After pouring some coffee, Klein returned to the armory to collect the thick stack of historical materials and lecture drafts Old Neil had compiled, then followed the gas lamps along the wall toward the stairs leading to the Blackthorn Security Company.
Tap, tap, tap. His footsteps echoed through the enclosed, deserted underground space.
Klein climbed the spiral staircase, pushed open the door, briefly got his bearings, and headed straight for the second office opposite.
After two days of familiarizing himself, he had more or less figured out the Blackthorn Security Company's layout:
Just inside the entrance was a spacious reception hall with a set of sofas, tables, and chairs. Beyond a partition lay the inner area. The three rooms on the left side of the corridor were, from nearest to farthest, Mrs. Orianna's accounting office, a lounge furnished with several sofa-like beds, and the room containing the stairs underground.
The three rooms on the right were, from nearest to farthest, Captain Dunn Smith's office, the clerical staff's office equipped with a typewriter, and the recreation room for the Nighthawks team's official members.
Klein had previously seen Leonard Mitchell playing cards with two other team members in the recreation room. He guessed they were playing Fight the Landlord. Of course, Emperor Roselle had renamed it "Fight Evil," but the rules were no different from those Klein knew.
Brett had a day off to catch up on sleep after night duty, Rozanne was at the reception desk, and Cecil Francis, who handled purchasing and requisitioning supplies while doubling as a coachman, was out as usual. When Klein pushed open the clerical office's door, all three desks inside were unoccupied, and the purely mechanical typewriter sat quietly in place.
"An Axson Company Model 1346 typewriter..." Klein murmured, having seen similar items in his mentor's office and Welch's home. He felt that the intricate control mechanism he could vaguely make out was full of mechanical beauty.
He sat down at the desk with the typewriter, considered for a while, and tried typing without paper.
At first, he kept instinctively treating it as pinyin input. Only after becoming familiar with it did he "digest" the corresponding fragments of the original owner's memories and stop making mistakes.
Clack, clack, clack!
The rhythmic tapping of the keys sounded like a hard-edged piece of music born of metal and industry. Accompanied by this melody, Klein quickly finished the funding application.
But he did not rush to see Dunn Smith. Instead, he composed himself and began carefully reading the historical materials Old Neil had provided, both reviewing and learning.
As noon approached, he stretched his neck, put away the materials, and used the drafts for his "mysticism lessons" to review and reinforce what he had learned that morning.
Only then did he pick up the "application," go to the office next door, and knock gently.
Dunn was waiting for lunch to arrive. After looking at the document Klein handed him, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
"Old Neil taught you this?"
"Yes." Klein sold Old Neil out without the slightest hesitation.
Dunn picked up his dark red fountain pen and signed with a few strokes.
"I was just about to apply to the Church and the county police department for funding for July, August, and September. I'll include yours. Once approval comes through, see Mrs. Orianna to collect it. You can collect your pendulum this afternoon."
"All right," Klein answered crisply.
Both his tone and his gaze were tinged with obvious delight.
Before taking his leave, he asked casually:
"Shouldn't the funding application for July, August, and September have been completed in June?"
Who waited until July to apply for July's funding?
Dunn fell silent for a few seconds, raised his coffee cup, and took a sip.
"We had three cases in a row in June. We were so busy, so busy that some things were forgotten."
Just what you'd expect from our forgetful captain... Realizing he had asked something he should not have, Klein gave a couple of dry chuckles and hurried out.
And so he began a simple, regular routine: half an hour of meditation early in the morning, two hours of mysticism lessons in the morning, and an hour and a half studying historical materials. After lunch, he took a short nap in the lounge to recover his energy.
Then he collected bullets and went to the "Shooting Club" to practice. Afterward, he walked to Welch's residence, which was not too far away, before taking a different route back to Iron Cross Street, saving himself one public carriage fare. If he still had time, he practiced skills such as Spirit Vision and pendulum dowsing, and bought some groceries along the way.
Inside a private chemistry laboratory fully equipped with instruments and supplies.
Tall and slender, with smooth blond hair, Audrey gazed at the cup in her hand. Countless bubbles rose within it, lending even the atmosphere a sense of tranquility.
Eventually, the liquid in the cup settled into a viscous silvery white.
"Haha, I really do have a talent for mysticism. I succeeded on my first try! I was worried I'd fail, so I prepared two whole sets of ingredients!" the girl said to herself delightedly.
She put away the various leftover ingredients she had taken from her family's treasury or obtained through exchanges with others, drew a deep breath, and prepared to close her eyes and drink the "Spectator" potion.
Just then, barking came from outside the laboratory, and Audrey immediately frowned.
She placed the cup of gently rippling silvery liquid in a dark corner, turned around, and walked to the door.
"Susie, who's here?" Audrey turned the handle and asked the large golden retriever sitting outside.
The golden retriever, Susie, wagged her tail with an eager-to-please expression, while Annie, Audrey's personal maid, appeared in the nearby corridor.
Audrey stepped out of the laboratory, pulled the door shut behind her, and looked at Annie.
