Something Was Wrong

Vera felt that something was very wrong with her.

In the past, when she was injured, she usually sat against a wall, relied on her vitality to heal herself, and left the rest to fate.

Now, though, she could relax a little.

"Everything that needed stitching is stitched, and the bleeding has stopped. Your left shoulder is the biggest problem. It needs a patient willing to get some proper rest," Gordon said.

"Arf," Vera said.

She did not open her eyes.

Her wounds itched, her head felt foggy, and she did not want to think anymore.

Gordon tidied up the weapon harness that had fallen aside.

He found Vera's identification, stamped with the Hunter Administration's dragon emblem.

"Your hunter's license," Gordon said.

"Don't look," Vera said.

"Does it have a silver-plate photograph of you?"

"It has two words," Vera said. "Probationary period."

"You kill people as easily as chickens, and you pinned that monster Harold down and killed him, yet you're still on probation," Gordon said. "If whoever handles your assessment had any shame, they'd throw themselves into the river."

"No record," Vera said. "No great achievements."

"Tonight would make quite a report," Gordon said. "An old Esoteric Cult servant, a giant clam shell, a Blackwater Ritual, demolition by explosives, and finally a mermaid crawling out of a drainpipe. Though after reading it, the Bureau of Affairs would probably suggest we pay a visit to 53 Wisteria Road."

53 Wisteria Road was Lundenim's largest asylum.

"So don't write it," Vera said. "I didn't come here for a promotion."

"Then... technically, the commission is complete," Gordon said. "If you want to leave, I won't keep you here with some damned excuse."

By the cleanest reckoning in the hunting business, they could go their separate ways.

Vera's head was muddled, but hearing that did not feel good.

"Commission or no commission." Vera felt some strength return and slowly sat up. "It doesn't matter."

"That attitude will keep you on probation forever."

"I need you," Vera said. "You... can make money... can understand things other people can't. You'll help me make plans... help me solve problems... if you die, I might not have anything to eat... you... you promised to treat me."

Gordon watched her struggle to find reasons.

"You're smiling." She was unhappy. "Why?"

"Leave once you've fully recovered."

"All right." Vera thought that was an excellent reason.

"Then, Miss Vera Cateret, could we start this long-term living arrangement by following the doctor's orders?" Gordon said.

"...Mm," Vera said softly.

Gordon secured the last wrap of Vera's bandage with a square knot that would not restrict her circulation.

She felt much better.

Then Gordon opened the boat's storage compartment.

Inside was the tin chest Vera had asked about before they set off, the one he had not explained.

Gordon undid its brass clasp.

Inside sat neat rows of sealed tins of beef, mackerel in oil, candied fruit, small round biscuits, and glass bottles of concentrated meat stock.

Everything was sealed, and every tin bore an elegantly printed, ornate label from the Gediao Brand food company.

Vera's gaze locked onto the tins.

She had not expected Gordon to have prepared all this.

Gordon pried open a tin of beef with his hunting knife, and warm vapor fragrant with fat and spices rose into the cold rain.

"I'm not hungry," Vera said, though her right hand had already accepted it quite naturally.

"If you're hungry, eat."

"I'm just checking... food safety." Vera gave the tin a shake.

"It has severe side effects, chiefly a desire to eat more after finishing," Gordon said.

At last, she stopped hesitating and ate in great mouthfuls.

After finishing, she went still for a moment.

Contentment.

"Your source substance... seems out of balance," Gordon said. "It needs treatment."

"..." Vera sat a little straighter.

In the past, people had only called her "troublesome," but Gordon earnestly treated her as a patient.

"If you use too much, you have to drink twice as much suppressant, and as far as I know, the suppressant is also a neurotoxin. It'll ruin your brain. So you need to recuperate and do nothing," Gordon said.

A trace of genuine bewilderment finally appeared on Vera's face.

Do nothing.

By then, the little boat was almost back in the city.

