggestion to write down every sentence in detail. Only then, when facing a sheet of paper, could he feel that he was facing a person—a real person of flesh and blood, rambling on as they slowly told him everything.

He reached into his coat and took out an ostentatiously carved iron case, neatly filled with cigarettes.

He selected one marked with a red line, placed it between his lips, and looked over the contents of the file.

Smoke filled the carriage, slowly drifting upward.

Time itself seemed to slow. Something contained within the tobacco spread through his nerves after mingling with his blood, a faint light glimmering in his gray-blue eyes.

It was as if the carriage had entered another world. Outside the window, everything darkened until it became a field of pure black. Within that darkness, only the tiny ember on Lorenzo's cigarette remained.

"Let me see you..."

Lorenzo murmured. Accompanied by the cigarette's faint glow, his fingers rubbed against the rough paper as he silently recited the words in the file.

Simply put, a Word Spirit meant that words became reality, like the classic saying: "God said, let there be light, and there was light."

It was a narrative born from the depths of the heart. Thus, the "spirit" fermented in the darkness.

Lorenzo looked at the file in the firelight. Suddenly, an urgent wind howled through the darkness, carrying the fishy stench of seawater as it swept over him.

Something seemed to be approaching Lorenzo. It crawled slowly across the ground, making thick, nauseating sounds. Its eyes silently watched the contemplative man before it stopped not far away.

A thunderbolt flashed. Held captive by the storm, the darkness was illuminated for an instant, and heaven and earth trembled.

Though it lasted only an instant, it was enough to see Lorenzo sitting in a chair with his head lowered in thought. Pull back farther, and one would see that he was now aboard the Silver Fish.

The sea battered the ship on the verge of sinking. Strange, freezing winds stroked him, while people now filled the cracked, damp deck before him.

As if none of it existed, Lorenzo coldly raised his head and looked at the silhouettes turned deathly pale by lightning. Seaweed-like hair swayed in the wind, seawater dripping from them like blood.

Lorenzo felt no fear at all, as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Where exactly did you go?"

He questioned the strange blackness.

The vanished crewmen, the mysterious cargo. He was searching for the bizarre thing hidden between these lines, the thing that had truly set everything in motion.

The fleeting lightning was about to fade. At the very end of that light, Lorenzo caught a trace of old blood.

The creature watching him from the darkness.

Lorenzo abruptly turned his head. He had found it—the crucial point.

His gaze swept over it at once. It was a hideous corner, but then that corner overlapped with a familiar face, and a voice rang out.

"Mr. Holmes?"

The coachman opened the carriage door and looked at Lorenzo amid the swirling smoke. His eyes were dull and vacant, as though he were looking at himself.

Not until the ash burned Lorenzo's fingers did he snap awake as if from a dream and toss away the cigarette butt.

As the coachman opened the door, that strange, dreamlike world came to an end.

The sky remained gloomy, and there was a hint of disappointment on the coachman's face.

"Sir, I thought you wouldn't touch things like hallucinogens."

They had arrived at Victoria Central Hospital quite some time ago. He had called Lorenzo many times without getting any response. Even when he opened the carriage door, Lorenzo had still worn that dazed expression of someone lost in an illusion.

Though he worked for all sorts of gang bosses, the coachman instinctively resisted things like hallucinogens. Young people saw them as keys to heaven, but in his eyes, they were invitations to hell.

"You should know that people in my line of work sometimes need a little inspiration."

Lorenzo smiled without answering directly.

The coachman stepped aside to make room. As Lorenzo got out, he muttered under his breath.

"If you need it, I know a few good addiction specialists... Their methods are just a little rough."

Out of politeness, Lorenzo smiled and thanked the coachman for his concern, then strode toward the magnificent hospital that resembled an ancient castle.