Chapter 41: Audrey and Her Susie

Chapter Forty-One
Audrey and Her Susie

After pouring away the coffee, Klein returned to the armory, took the thick stack of historical materials Old Neil had organized for him along with the explanatory drafts, and followed the line of gas lamps on the wall toward the stairway leading to Blackthorn Security Company.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps echoed through the sealed and empty underground.

Klein finished the spiraling stairs, pushed open the door, took a moment to orient himself, and headed straight to the second office across from him.

After two days of familiarity, he had mostly figured out the layout of Blackthorn Security Company.

Past the entrance was the spacious reception hall, with a set of sofas and tables and chairs. Through the partition lay the inner area. On the left side of the corridor, the three rooms, from near to far, were Mrs. Orianna’s accounting office, a resting room containing several couch-like beds, and the stairway leading underground.

On the right side, the three rooms, again from near to far, were Captain Dunn Smith’s office, the civilian staff office equipped with a typewriter, and the recreation room for the official members of the Nighthawk team.

Klein had previously seen Leonard Mitchell playing cards in the recreation room with two other team members. He guessed they were playing Fight the Landlord. Of course, Emperor Roselle had renamed it “Fight Evil,” though the rules were no different from the game Klein knew.

Bright, after night duty, had the benefit of a day to sleep. Rozanne remained at the reception desk. Cesar Francis, responsible for purchasing, collecting supplies, and serving part-time as a carriage driver, was out as usual. When Klein pushed open the door of the civilian staff office, the three desks inside were all empty. A purely mechanical typewriter sat there quietly.

“Akerson Company Model 1346 typewriter…”

Having seen similar objects in his tutor’s office and Welch’s home, Klein murmured to himself, feeling that the faintly visible complex control system possessed the beauty of machinery.

He sat down before the desk with the typewriter, gathered his thoughts for a while, and began practicing imaginary typing.

At first, he instinctively processed everything as pinyin. Only after familiarizing himself with the keyboard did he “digest” the corresponding memory fragments of the original owner and stop making mistakes.

Tap. Tap. Tap!

The rhythmic clacking of the keys was like a rigid song born from metal and industry. Accompanied by this melody, Klein quickly finished typing the document applying for funds.

He did not rush to find Dunn Smith immediately. Instead, he restrained his mood and seriously read through the historical materials Old Neil had provided, both reviewing and learning.

Near noon, he stretched his neck, put away the materials, then used the drafts from the mysticism course to revisit and consolidate what he had learned that morning.

Only then did he take the “application” and go to the neighboring office, where he gently knocked on the door.

Dunn was waiting for lunch to be delivered. After seeing the document Klein handed over, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Old Neil taught you this?”

“Mm.”

Klein betrayed Old Neil without the slightest hesitation.

Dunn picked up the dark-red fountain pen and swiftly signed his name.

“It happens that I need to apply to the Church and the county police department for July, August, and September’s funds. I will include this in the request. Once approval comes down, you can collect the money from Mrs. Orianna. The pendulum can be collected this afternoon.”

“All right,” Klein answered briefly and powerfully.

Both his tone and his eyes were dyed with obvious delight.

Before taking his leave, he casually asked, “Shouldn’t the funds for July, August, and September have been applied for in June?”

How could one apply for July’s funds only after July had arrived?

Dunn was silent for several seconds. He lifted his coffee cup, took a sip, and said, “In June, we encountered three cases in succession. We were busy—busy enough that some matters were forgotten.”

As expected of the Captain whose memory is lacking…

Knowing he had asked a question he should not have asked, Klein laughed dryly twice and hurried out the door.

And so, he began a simple, regular life.

Each morning, half an hour of meditation. Then two hours of mysticism lessons, followed by an hour and a half mastering historical materials. After lunch, he would nap for a while in the rest room to recover his energy.

After that, he would collect bullets and go to the shooting club for practice. Once his shooting practice ended, he would stroll to Welch’s residence, which was not very far away, take a different route, and walk back toward Iron Cross Street. This saved him one public carriage fare. If there was still time left, he would practice spirit vision, pendulum divination, and similar techniques, and buy groceries on the way.

…

Inside a private chemistry laboratory complete with instruments and equipment.

Tall, golden-haired Audrey stared at the cup in her hand. Countless bubbles rose from within it, turning the atmosphere tranquil.

At last, the liquid in the cup settled into a viscous silver-white.

“Haha. I really do have talent for mysticism. I succeeded on the first try! I was worried I might fail and prepared enough materials for two whole portions!”

The girl muttered happily to herself.

She put away the remaining materials she had taken from the family treasury or exchanged from others. Drawing a deep breath, she prepared to close her eyes and drink down the Spectator potion.

Just then, barking came from outside the laboratory.

Audrey frowned at once.

She placed the cup of gently rippling silver-white liquid into a dark corner, turned, and walked to the door.

“Susie, who is here?”

Audrey turned the handle and asked the golden retriever sitting upright at the door.

Susie, the large golden retriever, wagged her tail with an ingratiating expression. Meanwhile, Audrey’s personal maid Annie appeared in the nearby corridor.