The city air made people free. Mist rose from the river, and the noise grew.

Boatmen cursed beneath the bridges, drunken, off-key singing drifted from alleys, and theaters and taverns still glittered late into the night.

Gordon sat at the bow.

Tucked against his chest was the Aberrant's faint source substance, "Failed birth." Beside him lay a bag of Aberrant materials that could be sold for money, along with Harold's notebook full of secrets.

One student, one wounded woman, and a boatload of loot.

It was hardly a successful man's homecoming, but it did qualify as entrepreneurship, Lundenim-style.

"...How did we end up here, anyway?" Vera said softly.

"If we're talking about how it started..." Gordon shrugged. "I couldn't afford my student loan payments, so I had to take up Demon Hunting on the side."

A simple reason, with clear logic.

Perhaps because of the mermaid, it was raining in the city too.

They went ashore at Flowercrown Pier in the East District. It was a fifteen-minute walk to 9 Knights Road, a distance they could still manage.

Gordon supported Vera.

Half her weight rested on him, and her hand stayed on her sword hilt. If anyone approached, she would immediately turn them from a "suspicious person" into a "deceased person."

Just then, a series of orderly footsteps sounded from the other end of the pier.

Leather boots splashed through water, brass buckles clinked, and the yellow beams of bull's-eye lanterns swayed.

The man in front also wore the octagonal badge of the Aberrant Affairs Bureau.

Constables.

And the Aberrant Affairs Bureau.

Gordon and Vera crossed the street unobtrusively.

"Looking for us?" Vera frowned.

She was not afraid of Aberrants, only investigators from the Aberrant Affairs Bureau.

"Doesn't look like it. If they were here to arrest us, their faces ought to show the joy of spotting a bounty." Gordon glanced over.

These people looked preoccupied and hurried, escorting a stretcher through the pouring rain.

A human-shaped corpse lay on the stretcher, too heavily covered to make out clearly.

Rain would only wet the surface, but this corpse looked as though it had been dredged from the river. Water kept dripping from the edges of the white sheet.

Gordon tried to hear what they were saying.

"...In the middle of the night..."

"...You said... over at the Bureau..."

"...How does someone drown in their own home..."

The last sentence drifted through the curtain of rain and caught Gordon's attention.

The lead investigator suddenly turned his head.

A moment too late. Gordon and Vera had already vanished around the corner.

"Sounds like someone drowned in their own home," Gordon said.

"?" Vera looked down at the ground, then around her. There was no sign of flooding.

"Definitely strange." Gordon shrugged. "Which puts it higher on their list than us."

"They'll still investigate Lace Pumping Station," Vera said.

"Yes. That explosion was loud enough to wake every shepherd and farmer within miles. Someone will certainly go there after dawn. But that has nothing to do with us anymore," Gordon said.

"Will they trace it back to us?" Vera asked.

"You're a licensed hunter. And there's an Esoteric Cult ritual, Aberrant remains, and a clam shell with a hole in it there. They'll investigate the deceased, the Esoteric Cult, the Aberrant, the pumping station's former operator, and whoever sold the clam shell. We're only sixth on the list."

Only then did Vera relax.

After a little more walking, Gordon finally saw the outline of 9 Knights Road.

The Hopkins dental clinic on the ground floor had already turned out its lights. The handsome model teeth in its display window greeted Gordon.

[Dental teaching model. A reminder to brush your teeth daily.]

Only then did he feel a rare measure of ease. He went upstairs, took out his key, and slipped it into the lock to open the door.

As soon as the door opened, the lingering warmth inside washed over them.

The dark brown dining table, two empty cups, and the blue-and-white checked tablecloth Charlotte had picked out.

Vera scanned the room and found no threats.

Once the door was shut, the rain became inaudible, and a sense of safety welled up.

"Time to rest," Gordon urged.

"I can keep watch."

