Chapter 14: Inventor Leppard

Chapter Fourteen
Inventor Leppard

On a foggy morning, Klein sat at his dining table, breaking the oat bread he had specially bought into pieces and soaking them in milk, improving how it was eaten.

Although his body had already changed, his pursuit of and attachment to good food had been engraved into his soul. He completely could not adapt to the repetitive, monotonous breakfast style of the Loen Kingdom. He could only keep experimenting, refusing to be confined to toast, bread, bacon, sausages, butter, and cream, working hard to expand boundaries and enrich his eating methods. For example, his diet now included popular southern pork pies, Feynapotter noodles, grilled corn tortillas, and other varieties.

“Caviar from the Feysac Empire is also not bad, just far too expensive. It is only suitable for formal dinners…”

Klein scooped up a softened little piece of oat bread with his spoon and put it into his mouth. With only slight chewing, he felt milk soaked in the fragrance of wheat flow out, while the bread’s aftertaste became even sweeter.

After finishing breakfast, Klein set down his fork and spoon. He did not hurry to clean up, instead picking up the several freshly delivered newspapers and leisurely unfolding them.

I will perform a divination later. If nothing happens, I will visit Mr. Leppard on Satchy Street in Saint George Borough and see whether his new form of transportation has investment value… Backlund really is enormous. Each borough is almost equivalent to Tingen City. The East Borough is especially exaggerated—at least more than twice as large… The most convenient and cheapest way to travel is still walking, then steam underground, then walking again. It just wastes time…

Klein’s thoughts wandered aimlessly.

Backlund’s public carriage system was similar to Tingen’s, and the prices were about the same. The only issue was that a large portion of carriages were limited to a single borough. If one wanted to go from Cherwood to Saint George, one had to transfer several times along the way, and naturally, the price went up.

This situation made the prospects of a new form of transportation very tempting.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Just then, knocking echoed like blows from a massive hammer, drilling into Klein’s ears.

Who is that… Does he not know to pull the doorbell…

He muttered a couple of lines, adjusted his collar, went to the door, and pulled it open.

The person who appeared before him was someone familiar: the Highland man who had once chased little Ian on the steam underground. The one with darker skin, deep-set eyes, and a lean, capable build.

According to Klein’s spirit channeling result, he was called Meursault, the “Executor” of the Zmanger gang, a fairly high-ranking leader.

“May I ask who you are looking for? Is there something you wish to commission me for?” Klein deliberately showed a bit of puzzlement.

Meursault wore a black coat and an exaggerated silk top hat, yet he did not resemble a gentleman in the slightest.

He coldly sized Klein up, then asked in Loenese with a strong Highland accent, “You are Sherlock Moriarty?”

“Yes,” Klein answered simply.

Meursault nodded stiffly.

“I wish to commission you to find someone.”

“Come in and tell me the details,” Klein said, not allowing himself to show the slightest abnormality.

Meursault coldly shook his head.

“No need.”

After saying this, his eyes suddenly became sharp.

“The person I am looking for is called Ian. Ian Wright. He has bright-red eyes, is around fifteen or sixteen, likes wearing a brown old coat, and wears a round-topped hat of the same color. I think you should know him.”

Klein laughed.

“I do not understand what you are saying.”

Meursault seemed not to have heard the denial at all.

“He is a thief. He stole a very important item from me. As long as you can find him, you will receive at least ten pounds in compensation.”

“You have provided too few clues,” Klein said casually, finding an excuse.

“Thirty pounds,” Meursault offered a new price.

Klein looked at him and said, “No. That violates my principles of confidentiality.”

“Fifty pounds,” Meursault replied coldly.

“…I am sorry. I will not accept this task.”

Klein froze for two seconds, but in the end still chose to refuse.

Meursault slowly and deeply studied him for several seconds. His gaze gradually turned cold and vicious.

He did not make a new offer, nor did he politely say farewell. Abruptly turning around, he strode quickly toward the end of the street.

This gang’s intelligence ability is quite good… They actually know Ian once came to see me…

Klein sighed inwardly a couple of times, but this did not create too much worry or fear.

After all, I am someone who directly faced an evil god’s offspring, though there was a layer of belly between us…

As the thought turned, his smile suddenly grew bright. He began flipping a coin to decide whether to go out that day.

The answer was yes.

…

Saint George Borough, Satchy Street.

After taking a horse-drawn tram, transferring to the steam underground, then transferring again to a horseless public carriage, Klein finally reached his destination, spending eleven pence in total.

He had just stepped out of the carriage when he discovered fine, drizzling rain falling outside, and he had not brought an umbrella.

“According to the newspapers and magazines, this is Backlund’s daily routine. The reason hats are so popular is that ladies and gentlemen do not carry umbrellas at all times…”

Klein pressed down his half-top silk hat and jogged in small steps to the outside of No. 9, using the eaves to shelter from the rain.

He brushed away the obvious droplets on his body and pulled the doorbell.

But he heard no cuckoo, cuckoo, nor did he detect any dinging or clanging movement.

“Broken doorbell?”

Klein was about to raise his hand and knock when he suddenly discovered footsteps approaching from within.

The image of the visitor naturally appeared in his mind: a tall, thin gentleman in his thirties with black hair and blue eyes. He wore gray-blue worker’s clothing, but appeared refined and scholarly.

Creak. The door opened. The gentleman rubbed his forehead.

“May I ask who you are looking for? What matter brings you here?”

Klein removed his hat and bowed slightly.

