Chapter 143: Informant Fee

Chapter One Hundred Forty-Three
Informant Fee

Cough, cough!

Mike Joseph took out his handkerchief, covered his mouth, and coughed several times.

The fog in the Factory Borough was thicker than elsewhere. Gray mixed with yellow in midair, as though dust floated within it. From time to time, it gave off a choking, pungent smell so sharp that even a reporter already accustomed to Backlund’s air could barely endure it.

He turned his head toward Klein, who was likewise coughing softly, and said, “I have always supported the government in forming the Kingdom Atmospheric Pollution Investigation Committee, and supported the establishment of alkali inspectors. But only today do I understand that the problem is already this severe.”

“If effective measures are not taken, it may one day brew into a tragedy,” Klein said, trying hard to clear his blocked nose.

Perhaps one day all of Backlund will be shrouded in fog with visibility no greater than five meters, and an evil god may descend—or be born—in just such a scene…

He silently added that line.

Old Kohler did not quite understand their conversation. He cleared his throat, thick with phlegm, and led the reporter and detective around the guards, slipping into a lead-white factory.

Most of the workers here were women. They busied themselves without the slightest protective measures, while obvious dust pervaded the workshop.

Watching those “tiny particles” suspended and drifting in the air, Klein felt as though he were looking at poison gas. The young women without masks looked to him like lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

In that instant, he seemed to have returned to Tingen, to the process of helping Sir Deweyville deal with resentments.

He seemed to already see the future of each worker here. Some would suffer throbbing headaches. Some would have blurred vision. Some would become hysterical. Some would develop blue lines on their gums. In the end, they would either go blind or quickly die.

This is like a large-scale, bloody sacrificial ritual. The only thing being offered to is the glittering symbol of money… If evil cult organizations like the Aurora Order or the Rose School of Thought can make good use of similar things, just as Lanevus did, the problem will be enormous…

Klein covered his mouth and nose, silently watching.

Mike Joseph, meanwhile, whispered in shock and anger, “How can this be?”

“How can they do this?”

“Every newspaper and magazine recently discussed lead poisoning at length. Yet they did not make the slightest effort to protect them?”

“They cannot even spare a mask?”

“These factory owners are committing murder!”

He truly is a reporter with a sense of justice. Though he is not young, rather stingy in style, and very good at acting, he still keeps his original conscience… But how does he know so much about lead poisoning? Right. I nearly forgot. I had Sir Deweyville widely publicize the harms of lead poisoning through newspapers and magazines… Looks like he did rather well. But for some people, if a few lower-class untouchables die, what does it matter? There are plenty waiting for work opportunities!

With a heavy heart, Klein thought this silently.

As a veteran reporter, Mike did not lose his reason. After quietly observing and questioning several workers changing shifts, he left the lead-white factory.

Afterward, they entered one factory after another, until the filthy environments inside and the exhausting intensity of the labor left them without any mood to speak.

Approaching noon, Klein suddenly noticed quite a few people gathered outside a factory ahead. Most were women. They were shouting something excitedly and trying to rush inside.

“What happened?” Mike asked Old Kohler in confusion.

Old Kohler also looked bewildered.

“I’ll go ask.”

He jogged to the outside of that factory and blended into the crowd. Several minutes passed before he returned to Klein and Mike.

“They want to smash those new machines!” Old Kohler panted and stated the key point first.

“Why?” Mike had not previously been responsible for similar news, so he knew little about it. Klein, however, had vaguely guessed the reason.

Old Kohler pointed toward the factory and said, “This is a textile factory. They plan to switch to the newest type of spinning and weaving machines, and the number of workers needed to operate them will be reduced too. It seems—it seems they said—they are going to dismiss one-third of the workers!

“Those women want to smash the machines and take back their work. Otherwise—otherwise they may not be able to live, or they can only go become street girls.”

Mike’s mouth opened. Judging from the shape of it, he seemed about to say “foolish,” but in the end, he said nothing. He only watched silently from where he stood, not even moving closer.

“Let us go back. My investigative interviews are more or less complete,” Mike said with a sigh after a very long while.

The three of them immediately turned and headed out of the Factory Borough, silent all the way.

When they were about to part, Mike glanced at Klein and said in a low voice, “Tell me. If the lead-white factories that do not provide protection are closed down, or their owners brought to court, would those female workers still be able to find other jobs?”

Klein thought seriously for a moment before answering, “If only a few are closed, the problem would not be too large. But some women might endure hunger and cold while looking for other work, gradually losing even their capacity to labor, because they have no savings at all.

“If too many are closed at once, and combined with those who passively lose work after the adoption of new textile machines, then it will become a disaster.”