"Even if there are enemies, all they'll find is an exhausted idiot sitting inside the door, short on blood and still convinced she's intimidating."

Vera glared at Gordon.

A second later, she yawned.

At that moment, her body declared independence and said not to listen to her brain.

With no other choice, Vera returned to the bedroom, lay on her back on the little bed, and sank into sleep almost immediately.

After a good night's rest, Sunday morning came.

Vera opened her eyes, feeling light all over and wonderfully comfortable.

She noticed that Gordon had changed her dressings that morning.

Her bloodstained coat and soaked boots had also been removed. No wonder she felt dry and warm.

She had not even woken. Perhaps she had slept too deeply, or perhaps Gordon had been exceptionally careful while tending to her.

A faint warmth of gratitude stirred in Vera's heart. She got out of bed barefoot, then followed the smell of coffee into the living room.

Gordon was busy beside the little iron stove. A coffee pot sat on top, sending wisps of white steam from its spout.

"Sit down." Gordon poured Vera a cup of coffee.

"I don't have time to rest."

"We need to have a serious talk about that bullshit."

"All hunters are like this."

"Starting today, you're not allowed to use 'all hunters are like this' to justify behavior that'll get you killed for nothing."

"Arf, arf..." Vera grumbled in her own way, then lowered her head to drink her coffee.

"Next, let's take stock of the good stuff." Gordon cleared the tabletop and emptied a bag of spoils onto it.

A pile of Aberrant materials spilled out, including assorted cartilage, glands, coral, and shells. They had no idea what any of it was for, but it could be sold to specialist buyers.

"These will be worth money." Vera nodded quietly.

"This is worth money too." Gordon took out Harold's notebook. "Knowledge-based loot. Usually worth more than seafood-based loot."

Gordon opened it and read a few passages at random to Vera.

The notebook's contents were a jumble. Harold had begun writing when he decided to shed his clam shell and blend into human society, describing how he endured dry skin, ringing ears, and other people's humiliation. From the beginning, he had never regarded himself as human.

Among these ramblings, Harold had drawn plenty of illustrations, mostly highly precise sketches of shells, lungs, and brains. They were in his style.

Gordon turned to the chapter on the Montfort Family. Harold had quite a few complaints about them.

The cold-blooded earl, the arrogant Charlotte, the ill-tempered butler... Harold had wanted to kill them all for a long time.

"He hated everyone," Vera said.

"More than that." Gordon turned farther ahead. "He wrote, 'Coming ashore was nothing but one long misunderstanding.'"

"What does that mean?" Vera asked.

"It means he thought evolving into an Ape God had done him a disservice," Gordon said.

"Arf?"

Gordon flipped onward, skimming the ravings, complaints, and drawings, until he finally found a line of almost transparent writing.

"...In twenty years, we shall sink beneath the Blackwater River and reunite in the Sea Where the Stars Sink. To pay homage to the Fisher King," Gordon said.

"What's the Fisher King?" Vera asked.

"Hopefully a fish product," Gordon said. "And the 'Sea Where the Stars Sink.' Sounds like an overdecorated seafood restaurant."

"Terrifying."

"Yes," Gordon said. "I can accept smuggling routes, Esoteric Cult hideouts, and Aberrant nests beneath Lundenim. But if this place also connects to a mysterious realm called the 'Sea Where the Stars Sink,' I'll have to consider learning to swim."

Then Gordon unfolded a map of Lundenim's underground waterways.

It looked a little like the one in Old Baz's lair and was useful for understanding Lundenim's underground world. It covered half the dining table.

Its contents were intricate, and there was no way to work out the meaning of every marking in a short time. Lace Pumping Station was merely one inconspicuous node among them.

Vera only checked 9 Knights Road in the East District. Seeing that the nearest underground entrance was two blocks away, she nodded.

If any fishmen poked their heads out there, she would make sure they learned that coming ashore really was a tremendous misunderstanding.