Chapter 177: Anticipation

Chapter 177: Anticipation

On Sunday morning, Klein had not long finished breakfast when he heard the expected ring of the doorbell.

What surprised him, however, was that the visitors were not only Reporter Mike Joseph, but also Dr. Allen.

“Sherlock, I had that nightmare again last night. I don’t think this is normal.” Allen did not avoid speaking in front of Mike. The moment he entered the living room, he spoke at once.

Before Klein could answer, Allen took out his wallet on his own, removed a paper crane, and said, “Do you think it might be because of this?

“Ever since I took it out and started carrying it with me, I’ve been having nightmares.”

Klein glanced over as though unconcerned, but his expression suddenly stiffened. Had he not once been a Clown and possessed outstanding control over his facial muscles, he might have revealed an uncontrollable smile in front of the reporter and the doctor. Yes—a smile.

This paper crane is even uglier than the one I folded… That was the first thought that flashed through Klein’s mind.

At this moment, he had the strong urge to cover his face and sigh.

Could poor handiwork be a tradition passed down through the Nighthawks?

There was no doubt that the paper crane before him had been swapped again. After receiving accurate information from Klein, the Nighthawks seemed to have wasted no time. That very night, they had slipped into Dr. Allen’s bedroom and replaced the paper crane in his wallet with one they had folded themselves.

But what they could not have imagined was that the paper crane in the wallet had also been fake. It had been folded by Klein above the gray fog, and it was rather crude.

For some reason, this is a little funny… Klein glanced at Dr. Allen, who had no idea what had happened. Clearing his throat, he said, “Perhaps that is the case. I suggest you go to the church again and speak with the bishop you met before. We must believe that the deity we worship is always watching over us.”

As he spoke, he drew the triangular holy emblem over his chest.

After the Nightmare had left the previous night, Klein had specifically gone above the gray fog and divined whether it would be dangerous not to switch the paper crane back. He had received a very safe revelation. That was why he could now make such a suggestion with leisurely interest, trying to tease his former colleagues a little.

I wonder what kind of mood they’ll be in when they see that their not-very-well-folded paper crane has returned to them again… Klein solemnly comforted Dr. Allen and saw him off. Then he turned to the reporter and smiled.

“Mike, what I most wanted to suggest to Allen was actually that he see a psychologist, but faith can certainly soothe his mind as well.”

“You aren’t honest at all,” Mike said with a laugh. “All right. We should set out.”

For the rest of the day, Klein accompanied this reporter from the Daily Observer into the East Borough, interviewing the young women who had been rescued.

In the face of a full one pound interview fee, no one refused, not even some of the girls who had suffered terribly.

There were two central points in the interviews: one was Capim’s crimes, and the other was the present circumstances of those young women. The former inspired anger; the latter weighed heavily on the heart.

Daisy could actually be considered relatively fortunate. Once she returned home, she had immediately been able to resume work, exchanging her labor for food. Among the rescued girls, fewer than a third were like her, and most of those belonged to families that still had some savings. Their circumstances allowed them, wounded in both body and mind, to temporarily avoid toil and patiently search for suitable work.

The other two-thirds of the rescued women had no choice but to struggle for survival. With large numbers of female textile workers unemployed, they often could only find temporary jobs with extremely low pay. Those whose parents, brothers, or sisters had not lost their jobs could still help one another and barely fill their stomachs. But among those whose family conditions were less optimistic, some had openly or secretly stepped onto the path of becoming streetwalkers, as though they had never truly been rescued at all. They sold their bodies once, perhaps for nothing more than a bit of food.

This left Mike as silent as he had been last time. It was not until they left the East Borough at dusk that he seemed to recover. Turning to Klein, he thanked him.

“Sherlock, thanks to your help, I wasn’t extorted by those thugs and gang members today.”

“Isn’t that precisely why you hired me?” Klein answered with a polite smile, without any hint of pride.

Because of Klein’s earlier reminders, Old Kohler and Liv’s family did not reveal that he had helped them search for Daisy for free. Daisy in particular was quite clever. When Mike asked if they knew anyone relatively special, she answered directly, “Mr. Reporter and Mr. Detective.”

