Chapter 120: The Workhouse

Chapter One Hundred Twenty
The Workhouse

“Extraordinary factors exist…”

Klein’s eyes returned to normal. He turned his head and looked toward Leonard and Frye.

Leonard suddenly laughed.

“Very professional. Worthy of a Seer.”

You sound as if you are hinting at something…

Klein muttered soundlessly.

Frye opened his suitcase and took out a silver knife and other objects. After pausing for a few seconds, he said, “The corpse tells me that she truly died from sudden heart disease… Do you have a way to divine more detailed circumstances?”

Klein nodded seriously.

“I can try combining a spirit-channeling ritual with dream divination. Hopefully, I will obtain something from the spirituality Mrs. Lorris left behind.”

Frye remained cold and restrained. He stepped back two paces.

“You try first.”

He tilted his head and glanced at Klein. Then, in a voice without the slightest fluctuation, he suddenly sighed. “You are becoming more and more accustomed to such scenes.”

I do not want to be…

Klein had the urge to cry. One by one, he took out the hydrosol, essential oil, and herbal powders he needed, quickly completing the arrangement for the spirit-channeling ritual.

Standing at the center of the wall of spirituality, he silently recited the Evernight Goddess’s honorific name and offered his prayer in Hermes.

Very soon, wind began to whirl around him, and the light grew darker and darker.

Klein’s eyes had already turned entirely black. Seizing the opportunity, he silently repeated the divination statement:

“The cause of Mrs. Lorris’s death.

“The cause of Mrs. Lorris’s death.

“…”

Standing upright, he entered a dream and “saw” a transparent spirit wandering in the blur, lingering around the corpse.

Then he extended an illusory right hand and touched the remnant spirituality Mrs. Lorris had left behind.

In an instant, light and shadows exploded before his eyes. Image after image flashed past.

A sallow, thin woman in ragged clothing busily pasted matchboxes.

She abruptly stopped and clutched her chest.

She spoke with two children.

Her body swayed slightly as she gasped for breath.

While she was on her way to buy black bread, someone suddenly patted her from behind.

Again and again, signs of trouble with her heart appeared.

She felt terribly tired, lay down on the bed, and never woke.

Klein carefully observed every detail, trying to find traces of extraordinary factors.

But when everything ended, he still had not obtained any sufficiently clear clue.

The blur and haze shattered. Klein left the dream and returned to reality.

He removed the wall of spirituality and said to Frye, who was waiting, and Leonard, who was watching as though entertained, “There was no direct symbol. Most of the images showed that Mrs. Lorris had suffered from heart disease for some time. Only one scene differed from the rest. Mrs. Lorris was patted from behind by someone. That hand was fair, delicate, and slender. It seemed to belong to a woman.”

“For families like this, unless things have become unbearable, they will not see a doctor easily. Even if they only need to queue at a free charitable medical organization, they cannot afford the time lost. If they fail to work for a day, they may have no food the next day.”

Leonard sighed with the sentimental tone of a poet.

Frye looked at the corpse on the bed and breathed out softly.

Before Klein could speak, Leonard swiftly changed states and said, as though pondering, “You mean the extraordinary factor existed in that pat Mrs. Lorris received, and came from that young lady or madam with the slender hand?”

Klein nodded.

“Yes, but that is only my interpretation. Divination is often vague.”

He and Leonard discussed it no further. Each retreated to the other side of a floor bed, allowing Frye to take out auxiliary instruments and materials from his suitcase without being disturbed so he could carry out a more thorough examination.

They waited for a while. Frye put away the various things, cleaned up, concealed the traces, and turned his head.

“The cause of death was natural heart disease. There is no doubt about that.”

Hearing that conclusion, Leonard paced back and forth several times, even reaching the door. Only after a long while did he speak.

“For now, let us stop here. We will go to the West Borough workhouse and see whether we can discover other clues, and whether the two death incidents can be linked together.”

“Mm. That is all we can do.”

Klein, restraining his bellyful of confusion, voiced his agreement.

Frye lifted his suitcase and, half walking and half hopping, stepped past the two floor beds without trampling anyone’s blankets.

Leonard opened the door and walked out first. He said to Lorris and the tenant, “You may go home now.”

After thinking briefly, Klein added, “Do not be in a hurry to bury the body. Wait another day. There may still be a more thorough examination.”

“Yes, yes, officer.”

Lorris bowed slightly and answered hurriedly. Then, half numb and half bewildered, he said, “Actually, actually I do not have money to bury her right now. I still need to save for several days. Several days. Fortunately, fortunately the weather has turned cool recently.”

Klein blurted out in astonishment, “You plan to let the corpse stay in the room for several days?”

Lorris forced out a smile.

“Mm. Fortunately, the weather has turned cool recently. At night, we can put the corpse on the table. When we eat, we can carry her back to the bed…”

Before he could finish, Frye suddenly interrupted him.

“I left the money for the burial beside your wife.”

After leaving behind those calm words, he paid no attention to Lorris’s stunned expression or the gratitude that followed. He walked quickly toward the apartment entrance.

Klein followed close behind, thinking about a question the entire time.

If the weather had still been as hot as it was in June and July, what would Lorris have done with his wife’s corpse?

