Investigator

Percy steeled himself and went to open the windows for ventilation.

Gordon told his classmates to step back a little.

Then he asked Peter to fetch a rubber tube.

Finally, Gordon made a small incision beneath the organ Charlotte had said would swell, inserted the tube, and connected the other end to a gas collection bottle controlled by a valve.

He slowly fed the tube farther in. The contours inside the Rabid Demon's corpse, the changes in air pressure, the resistance against the advancing tube... layer after layer of information reached his nerves.

Though he could not see, he could guide the tube precisely into the Rabid Demon's chest cavity.

It was like venturing into a coal mine without a lamp, relying only on drafts and echoes to find the way forward.

Most of the students saw only Gordon pushing a tube into the corpse. Only Winslow recognized that the tube was probing for the point of highest pressure in the chest cavity.

Gordon stopped and opened the gas collection bottle's brass valve.

Hiss...!

The big dog barked!

A shrill rush of escaping gas erupted, almost like a factory whistle announcing the start or end of a shift.

Cloudy gas laden with tar surged into the collection bottle. Within seconds, the whole bottle looked as black as a lung with terminal cancer, and it began shaking violently. Peter needed both hands to hold it down.

The students in the front row leaned closer. At the sight, they wiped cold sweat from their foreheads, and several girls recoiled in fright.

If Percy had cut into it just now, that high-pressure corpse gas would have blasted straight into their faces, mixed with rotting tissue.

Their faces would have ended up as black as their uniforms.

Only after draining all that foul gas from the Rabid Demon did Gordon wave magnanimously.

"Go ahead, Percy," Gordon said.

"Thank you for your permission," Percy said through gritted teeth.

"You're welcome."

Percy opened the chest cavity with bone forceps. His movements were precise and efficient.

Gordon watched from the side.

Interesting. Gordon noticed that its lungs were severely deformed and enlarged. Besides the normal lobes, it had an extra set of "accessory lungs" that normal animals lacked, stained pitch-black by tar and forming a thin shell.

Any normal animal that developed like this would have died long ago.

But this was an Aberrant.

Coal smoke, searing flames, and factories... this Aberrant had grown up in a harsh industrial environment.

Coal smoke had damaged its lungs, causing accessory lungs to grow. The vocal sac in its throat had developed to produce faint sounds that would draw the attention of workers getting off their shifts. Like the Deepclaw Demon, it had evolved powerful forelimbs to crawl through cramped spaces.

Perhaps it had originally been an ordinary dog, transformed into an Aberrant by its extreme environment.

Gordon could not help connecting it to Vera's condition.

Environment shaped life.

If the Rabid Demon were placed somewhere without flames or industry, would the abnormality inside it gradually fade?

Could it eventually become an ordinary dog again?

Just as he had eased Vera's source substance symptoms.

Though the spark of civilization had started with seven plus eight, its direction was clearly right.

"Found it... this thing really is an Aberrant. You wouldn't find something like this inside a dog's belly." Percy dug an abnormal gland out of the center of the Rabid Demon's chest cavity.

It was dark red, covered in charred black markings, and glowed faintly in Gordon's eyes.

[Combustion gland. Its energy is nearly depleted.]

"If this Aberrant had been left to wreak havoc a little longer," Winslow concluded, "it might have developed a true source substance."

"In that case..." John, one of the students, adjusted his glasses. "...should the factory have let it keep hurting people? If a source substance formed inside it, wouldn't it be worth more?"

John regretted the question a little as soon as he asked it. It was an uncomfortable subject.

Yet everyone in the class began turning the idea over in their minds.

Source substance meant wealth and power. If the price was merely a few people being bitten to death...

"Yes, it would be worth more." Winslow calmly confirmed that assessment. "In principle, source substance can indeed emerge in extreme environments, and natural science does not make moral decisions. But I hope my students understand one basic point: humans pursue source substance to make human lives better. If you treat other people as an expendable price merely to obtain source substance, prepare yourselves to become someone else's expendable price someday."

Everyone quietly committed that to memory.

The bell rang, and everyone felt a weight lift from their shoulders.

Some immediately took off their gloves and aprons, while others went to find their train tickets home. This was the last class before the Rescue Festival holiday.

"You may leave if you wish, but don't forget: I'll be collecting your reports on today's autopsy in our first class after the holiday," Winslow said.

The students let out a chorus of groans, then reluctantly returned to record all their observations of the big dog.

Gordon was still thinking about the Rabid Demon when Winslow called him over again.

"Gordon," he said, "do you know why I asked you to supervise the other students?"

"Because I'm brilliant and handsome, and possess a certain leadership quality that, despite my best efforts to conceal it, you perceptively discovered," Gordon said.

"No."

Winslow rejected that remarkably quickly, as though he had anticipated Gordon's answer.

"Peter couldn't manage everything by himself."

"Not that either," Winslow said unhurriedly.

"Then it's because I..."

"I lend you books in private, give you samples, and let you participate in experiments. Those are things only you and I know about. But sooner or later, you'll have to act and speak on my behalf, and even publish papers," Winslow interrupted.

"Understood." Gordon nodded. "First, I have to establish myself as Winslow's star pupil."

"More or less." Winslow nodded in agreement.

"But I get the feeling there's another reason..."

"Of course," Winslow said. "Someone came to the university today looking for a useful recruit. I needed to see how several of my students performed before deciding whom to recommend."