"Didn't I tell you? Don't disturb me when I'm conducting chemistry experiments."
Annie answered with a troubled expression:
"But there's an invitation from the duchess, Lady Della."
"Duke Negan's wife?" Audrey took a few steps toward Annie.
"Yes. She has invited the royal baker, Miss Vivi, and would like you and your mother to come for afternoon tea," Annie explained the contents of the invitation.
Audrey puffed her cheeks almost imperceptibly.
"Tell my mother I feel dizzy. Perhaps the sunlight was too strong, and I'm a little dehydrated. Please ask her to apologize to Lady Della on my behalf."
As she spoke, she put on a weak appearance.
"Miss, it isn't just afternoon tea. It's also a literary salon," Annie added.
"But that won't cure my dizziness. I need rest," Audrey firmly refused.
At the same time, she silently muttered to herself, If you insist, I'll faint right in front of you. My etiquette teacher said I performed that movement perfectly... Did I just hear something?
"All right." Annie exhaled. "Do you need me to help you back to your room?"
"No, I'll tidy up the laboratory first." Audrey wished she could return immediately and take the potion.
Still, she restrained her impatience and watched Annie walk away before turning back toward the laboratory door.
Suddenly, she noticed that Susie, the large golden retriever who should have remained outside, was missing, and the laboratory door stood half-open.
"I forgot Susie can open doors with handles... What was that sound? Oh no!" Hearing a crisp sound from inside, Audrey suddenly made a connection and rushed into the laboratory.
What she saw was the cup shattered on the floor, and Susie licking up the last drop of silvery liquid.
Audrey froze in the doorway like a statue.
Susie immediately sat upright, looked at her owner with innocent eyes, and began wagging her tail.
Offshore from Pritz Harbor, on an island perpetually shrouded in storms, an ancient sailing ship lay at anchor in the harbor.
A man with soft yellow hair and a robe patterned with lightning looked at Alger Wilson opposite him and asked in bewilderment:
"Alger, you could easily return to the kingdom and become the captain of a Mandated Punishers team or a respectable bishop. Why choose to go to sea and become captain of the Blue Avenger?"
No additional expression appeared on Alger's rugged, sharply defined face as he answered solemnly:
"The sea belongs to the storm. This is the Lord's kingdom. I am willing to follow the Lord's will and patrol this kingdom on His behalf."
"All right." The yellow-haired man struck his chest with his fist. "May the storm be with you."
"May the storm be with you." Alger returned the customary salute.
He stood on the deck, which held only a few sailors, and watched his companion leave the ghost ship and walk farther and farther away.
"Sians, you don't understand because you don't know enough..." Alger murmured soundlessly.
Meanwhile, Audrey completed her second concoction in trepidation.
Looking at the silvery potion, which appeared no different from the previous one, she was so moved she nearly cried.
Exhaling, she drank the "Spectator" potion in small, rapid sips.
On Friday, a rainstorm struck Tingen, its pattering drops battering every window.
Inside the Blackthorn Security Company, Klein, Rozanne, and Brett sat on the reception hall's sofas, enjoying the lunch on the table.
Since there was only a stove for boiling water here, they could not heat leftovers. Klein could not eat black bread every day or take a public carriage home-otherwise, after walking from Iron Cross Street to Welch's residence that afternoon, he would have to consider paying for another ride back, which was a terrible waste of money. He therefore had no choice but to join Rozanne and his other colleagues in eating the so-called "office meals."
-Every day at half past ten, the nearby Old Weir Restaurant sent a waiter over punctually to ask how many people needed lunch. Once the number of portions was confirmed, they delivered the food at half past twelve in containers resembling lunch boxes. At three in the afternoon, they came again to ask whether anyone wanted dinner and to collect the tableware.
These "meals" included meat, vegetables, and bread. Although the portions were not particularly large, they were barely enough to fill a person up. A meal cost anywhere from seven to ten pence, with different tiers available.
Klein thickened his skin and chose the seven-pence meal every time. It generally included half a pound of oat bread, a small piece of meat prepared in various ways, a ladle of thick soup with vegetables, and a little cream or butter.
"There's actually only one Nighthawk here today..." Rozanne spooned some thick soup into her mouth.
"I heard there was a case in Golden Indus Borough involving elements of a cult, so the police department asked two Nighthawks to go over..." Brett said, putting down his bread.
Klein dipped his remaining oat bread into the last of the gravy and stuffed it into his mouth without speaking.
Inside his left cuff, a silver chain with a citrine pendant could faintly be seen wound around his wrist.
Just then, a knocking sound came from the half-open front door.
"...Come in." Rozanne paused, put down her spoon, quickly wiped her mouth with a handkerchief, and stood as she spoke.
The door was pushed open, and a man entered wearing a half top hat and a black formal suit wet over the left shoulder.
Gray at the temples and carrying a closed umbrella, he looked at Klein and the others.
"Is this the former mercenary team?"
"You could say that," Rozanne answered with practiced ease.
The tall, thin man coughed.
"I have a task I'd like to commission."