Find a night dark and windy enough, then secretly throw it into the Tussock River or the Hoy River? Or dig a hole anywhere and bury it there?

Klein knew that the law requiring bodies to be buried in cemeteries had been specially formulated more than a thousand years ago, at the end of the previous epoch, by the seven Churches and the various royal families in order to reduce and eliminate water ghosts, zombies, and vengeful spirits.

The concrete implementation method was for each country to provide free land, while each Church guarded or patrolled the cemeteries. Only very small fees were charged during cremation and burial, meant to pay for necessary labor.

Yet even so, the truly poor still could not afford it.

After leaving Number 134, Iron Cross Street, Lower Street, the three Nighthawks parted from Biche Mountbatten and silently turned toward the West Borough workhouse, located on a nearby street.

They had only just drawn close when Klein saw a long line stretching away from it. It looked exactly like the great foodie nation back on Earth queuing outside a wildly popular restaurant: people pressed against people, one crowd packed into another.

“There must be over a hundred here—no, close to two hundred.”

He murmured in surprise, seeing that the people in line wore shabby clothes and numb expressions, only occasionally craning their necks anxiously toward the workhouse entrance.

Frye slowed his steps. His aura remained cold and gloomy as he said, “Every workhouse can accept only a limited number of homeless poor each day. They can only be selected according to the order of the line. Of course, the workhouse will perform checks and refuse entry to those who do not meet the conditions.”

“The poor economic situation these last few months is also a factor,” Leonard sighed.

“Those who fail to get a place can only figure something out themselves?” Klein asked subconsciously.

“They can also try their luck at another workhouse. Different workhouses open their doors at different times. But they will all have equally long lines. Some people begin waiting at two in the afternoon.”

Frye paused.

“The rest will mostly go hungry for a day. That means they lose the ability to look for work the next day, falling into a vicious cycle that leads directly toward death. Those who cannot endure it give up holding on to goodness…”

Klein fell silent for several seconds, then breathed out.

“Newspapers never print these things… Mr. Frye, I rarely hear you say this much.”

“I once served as a priest at one of the Goddess’s workhouses,” Frye answered in the same icy manner.

The three brightly dressed men reached the entrance of the West Borough workhouse without trouble. They showed their identification to the gatekeeper, who arrogantly examined those waiting in line, and were then led inside.

This workhouse had been remodeled from an old church. Inside the Mass hall, thin mattresses had been spread out, while hammocks hung above. A heavy stench of sweat mixed with foot odor filled every corner.

Inside and outside the hall, many homeless poor were present. Some swung hammers, breaking stones. Others picked thin fibers from old ropes. Not a single person was idle.

“To prevent the poor from relying on relief and turning into rogues, the Poor Law of 1336 stipulates that every poor person may remain in a workhouse for at most five days. After that, they will be driven out. During those five days, they must also work—break stones or pick oakum from ropes. Those are also required tasks for criminals in prison.”

Frye introduced the matter to Klein and Leonard without a trace of emotion.

Leonard opened his mouth. In the end, whether in sarcasm or simple statement, he said, “After leaving this workhouse, they can go to another. Of course, they may not be able to get in again… Heh. Perhaps in some people’s eyes, the poor are equal to criminals.”

“…Pick oakum?”

After a period of silence, Klein asked a question, not knowing what else he ought to ask.

“The fibers from old ropes are very good material for sealing gaps in ships,” Frye said, stopping before a patch of blackened marks on the ground.

They waited several minutes. The workhouse director and priest hurried over, both men in their forties.

“Sols set the fire here, and in the end burned only himself to death?”

Leonard pointed at the marks on the ground.

The director of the workhouse had a broad, slightly protruding forehead. He swept his blue eyes in the direction Inspector Mitchell indicated and nodded decisively.

“Yes.”

“Before that, did Sols display any abnormal behavior?” Klein added.

The director thought for a moment.

“According to those who slept beside him, Sols kept muttering things like ‘the Lord has abandoned me,’ ‘this world is too filthy and too foul,’ ‘I have nothing left.’ His words were full of resentment and despair. But no one expected him to try smashing every kerosene lamp and setting this place on fire while everyone was asleep. Thanks be to the Lord, someone discovered and stopped his evil deed in time.”

Klein and Leonard then summoned several poor people who had slept near Sols the night before, as well as the guard who had stopped the tragedy. But the answers they obtained differed little from the information in the documents.

Of course, in secret, they used spirit vision, divination, and other methods to confirm whether the others were lying.

“It seems Sols had long possessed thoughts of revenge and self-destruction. This looks like a fairly normal case.”

Leonard had the director and priest leave, then offered his opinion first.

Klein considered his wording and said, “My divination also tells me that this case was not influenced by extraordinary factors.”

“Temporarily rule out the Sols arson case,” Leonard concluded.

At that moment, Frye suddenly spoke.

“No. There is perhaps another possibility. For example, Sols might have been instigated by someone else. That person could be a Beyonder, but may not have used extraordinary methods.”

Klein’s eyes brightened at once, and he immediately agreed.

“That is possible. For example, the previous Instigator!”

Instigator Tris!

But that cannot be connected to Mrs. Lorris’s death…

He frowned faintly as the thought crossed his mind.