...No one had registered under that name?
Isaac frowned, realizing things weren't so simple. "Are you sure? Well, I mean, the man I know said he lived at Amorton Manor."
"I remember everyone staying here, and there's definitely no one by that name." The old woman closed the register. "What does the person you're looking for look like?"
"He's about my age, wearing a gray trench coat, with grayish-white hair..."
"Never seen him." The old woman cut Isaac off before he could finish. "There's no young man here with hair that color."
"...Thank you." Isaac had no choice but to accept her answer. That shade of grayish-white hair was quite rare, after all. If the old woman said she hadn't seen him, and she wasn't lying, and the guy hadn't disguised himself, then he most likely really wasn't here.
That guy Carlo swore I could find him at Amorton Manor, but his name isn't in the register, and the old woman hasn't seen him either... Was he messing with me?
But what would be the point? A complete stranger spent all that time talking just to trick me into coming to an inn?
Seeing him standing there lost in thought, the old woman took out a key and set it on the counter. "Young man, you're registered. Your room is number three on the third floor."
Isaac came to his senses, thanked her, took the key, picked up his luggage, and headed for the stairs.
Though he felt like he'd been played, he had been looking for a place to stay anyway. Since he was already here, he might as well stay for now.
When he reached the stairs and was about to step up, a hand suddenly reached out from behind him and patted him on the shoulder.
Isaac immediately turned around and stepped back half a pace to put some distance between them. He lowered his body slightly, his right hand already raised to his chest, though he was still carrying his suitcase.
The man who had patted his shoulder was in his early thirties. He wore a canvas jacket with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms, and a short blade hung at his waist. He was taken aback by Isaac's reaction. "Well, quick reflexes. Had some training?"
Isaac lowered his hand. "Can I help you?"
"Don't be nervous. I just saw you spending so freely, renting a single room right off the bat. You don't look familiar either, so I figured it was your first time in a place like this." The mercenary withdrew his hand with a chuckle, glanced toward the counter, and lowered his voice. "Just a friendly warning: you'd better be careful about spending money here."
Isaac followed his gaze to the old woman behind the counter. She was still knitting her sweater, paying no attention to the commotion over here.
"Can we talk somewhere else?" The mercenary jerked his chin toward the stairs.
The mercenary leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "That old lady's running a business, so there are some things she'd never tell you. But I've been staying here for a while, and there are a few things I know."
Isaac didn't answer. The mercenary lowered his voice. "You've seen this place. It's rough sorts like us coming and going. Who cares how nice the lodgings are, as long as there's a roof over our heads? Anyone willing to pay extra for a single room wouldn't come here at all. They'd go to one of those proper inns, somewhere clean and respectable."
He paused. "So tell me, why does the manor keep those single rooms instead of turning them into shared rooms that are easier to rent out? A few more beds mean a few more paying guests. Anyone can do that math."
Isaac followed his lead and asked, "Why?"
The mercenary lowered his voice even further. "Because those single rooms... are haunted!"
After a few seconds of silence, the mercenary looked Isaac over, somewhat dissatisfied. "Why aren't you reacting?"
Probably because you look like the kind of person who'd make things up... Isaac thought to himself, but said, "How do you know?"
"I asked around. Those single rooms are all on the third floor. I heard that Lord Amorton and his family were..." The mercenary made a slashing gesture across his throat. "The whole family, young and old, died in the third-floor corridor. Ever since then, a few rooms on the third floor haven't been peaceful. People who stay in them always hear things in the middle of the night. Eventually, nobody dared go near those rooms."
"Do you have any proof of what you're saying?"
The mercenary snorted. "I'm not a detective. What proof would I have? Anyway, I just wanted to give you a friendly warning, so you don't come running out in the middle of the night scared shitless. If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do."
Isaac nodded. "Thanks for the warning. I'll go up and take a look first. I'll be careful."
Seeing his response, the mercenary shrugged and didn't try to persuade him any further. "Suit yourself. If you really can't stand staying there, sleeping on the floor in the hall downstairs is better than wasting that money. At least there are more people around."
With that, he turned and headed for the stairs, muttering as he went, "Young people these days really are fearless..."
Isaac watched the mercenary disappear around the bend in the stairs, then continued up.
The third floor was dim. Dirty curtains covered most of the windows, and only faint white light leaked in around the edges. It did look rather creepy.
Room three was halfway down the corridor. Its door was made of old wood. Isaac inserted the key into the lock, turned it once, and pushed the door open.
The room was unexpectedly tidy. A bed stood against the wall, made up with a white sheet and a thin blanket. A small table stood at the head of the bed, with a kerosene lamp on it. A wooden wardrobe stood in the corner, with a full-length mirror beside it.
Isaac set his suitcase and bedding roll beside the bed, then went to the window and tried to push it open. The frame was stuck tight, and he had to put some force into it before he could open it a crack. Air flowed in, thinning the musty smell in the room. Across the way was a row of house rooftops, with several birds pacing on the tiles.
He stood at the window for a while, thinking about the day's events: the landlord breaking their agreement, the bank robbery, the mysterious private detective, the rumors that Amorton Manor was haunted...
It had to be the most absurd day he'd ever had. Isaac rubbed his forehead, feeling as though his thoughts were in a tangled mess.
Since he had already paid and moved in, he would stay a night and see how things went. If it really was haunted, as the mercenary had said...
Isaac went back to the bed, sat down, and opened his suitcase. There wasn't much inside. He had sold off most of the things from his old dorm room secondhand; all he could keep were some clothes and a few odds and ends for daily use.
He first took out a few folded clothes to put in the wardrobe later, followed by several notebooks. As he took things out one by one, the object buried at the bottom of the suitcase came into the light.
A revolver.
It was one of the things his adoptive father Edward had left behind. As a historian who had taken part in archaeological work all over the place when he was young, Edward had far more combat experience than his academic colleagues, and even more than many mercenaries.
Though Edward had grown old and was no longer as capable as he once had been, he still had his experience. Isaac had trained in some physical combat techniques under Edward, and had now inherited the weapon Edward had once used.