Fontel and Wiggins left 2 Kirk Street.
Twenty gold notes now lay on the table in the séance room, along with a seemingly unlimited promise.
Of course, Arthur only tucked the money into his wallet.
As for that promise?
He would never take it seriously.
Perhaps Wiggins would be perfectly willing to help him with a little trouble, but if his life were truly at stake, Arthur would count himself lucky if the man didn't sell him out.
In fact, even dealing with too many minor problems would leave the man resentful.
As for his current fear?
That would fade with time. He was scared to death now, but what about a month later? Six months? A year?
Humans were forgetful creatures.
That was true when it came to fear.
And even more so when it came to gratitude.
If you lacked self-awareness and believed others owed you gratitude, you could suffer terribly-even have your scalp torn off, with that day becoming a holiday for those who scalped you.
Arthur knew all this.
So he wouldn't take it seriously. He would only build a relatively close relationship with Wiggins through mutual interests.
Simply put, each would get what he needed.
If only there really were such things as contracts!
Arthur sighed inwardly.
He didn't need anything like a slave contract. A simple party contract that ensured mutual trust would be an excellent choice.
With these thoughts in mind, Arthur smiled as he saw Scott to the door.
Unlike Fontel and Wiggins, Scott could be considered a friend-a friend Arthur relied on heavily at this stage.
After all, most of the XP he earned required Scott's help.
"The first two of the three special editions will go out this afternoon and tonight, and the third tomorrow morning. I can't wait to see everyone's reactions!"
Scott spoke with excitement written all over his face.
"I believe this is something the people of South Los will still relish talking about ten or twenty years from now. They'll know me, Arthur Credos, the 'spirit medium,' and they'll remember you even more-the great reporter Scott."
Arthur spoke with complete sincerity.
And that sincerity rubbed off on Scott.
The young reporter clenched his fist excitedly and gave Arthur his assurance.
Arthur smiled and reminded him.
"Remember, tonight."
"Leave everything to me!"
The young reporter nodded vigorously, assured Arthur, then ran toward West Merck Avenue, where it would be easier to hail a carriage.
Only after Scott's figure had disappeared completely did Arthur close the door.
He was getting ready to go out, too.
He was going to have lunch.
After Dokuler's malicious visit, exposing Sheriff Lark as the "Axe Murderer," discussing the special editions with Scott, and dealing with the incidental business involving Fontel and Wiggins, it was already well past lunchtime.
He was certain Malinda Julius Caesar would never choose lunchtime to have her coachman deliver her real token of thanks.
Carrying his spirit medium's case and wearing his top hat, Arthur walked along Kirk Street toward West Merck Avenue.
According to his predecessor's memories, several decent restaurants had recently opened on West Merck Avenue. Their chefs supposedly all came from the Inner Bay, and perhaps their food would meet the requirements for earning XP.
Kirk Street had originally stretched a full six hundred meters during the imperial era. But after the empire faded into the glory of the past and the Seven Years' War came and went, less than two hundred meters remained, wedged between Dar Alley and West Merck Avenue. Even so, it remained the first choice for South Los's middle class.
That wasn't just because it was close to the bustling West Merck Avenue, but also because the road was easy to walk on.
The empire had put considerable effort into its roads back then. Though time had left the curbstones uneven and opened gaps in many places, it was still far better than most roads, which were dusty on sunny days and muddy when it rained.
Indeed, West Merck Avenue had appeared here precisely because it had taken over most of the original Kirk Street.
Arthur rose onto his toes to step over one rain-filled gap after another. He kept walking, but a two-wheeled food cart with an awning caught his eye.
It wasn't merely because its red-and-white-striped awning stood out against the street's otherwise gloomy colors. In his predecessor's memories, there had been no food cart at this spot.
Newly opened?
They picked a good spot!
The food should taste good, too!
Smelling the rich aroma of meat, Arthur praised it inwardly.
The cart stood just where Kirk Street met West Merck Avenue. Whether people were heading from Kirk Street to West Merck Avenue or strolling along the avenue itself, they would notice it. The rich smell of fried meat was the best signpost of all.
