Chapter 20: Forgetful Dunn

Chapter Twenty
Forgetful Dunn

“Very well.”

Klein bowed slightly. He removed his not-quite-tall top hat, then placed it back on his head. His mind, meanwhile, was still busy imagining what the Sealed Artifact known as 0-08 might look like.

A quill pen that looked ordinary?

One that could write without ink?

Then what was its true function, for it to be kept so highly confidential and considered “extremely dangerous”?

Could it be a causal pen—write a person’s name and that person dies?

No. That would be too absurdly powerful. If that were true, Ince Zangwill would not have needed to flee at all…

Klein had just turned and was about to leave when Dunn Smith suddenly called to him from behind.

“Wait a moment. I forgot something.”

“What is it?” Klein turned back, his eyes filled with confusion.

Dunn put away his pocket watch and smiled.

“Remember to find Mrs. Orianna, the accountant, in a while. Take an advance on four weeks of salary—twelve pounds in total. Afterward, each week you will receive only half your salary until the advance is repaid.”

“That is too much. There is no need. It can be a smaller amount,” Klein said instinctively.

He was not opposed to an advance. After all, he did not even have the fare for the public carriage home. But to receive the enormous sum of twelve pounds all at once still made him a little frightened.

“No. It is necessary,” Dunn said with a shake of his head and a smile. “Think about it. Are you still willing to live in your current apartment? You even have to share the washroom with several households. Even if you do not consider yourself, you should consider the lady. And besides…”

Seeing Klein nod in agreement, Dunn paused. Then he looked Klein up and down, examining his clothing with a meaningful smile.

“Besides, you also need a walking cane, and you must buy a new formal suit.”

Klein froze for one second. Then realization struck him, and his face immediately grew warm.

The outfit he was wearing was indeed cheap.

Under normal circumstances, a top hat ought to be made of silk and cost five to six soli; a bow tie, three soli; a silver-inlaid cane, seven or eight soli; a shirt, three soli; trousers, waistcoat, and tailcoat, about seven pounds; leather boots, nine to ten soli. In total, a proper outfit would cost at least eight pounds seven soli. Of course, a respectable gentleman also required a watch chain, a pocket watch, and a leather wallet.

Back then, the original owner and his elder brother Benson had lived frugally and saved a sum of money. They went to a clothing shop, asked about prices, and then left dejectedly without even daring to bargain. In the end, they bought one set each from a cheap shop near Iron Cross Street for less than two pounds in total.

Because of that incident, the original owner had remembered clothing prices with extraordinary clarity.

“All—All right,” Klein answered, slightly stammering.

Like the original owner, he too was someone who cared about face.

Dunn took out his pocket watch again, snapped it open, and glanced at the time.

“Or perhaps you should go see Mrs. Orianna first. I do not know how long you will be with Old Neil. If you wait much longer, Mrs. Orianna will be going home.”

“All right.”

Klein felt the weight of poverty deeply and did not object.

Dunn walked back to the table and pulled one of the hanging cords.

Somewhere above, the cord moved, gears turned, and in the reception hall of Blackthorn Security Company, Rozanne heard the small bell beside her ring. She hurriedly stood and came carefully down the stairs.

Before long, she appeared before Klein.

Dunn Smith smiled with mild humor.

“I did not disturb your rest, did I? Mm. Take Moretti to Mrs. Orianna.”

Rozanne quietly curled her lips and answered “cheerfully,” “All right, Captain.”

“That is all?” Klein blurted in surprise at that moment.

To go to “Finance” and receive an advance on salary, did the Captain not need to approve a slip, write something down, or sign a document?

“So?” Dunn asked back, puzzled.

“I mean, to receive an advance from Mrs. Orianna, does it not require your signature?” Klein asked as plainly as he could.

“Oh. No. No need. Rozanne can prove it,” Dunn Smith replied, pointing toward the brown-haired girl.

Captain, this place’s “financial management” has almost no management in it…

Klein suppressed the urge to comment and followed Rozanne as she turned and walked out of the room.

Just then, he once again heard Dunn call out behind him.

“Wait. There is one more thing.”

Could we please say everything at once?

With a smiling face, Klein turned around.

“Please go on.”

Dunn pressed a finger to his temple.

“When you go to Old Neil, remember to collect ten Demon-hunting Bullets.”

“Me? Demon-hunting Bullets?”

Klein asked in surprise.

“Is Welch’s revolver not with you? There is no need to hand it in.”