Audrey stepped out of the laboratory, pulled the door mostly shut behind her, and looked at Annie.

“Didn’t I say not to disturb me while I was doing chemistry experiments?”

Annie answered with difficulty, “But there is an invitation from a duchess—from Lady Della.”

“Duke Negan’s wife?”

Audrey took a few steps forward, drawing closer to Annie.

“Yes. She has invited Madam and you to taste afternoon tea. She has brought in Madame Vivi, a court baker,” Annie said, explaining the contents of the invitation.

Audrey puffed out her cheeks almost imperceptibly.

“Tell my mother that I am dizzy. Perhaps the sunlight was too strong, and I am 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 is not only afternoon tea. It is also a literary salon,” Annie added.

“But that cannot cure my dizziness. I need rest,” Audrey refused firmly.

At the same time, she silently muttered to herself, If you insist, then I will faint for you to see. My etiquette teacher said that I perform that movement perfectly… Wait, did I hear something?

“All right,” Annie exhaled. “Do you need me to help you back to your room?”

“No. I will tidy up the laboratory first.”

Audrey desperately wanted to return at once and consume the potion.

Even so, she restrained herself, watched Annie leave, and only then turned back toward the laboratory door.

Suddenly, she discovered that Susie, who should have been waiting outside, was missing. The laboratory door was half-open.

“I forgot that Susie can open doors with handles… What is that sound? Oh no!”

Audrey heard a crisp noise from inside. An association flashed through her mind, and she rushed into the laboratory.

What entered her sight was a cup shattered on the floor, and Susie the golden retriever licking up the very last drop of silver-white liquid.

Audrey froze at the doorway like a statue.

Susie immediately sat upright, looked at her owner with innocent eyes, and wagged her tail.

…

Off the coast of Pritz Harbor, on an island perpetually shrouded in storms, an ancient sailing ship was docked at the port.

A man with soft yellow hair and a robe embroidered with lightning patterns looked at Alger Wilson across from him and asked, utterly puzzled, “Alger, you could have returned to the Kingdom and become the captain of a Mandated Punisher team, or a respectable bishop. Why choose to go out to sea? Why become the captain of the Blue Avenger?”

Alger’s rough, deeply carved face showed no extra expression. Solemnly, he answered, “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.”

“Very well.”

The yellow-haired man clenched his fist and struck his chest.

“The storm is with you.”

“The storm is with you.”

Alger returned the standard salute.

Standing on the deck with only a few crew members aboard, he watched his companion leave the ghost ship, growing farther and farther away.

“Siens, you do not understand because you do not know enough…” Alger whispered soundlessly.

At the same time, Audrey completed her second concoction with fear and trembling.

Looking at the silver-white potion, no different from before, she was so moved she nearly shed tears.

Hoo. She drank the Spectator potion in small, quick mouthfuls.

…

Friday. A rainstorm struck Tingen, and the pattering rain beat against every window.

Inside Blackthorn Security Company, Klein, Rozanne, and Bright sat on the sofas in the reception hall, enjoying the lunch laid out on the table.

Because there was only a stove for boiling water here and no way to reheat leftovers, and because Klein could not possibly eat brown bread every day or take the public carriage home—if he did that, after walking from Iron Cross Street to Welch’s residence in the afternoon, he would still have to consider paying fare to return, which was far too wasteful—he had no choice but to join Rozanne and the others in eating the so-called office meals.

The nearby Old Vil’s Restaurant sent a waiter over every day at half past ten to ask how many lunches were needed here. Once the number of portions was confirmed, they delivered the food at half past twelve in containers similar to lunchboxes. At three in the afternoon, they would come again to ask whether dinner was needed, and collect the used utensils.

This kind of meal had meat, vegetables, and bread. Though the portions were not large, it was barely enough to fill a person. One meal cost from seven to ten pence, depending on the grade.

Thick-skinned, Klein always chose the seven-pence option. It usually included half a pound of oat bread, a small piece of meat cooked in different ways, a spoonful of thick soup with vegetables, and a little cream or butter.

“Only one Nighthawk is here today…”

Rozanne sent a spoonful of thick soup into her mouth.

“I heard there is a case in the Golden Indus District, with elements of a cult involved, so the police department asked two Nighthawks to go over,” Bright said, setting down his bread.

Klein used the last of his oat bread to soak up the remaining meat sauce and stuffed it into his mouth, saying nothing.

Inside the cuff of his left sleeve, there was faintly a silver chain wrapped around his wrist, with a citrine pendant hanging from it.

Just then, knocking sounded from the half-closed main door.

“…Please come in.”

Rozanne froze for a moment, set down her spoon, quickly wiped her mouth with a handkerchief, and stood.

The door was pushed open. A man wearing a half-top hat and black formal suit entered, his left shoulder damp from the rain.

His temples were graying, and he carried a folded umbrella. Looking at Klein and the others, he asked, “Is this the former mercenary squad?”

“You could put it that way,” Rozanne answered familiarly.

The tall, thin man coughed once.

“I have a task I would like to commission.”