In the Factory Borough of Backlund alone, there may be thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, of unemployed workers. They will have no food or clothing. They will wander the streets like living corpses, or lower their wage demands and compete for other workers’ livelihoods… Who knows how many people across the East Borough will die from it, or live in even greater misery. It will be a scene like hell. Even if this world had no supernatural powers, it would bring enormous disaster. And now, every evil god is watching from the darkness, waiting…

Klein swallowed many words back down.

Mike became silent once more. After paying the remuneration of ten pounds and six soli, he boarded a carriage and left the Factory Borough, where thick smoke rose everywhere.

Klein watched the carriage go away and remained silent for a long while.

Back when he had been a Nighthawk, he had understood and come into contact with the poor, but never had the impression been as deep as this time.

A comprehensive, three-dimensional observation had presented an abyss of humanity whole before his eyes.

The East Borough is truly hiding danger and fire everywhere. If one is not careful, some evil cult organization may ignite it…

Klein pondered for several seconds, then said, “Kohler, I would like to ask you to help me keep an eye on the situation in the East Borough—all aspects of it. Mm, outside of your working hours.

“I will pay you, so you have money to build relationships with other workers. Every week, at a fixed time, we will meet at the café from before.”

Old Kohler’s eyes instantly lit up.

“No problem!”

He did not mention a price, fully trusting this kindhearted detective.

After considering briefly, Klein said, “Each time we meet, I will give you fifteen soli as expenses and payment. If the information you provide satisfies me, there will be an additional five soli reward.”

“One pound?” Old Kohler blurted out in astonishment.

During the warmest, happiest period of his life, his weekly salary had only been twenty-one soli—that is, one pound and one soli.

“Yes.” Klein nodded. “Pay attention to your words and actions. Do not rush too much to gather information. Maintain a state of asking little and listening more. Otherwise, you will face a certain degree of danger.”

In theory, informant fees like this are reimbursable. Unfortunately, right now I am a five-pence-party member who even brings his own rations…

Klein laughed, half sighing, half mocking himself.

…

Queen’s Borough, inside Earl Hall’s luxurious villa, in the study belonging solely to Miss Audrey.

The blonde, blue-eyed young lady was listening to her psychology teacher, Miss Islant, while from time to time stroking the large golden retriever, Susie, crouched beside her.

Islant Osisleka, whose black hair reached her waist, noticed that the dog seemed to be listening very seriously as well. Unable to help herself, she smiled and paused for two seconds.

Then she continued, “At present, there is no absolute orthodox theory in psychology. Several schools exist, such as the psychoanalytic school, the personality analysis school, and behavioral psychology.

“Of course, research into the mind and the spirit is not carried out only by psychologists and psychiatrists. Many specialists in the field of mysticism are also doing similar work. Among them, the most famous are—heh, apologies, I have strayed from the textbook. Let us return to the previous topic and first discuss the theoretical foundations of the psychoanalytic school.”

Audrey clearly heard the other party’s intention to entice her. Feigning ignorance and curiosity, she asked, “Teacher, I am more interested in the mysticism field’s research into psychology.

“You know, I am very interested in that.”

Islant pressed her lips together and faintly furrowed her brows, saying with some difficulty, “But that involves certain oaths of confidentiality. I mean, those theories, those research circumstances, belong to the secrets of certain mysticism circles and are only circulated internally.”

“Is that so… Then—then can I join?” Audrey asked expectantly. “They should not involve anything evil, should they?”

“Ha, how could that be? They are merely discussion meetings organized by enthusiasts.” After saying that much, Islant took the initiative to shift the topic. “We can talk about this matter later. Let us continue the lesson first.”

She knows how far to go and when to stop. She proceeds one step at a time. If this is the general quality of Psychology Alchemist members, then I do not need to worry too much about them being filled with lunatics and perverts like Mr. A…

Audrey deliberately revealed some reluctance to leave that topic, but remained well-mannered as she began listening to the theoretical foundation of psychoanalysis.

When the lesson ended and Islant had been seen off, Audrey returned to the study, carefully closed the heavy wooden door, and said to the golden retriever, “Susie, what do you think of her?”

“She is not sincere!” Susie answered directly.

Then she tilted her head.

“However, what she teaches is very interesting. I think it is even more interesting than meat and biscuit snacks!”

Susie, do you want to become a psychiatrist in the future? A specialist treating psychological illnesses in animals? For example, that horse at Glaint’s house that may have depression…

Audrey suddenly fell deep into thought, considering whether she should prepare a specially made white coat and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses for Susie, so she would look more professional.