Dunn stood with one hand in his pocket.

“With Demon-hunting Bullets, if you truly encounter something uncanny and dangerous, you can at least protect yourself. Uh… at the very least, it can give you courage.”

You did not need to add that last half-sentence…

Klein had been worrying about precisely this matter, so he answered without hesitation.

“All right. I will remember.”

“For that, I do need to write a formal document. Wait a moment.”

Dunn Smith sat down, picked up a dark-red fountain pen, and swiftly wrote a “note.” He signed his name and stamped it.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Klein accepted it sincerely.

He slowly stepped back, then turned once more.

“Wait.”

Dunn called again.

…

Captain, you look only in your thirties. Why are there already signs of premature senility?

Klein squeezed out a smile and looked back.

“Is there anything else?”

“I forgot just now that you have never practiced shooting. Even if you have Demon-hunting Bullets, they will be of little use. In that case, each day you may also collect thirty ordinary bullets. When you go out, use the opportunity to practice at the underground shooting range on Zouteland Street—Number 3. Most of that range belongs to the police department, but one area is reserved exclusively for us Nighthawks.

“Ah, right. You will also need to collect a badge from Old Neil; otherwise, you will not be able to enter the range.”

Dunn slapped his forehead, took back the “note” from Klein, added several more lines, and stamped it again.

“Good shooters are fed with bullets. Do not underestimate that.”

Dunn handed the amended paper back to Klein.

“I understand.”

Fearful of the dangers ahead, Klein wished he could go practice that very day.

He walked two steps toward the exit, then, with caution, half-turned and asked after some consideration, “Captain, is there truly nothing else?”

“No,” Dunn answered with a definite nod.

Klein breathed out in relief. He made it all the way to the doorway, fighting the entire time against the urge to turn back again and ask, Truly nothing else?

He resisted, and at last “smoothly” left the duty room.

“The Captain is always like that. He often forgets things,” Rozanne whispered beside him, cheerfully slandering Dunn. “My grandmother has a better memory than he does. Of course, he only forgets small things. Mm, small things. Klein, I will call you Klein from now on. Mrs. Orianna is a kind person and very easy to get along with. Her father was a watchmaker, very skilled…”

Listening to the brown-haired girl chatter on, Klein set foot on the stairs and returned to the upper floor. In the outermost office on the right, he met Mrs. Orianna.

She was a black-haired lady wearing a long dress with ruffled edges. She looked to be in her thirties, with fashionable curls, clear green eyes bright with laughter, and an air both delicate and refined.

After hearing Rozanne relay Dunn Smith’s arrangement, Orianna took out a memo slip and wrote an advance voucher.

“Sign here. Do you have a seal? If not, press your fingerprint.”

“All right.”

Klein completed the formalities with practiced ease.

Orianna took out a copper key and opened the room’s safe. As she counted out the gold pounds, she smiled and said, “You are quite lucky. There is enough cash today. Right, Klein, were you invited by the Captain because you were involved in a sinister incident and also happen to have a useful specialty?”

“Yes. Your intuition is very accurate, madam.”

Klein did not stint on praise.

Orianna took out four banknotes whose base color was pale gray and whose patterns were deep black. She locked the safe again and turned back with a smile.

“That is because I was the same.”

“Is that so?”

Klein showed the appropriate surprise.

“Do you know of the serial killer case that shocked all of Tingen sixteen years ago?”

Orianna handed the four gold pound notes to Klein.

“…I remember! The ‘Bloody Butcher’ who killed five young women in succession. From some he took the heart; from others, the stomach. When I was little, my mother often used that story to frighten my sister.”

Klein thought briefly before answering.

He accepted the banknotes and found that they were two five-pound notes and two one-pound notes, all with gray backgrounds, black patterns, complicated designs in the four corners, and special watermarks to prevent forgery.

The former were slightly larger. At their center was Henry Augustus I, the direct ancestor of George III and the fifth king of the Loen Kingdom. He wore a white wig, had a rounded face, long narrow eyes, and an exceptionally solemn expression. Yet to Klein’s eyes, there was an indescribable intimacy about him.

This was a five-pound note!

Equal to nearly four weeks of Benson’s salary!

At the center of the one-pound note was George III’s father, the previous king, William Augustus VI. This “Strong-willed One” had thick facial hair and resolute eyes. During his reign, the Loen Kingdom had cast off old restraints and once again reached the summit of the nations.

These were all “good kings”…

Klein faintly smelled the refreshing scent of banknote ink.