Arthur stopped in front of the cart and looked at the little blackboard standing before it-
Aivor's mobile snack stall (traditional family recipes)
Fried meat (3 zero-sols)
Fried fish (2 zero-sols)
Grilled pineapple (5 zero-sols)
Special 1: Marmite sandwich (6 zero-sols each)
Special 2: Cupcake (8 zero-sols each)
Special 3: Orange juice (1 zero-sol per cup, plus a 1-zero-sol cup deposit)
The prices would deter most commoners, but compared with dining in the restaurants on West Merck Avenue, they were extremely cheap. That all but guaranteed good business here in the future.
Arthur looked curiously at the owner.
He was a fat man in a clean chef's uniform, smiling warmly and looking thoroughly approachable. Noticing Arthur's gaze, he immediately greeted him.
"What can I get you, sir?"
"Twenty percent off everything for our grand opening!"
Arthur glanced over the fried meat, fried fish, grilled pineapple, Marmite sandwiches, cupcakes, and orange juice. Without wasting words, he took out 2 sols.
"One of each."
He wasn't being greedy.
He just wanted to taste them.
Like sampling a little dessert before a proper meal.
He had indeed inherited his predecessor's memories, but the images in those memories couldn't convey the actual flavors.
That vague, intangible experience could never compare with the feeling of putting real food in his mouth.
Besides, in the past, Old Charlie had kept their meals out to a bare minimum to preserve the mystery surrounding the "spirit medium." Most of the food in the Credos household had been Old Charlie's cooking.
His predecessor had been curious about the delicacies outside.
So was Arthur.
Looking at the 2 sols Arthur offered, Aivor smiled even more broadly, until his eyes narrowed to slits.
He hadn't expected such a promising start on his very first day.
After taking the money, the fat owner immediately began preparing Arthur's food.
The fried fish and meat were fresh from the pan. He brushed another layer of syrup onto the grilled pineapple, picked the largest Marmite sandwich, chose a cupcake covered in icing with none missing around the edges, and provided two cups of orange juice.
"This one's on the house!"
The fat owner smiled as he pointed at one of the wooden cups of orange juice.
"Thank you."
Arthur thanked him and stepped to one side of the stall, planning to finish everything before heading onto West Merck Avenue. After all, the wooden cups weren't free; they required a deposit.
Besides, carrying this food into a restaurant would invite unnecessary trouble. Arthur didn't want anyone mistaking him for someone looking to cause a scene.
As for whether he could eat more after finishing all this?
A physique 1.6 times that of an ordinary person gave him more than strength and speed-it also gave him an excellent stomach.
Arthur believed he would have no trouble.
But the instant he put the cupcake, which had appealed to him most, into his mouth, his expression changed.
Sweet!
Far too sweet!
It was sickeningly sweet!
Almost instinctively, Arthur tried to spit out the cupcake, but a long-established habit forced him to swallow the food in his mouth.
Then, without betraying anything, he drained a cup of orange juice.
Sour!
So sour his scalp tingled!
His teeth nearly fell out!
Fortunately, Arthur had just eaten something sweet enough that the intense sourness began to counteract the cloying sweetness. Otherwise, his entire face would have contorted.
"T-to go!"
Arthur pointed at the remaining food and placed 1 zero-sol on the stall, his voice muffled. A rare, bewildered look filled his eyes, as though he were questioning everything he knew about life.
Only when he reached West Merck Avenue, carrying the food the fat owner had packed for him and standing fully in the sunlight, did Arthur come back to his senses.
Still shaken, he glanced back at the fat owner waving goodbye, then turned his head stiffly and quickened his pace.
Once he was certain the fat owner could no longer see him, Arthur placed all the food, along with the wooden cup of orange juice, into the hands of a beggar by the roadside.
Before the beggar could thank him, Arthur had already hurried toward a nearby restaurant, well aware that he was only trying to avoid wasting food and hardly deserved any gratitude.
After tasting the cupcake and orange juice, Arthur wisely decided against trying anything else, even if the remaining food looked perfectly normal.
Aivor's family recipes are truly terrifying!
I hope this place is normal!
Thinking this, Arthur examined the flower-adorned restaurant before him. It looked expensive and was also one of the newly opened establishments in his predecessor's memories. A blackboard below displayed today's chef's menu-
Welcome to the White Rose Restaurant!
Today's chef's recommendation: haggis!
Before you continue