"Who?"

"Ah... here he is."

Gordon followed Winslow's gaze.

Before long, a man in an all-black trench coat, wearing an octagonal badge and looking as cold and impassive as a corpse, arrived in the classroom. Every student abruptly stopped talking.

An Investigator from the Aberrant Affairs Bureau.

Gordon still remembered how, during the Water Monkey incident at the old mansion, the butler had desperately resisted having anyone from the Bureau of Affairs come to inspect the place.

And now an Investigator stood before Gordon.

He considered it for a moment. This probably was not about his blowing Harold to pieces or tearing down the pumping station.

What concerned them more was... the Blackwater River.

And Gordon had plenty of information about the Blackwater River, from the Esoteric Cult and Deepclaw Demons to mermaids. If he laid everything out, it would give someone enough to investigate for a lifetime.

"Welcome." Gordon stepped forward.

The newcomer did not offer a handshake.

"Martin Holt." Investigator Martin took out a notebook.

[Aberrant Affairs Bureau Record Book. Records your every word and action.]

"I'm Gordon Vick."

"You said you wanted to examine what your students were really made of." Martin turned to Winslow.

"I originally thought you would arrive partway through the class," Winslow said. "Now you'll have to rely on my account."

"I inspected the university's safety measures on the way." Martin glanced at the opened Aberrant corpse. "I see you arranged an autopsy."

"Yes," Winslow said. "Since you're looking to recruit trainee Investigators, I wanted to assess everyone's potential. A comprehensive practical exercise often reveals each student's disposition and habits."

Recruiting trainee Investigators.

Gordon's interest stirred.

So this canine corpse had been an exam paper. Everything had been a test.

The professor was far too sneaky. He had said nothing, simply wanting to see what everyone was worth.

Fortunately, Gordon had not messed around earlier and had completed the autopsy properly.

"Gordon Vick released the pressure in the Rabid Demon's chest, preventing a laboratory accident. John Seymour recorded all the information about the monster. Charlotte Montfort discovered the vocal sac in its neck. And Mr. Percy Graham opened the Aberrant's chest cavity and found the abnormal organ," Winslow summarized.

Those whose names had been mentioned stopped packing their things and pricked up their ears to listen to the conversation.

"Peter Gershkovich." Martin turned to Peter. "I hear you're responsible for the department's day-to-day logistical work. What do you think of these students?"

"Gordon is bold and can handle things on his own. Really, he can take care of everything himself. Nobody needs to worry about him." Peter began with a few good words for Gordon. "John works hard both in his studies and his daily life. Percy buys all his own consumables. And Miss Montfort is also a university student."

Charlotte's expression froze.

Martin silently ranked them in his mind.

Winslow beckoned, and the students came over.

"...I originally came because I read a paper the professor published in a journal," Martin said. "A paper describing the effects of precipitates on Deepclaw Demons. It mentioned that someone had reached a conclusion before the professor, but did not explicitly name that contributor."

Ah, that short communication has been published, Gordon thought.

In the future, anyone researching why a Deepclaw Demon would be attracted to a drop of water would first come across this little record by Gordon and Winslow.

He really had made it into academic history.

"Gordon, do you have anything to explain?" Winslow asked.

"I'm the contributor who preferred to remain anonymous," Gordon said modestly. "I stumbled upon the truth in the course of making repeated mistakes, and ultimately decided to dedicate my academic findings to the professor."

Martin studied Gordon.

A cheap coat, an ordinary uniform, but bright, keen eyes.

"I don't need someone modest. Winslow described you as perceptive," Martin said.

"You could say that," Gordon said.

Martin took out a slender sample bottle with sealing wax covering its mouth.

Inside were only a few milliliters of cloudy water. Coal-gray flocculent matter had settled at the bottom, and an oily sheen floated on the surface.

Gordon could even see a familiar trace of spiritual luster. He knew this stuff as well as he knew the cafeteria soup.

The faint glow inside the mutated fish, the river water extracted during Harold's ritual, and the presence the Living Water Compass would track.

Some kind of water-aspect spirituality.

"This sample was taken from the lungs of a drowning victim found ashore on Aston Street," Martin said. "The deceased was in a third-floor bedroom. The doors and windows were intact, and there was no water source in the room large enough to submerge him."

Gordon stared intently.

[Waste liquid. A byproduct of low-temperature coking.]

[Foam. A product of fermented blood, grease, and excrement. Which department should take responsibility has yet to be determined.]

[Brown algae. Endured pollution for years, but finally died of sheer indignation.]

The other students leaned in for a look and offered a few assessments.

"It looks filthy," Percy said. "Was there a dirty water tank near the deceased's residence?"

"Yes," Martin said simply.

"It has a sort of... tar-like quality," John said. "Like industrial wastewater."

"But there aren't many factories near Aston Street. At least, none that would make the domestic water supply this dirty," Charlotte said.

"Perhaps the water tank hadn't been cleaned for a long time. Airborne pollution settled in it, and then animal carcasses rotted inside," John added.

"There are patches of brown algae in it." Peter stared at the sample. "They need sunlight to grow, and household water tanks have lids."

"Confirming its origin would require three days of sedimentation analysis," Winslow concluded.

"Gordon Vick?" Martin looked at him. "How long would you need?"

"I can tell you now," Gordon said. "It only depends on whether you're willing to answer a question."