“I am here to see Mr. Leppard. I have some interest in his new form of transportation.”

The gentleman’s eyes abruptly lit up.

“I am Leppard. Please come in.”

He turned aside to let Klein enter, but there was no hatstand in the hall.

Klein could only lean his cane in place and follow Leppard into the living room without removing his coat.

It had to be said that this gentleman’s home was extremely messy. On the living room coffee table alone were many mechanical-related objects: wrenches, bearings, screwdrivers, and the like.

“How much do you intend to invest? Ah, right. Would you like coffee or black tea? Uh… There seems to be no black tea left…”

Leppard blurted it all out.

This gentleman is a little direct. He does not seem especially skilled at social interaction…

Klein’s thoughts shifted, and he changed his planned wording, answering directly, “I must first see your new form of transportation before making a decision.

“I cannot make a promise while knowing nothing.”

As he spoke, he looked around and saw a triangular holy emblem hanging on the wall.

It was the symbol of the God of Steam and Machinery: a firm triangle filled with signs of steam, gears, levers, and other such symbols.

Leppard showed no dislike for Klein’s direct approach. He immediately said, “I will take you to see it.”

The moment he finished, he abruptly slapped his forehead.

“I nearly forgot. We must first sign a confidentiality contract to ensure you do not steal my invention.”

Mr. Leppard, your memory does not seem especially good either…

Klein smiled.

“No problem.”

After signing a simple contract, Leppard led Klein into a room that seemed to be the sitting room. He had broken through this room, the guest room next door, and the basement, making the space much wider and more open.

Numerous parts lay scattered across the floor. In the center stood a rough object half a person tall, similar to a carriage compartment.

In addition, the doorbell line had been connected here and ingeniously arranged. As long as someone pulled the rope, the mechanical device would eject a steel ball, letting it roll along a special track and strike the object in the center, producing a clang.

The sound certainly would not be too loud, but it was enough to wake Leppard, who was immersed in machinery.

“That is the new form of transportation you invented?” Klein asked, pointing at the rough object in the center.

“Yes. I invented it based on Emperor Roselle’s imagination!” Leppard answered with feverish eyes.

“Emperor Roselle’s imagination?” Klein asked in astonishment.

In a tone of worship, Leppard explained, “Emperor Roselle left behind a manuscript. Inside it, he drew his imaginings of all kinds of future mechanical devices. He truly was an outstanding genius—no, a master! Many things inside have already become reality! Heh, this manuscript is preserved by the Church of Steam and Machinery. Unless one is a devout believer, there is no way to borrow and read it.”

…Emperor, are you leaving anyone else a way to live?

The corner of Klein’s mouth moved. He nearly failed to maintain his smile.

“Please introduce the details,” he said, changing the topic.

Leppard led Klein to the rough metal object and pulled open the door with a swish.

“This is a vehicle that does not require horses.

“The driver sits at the front left, constantly stepping on pedals. Through levers, chains, and other connections, the four wheels are made to roll forward. Above the wheels, I used rubber inflation, which will make travel steadier.”

So it is a human-powered automobile?

Klein could not help lampooning inwardly.

He considered his words before saying, “With such a massive body, and at least four passengers, I am afraid relying solely on human power will not carry it very far.”

“That is precisely my next goal: reduce the weight and amplify the leverage ratio! But my financial situation is already not very optimistic. I cannot support more attempts.”

Leppard looked hopefully toward Klein.

“Why not consider another method? For instance, using steam as power?” Klein slowly organized his words.

Leppard shook his head.

“That has already been invented, but its size is very large. It has difficulties traveling on many streets.”

That was precisely the sentence Klein had been waiting for.

“Then why not make something simpler? For example, only two wheels, able to carry only one person, without an outer shell.”

“You mean the pedal-cycle type?” Leppard asked as though thinking.

That is in Roselle’s manuscript too?

Klein nodded heavily.

“Yes.”

“The pedal-cycles invented by others are not very practical… Simplifying this… It seems it really could work. It truly is rather different… But who would buy it?” Leppard muttered to himself.

Without hesitation, Klein gave him a direction.

“Postmen. Working-class people with a little savings. Merchants who do not need too much dignity but can still put money aside… There are many such people in Backlund.”

Leppard thought for a while, then nodded slightly.

“…I can try it. But I have no money to buy parts anymore…”

“I will invest one hundred gold pounds in you. Together with the suggestion I just gave, I will occupy…”

Klein hesitated over whether to say ten percent shares or fifteen percent. Strictly speaking, one hundred pounds was not too much.

“You can hold thirty-five percent of the shares! But only for the pedal-cycle project you described!” Leppard hurriedly said first, fearing the other party might demand too much.

“Deal!”

Klein immediately smiled.

“Let us first draft a simple contract and settle this matter. Afterward, I will find a solicitor to create a formal contract and add some detailed clauses. For instance, if someone else invests later, my consent must be obtained first.”

“No problem,” Leppard answered impatiently, wanting only to buy parts as quickly as possible.

…

In the dimness brought by continuous drizzling rain, Klein returned to Minsk Street in Cherwood Borough.

He entered the house and went straight to the first-floor washroom, comfortably relieving the swelling pressure in his lower abdomen.

Splash, splash.

As the sound of water echoed, Klein bent to wash his hands.

Just then, an image suddenly appeared inside his mind:

The wash mirror reflected him with his head lowered, the dim surroundings, and a pair of eyes located to the side.

A pair of eyes!