“Yes. If the Nighthawks had not arrived in time, I would have been the sixth victim.”

Even after more than ten years, a trace of lingering fear remained in Mrs. Orianna’s voice.

“From the sound of it, that serial killer—no, that butcher—was a Beyonder?”

Klein carefully folded the notes and put them into the inner pocket of his formal coat. Then he touched the area several times to confirm they were there.

“Yes,” Mrs. Orianna replied heavily. “He had killed many people before that. The reason he was caught that time was that he was preparing a demonic ritual.”

“No wonder he needed different internal organs… I am sorry, madam. I have made you recall unpleasant things.”

Klein spoke with sincerity.

Orianna gave a soft laugh.

“I stopped being afraid long ago… At that time, I was studying accounting at the business school. Afterward, I came here. Well, I will not delay you. You still need to go find Old Neil.”

“Goodbye, madam.”

Klein removed his hat in farewell and left the office. Before going down the stairs, he could not help touching his inner pocket again, confirming that the twelve pounds in banknotes were still there.

At the crossroads below, he turned right. Before long, he saw a half-open iron door.

Knock, knock, knock.

At the sound, an elderly voice from inside said, “Come in.”

Klein pushed open the iron door and discovered a narrow room that could only fit one table and two chairs.

On the other side of the room was another iron door, tightly locked. Behind the table sat an old man with graying hair and a classical black robe, reading several yellowed pages by the light of a gas lamp.

He raised his head and looked toward the door.

“You must be Klein Moretti? Little Rozanne came by just now and said you were very polite.”

“Miss Rozanne is indeed a kind person. Good afternoon, Mr. Neil.”

Klein removed his hat in greeting.

“Sit.”

Neil pointed at the tin can on the table, its surface inlaid with silver and covered in intricate designs.

“Would you like a cup of hand-ground coffee?”

His wrinkles were deep around the corners of his eyes and mouth, and his dark-red eyes appeared a little cloudy.

“You do not seem to be drinking any yourself?”

Klein keenly noticed that Neil’s ceramic cup held only water.

“Haha. That is my habit. I do not drink coffee after three in the afternoon,” Neil explained with a laugh.

“Why?” Klein asked casually.

Neil smiled and looked into Klein’s eyes.

“I am afraid I will not sleep well at night. Then I may hear the whispers of certain inexplicable existences.”

…

For a moment, Klein did not know how to respond. He changed the subject instead.

“Mr. Neil, which documents and classical texts should I read?”

As he spoke, he took out the note Dunn Smith had written.

“Those related to history. Complicated ones. Fragmentary ones. To be honest, I have been trying to learn, but I can only grasp the basics. The rest are far too troublesome: people’s diaries at the time, popular books, epitaphs, and so on, and so on.”

Neil complained.

“For example, these pages I have here require more detailed historical records to infer their specific contents.”

“Why?” Klein was a little confused.

Neil pointed to the yellowed pages before him.

“These are pages from the diary Roselle Gustav lost before his death. For the sake of secrecy, he recorded everything using strange symbols he invented himself.”

Emperor Roselle? The transmigrating predecessor?

Klein was stunned for an instant, then listened with full attention.

“Because many people believe he did not truly die, but became a hidden god, cultists who worship him have been holding all sorts of rituals, trying to obtain power. We occasionally encounter such incidents and obtain a few original pages or copied notes,” Neil said with a shake of his head.

“To this day, no one has deciphered the true meaning of those special symbols. Therefore, the Sanctuary allows us to keep copies for study, hoping for some unexpected surprise.”

At that point, Neil revealed a proud smile.

“I have already deciphered several symbols and confirmed that they are expressions of numbers. Look what I discovered—this is actually a diary! Mm, I hope to compare historical events from the corresponding dates, especially events surrounding the Emperor, with the entries from those days, thereby deciphering more symbols.

“A brilliant approach, is it not?”

The old gentleman with graying hair and deep wrinkles looked at Klein, his eyes shining.

Klein nodded in agreement.

“It is.”

“Haha. You can take a look as well. Starting tomorrow, you will have to help me with this work.”

Old Neil pushed the yellowed pages toward Klein.

Klein turned them right side up and glanced down.

With only one look, his entire body froze there.

Although the “symbols” had been copied and drawn very uglily, some of them slightly distorted, he absolutely would not mistake them.

Because they were the characters most familiar to him.

Chinese.

Fucking simplified Chinese.