Mike nodded out of habit, then walked in silence for quite some distance.

Just before boarding the carriage, he suddenly exhaled and said, “I want to make an appeal in this report. I want to call on the government to take Capim’s real estate and establish a relief fund. The yearly income from it can be used steadily to help these rescued girls, and to help others harmed by Capim, giving them a chance to break free from their present predicament.

“Although Capim’s safe was already emptied by that chivalrous bandit, his greatest wealth was in the real estate he purchased. All of it—all of it should be illegal income.”

Klein listened carefully until Mike finished. Then he looked at him deeply and offered heartfelt praise.

“You are the best reporter I have ever met.”

“There are many reporters like me. There will always be idealists in this world,” Mike said with emotion.

With that, he paid Klein the ten pounds for the commission and took off his hat, waving it once.

Klein watched the reporter board a rented carriage and was preparing to head in the other direction to take public transportation when Mike suddenly opened the carriage window and asked teasingly, “Sherlock, I’m not the only reporter you know, am I?”

Klein froze for a moment, then chuckled.

“Guess.”

…

The City of Silver.

Derrick Berg paced back and forth inside his room like a beast trapped indoors, visibly anxious.

He felt that the Chief had not taken his report seriously enough. He worried that once the members of that exploration team—people who had been affected by the Fallen Creator in some unknown way—were released from quarantine, they would bring devastating harm to this city that had continued for 2,582 years within the darkness.

In such a situation, he desperately wanted advice. He wanted the opinions of Mr. Hanged Man, Miss Justice, and the others, who had considerable knowledge of the Fallen Creator.

This was the Tarot Gathering he had looked forward to most of all.

Wait a little longer. Just a little longer. If Mr. Fool still doesn’t convene the gathering, I’ll pray to Him directly… Derrick tried to calm himself, but his circling steps did not slow in the slightest.

Suddenly, he saw the boundless gray fog. He heard that savior-like voice:

“Prepare for the gathering.”

Derrick abruptly let out a breath. With relative caution, he sat down at the edge of his bed, then lay down, pretending that he was going to sleep for a while out of fatigue.

After silently counting one thousand slightly hurried heartbeats, he waited a little longer before the illusory crimson light swallowed him.

At that very moment, Derrick’s room was exceptionally quiet. Outside the window, bolts of lightning crossed the sky one after another, driving the darkness away from that stretch of earth.

Suddenly, in the corner by his bed, blackness wriggled and extended, forming a human shape.

The shadow quickly rose higher and quietly looked down at Derrick.

It observed him carefully for several dozen seconds, gained nothing, and shrank back.

In the corner, the shadow remained as usual, without the slightest change.

…

As always, boundless gray fog spread beneath their feet. The bronze long table before them was mottled with greenish rust, yet did not appear corroded or decayed. The first thing The Sun, Derrick, saw was Miss Justice and Miss Magician sitting across from him. What entered his ears was that familiar, cheerful greeting:

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fool~”

“Good afternoon…”

Klein, shrouded by the gray fog, nodded lightly and responded leisurely to Miss Justice and the other members’ greetings. In reality, he was busy manipulating The World, making him appear like a real person.

Yesterday, after accompanying Reporter Mike for the interviews, it had already been dinner time. Klein had found a Feneport-style restaurant outside and was so thoroughly overwhelmed by the spiciness that he had proactively ordered a glass of desert beer.

After returning home full and satisfied, he had not gone out again. He had either studied The Book of Secrets or prepared his own food, gradually dispelling much of the heavy mood that came over him each time he visited the East Borough.

Before he knew it, afternoon had arrived, and he shifted his attention to the Tarot Gathering.

After the greetings, Justice Audrey endured her curiosity and excitement, not rushing to ask what truth lay behind the Capim incident.

Mr. Fool might not answer, but how would I know whether He is willing to answer if I don’t ask? Hmm… I hope He makes an equivalent request. I’ll do my best to satisfy it… Audrey looked around, observing the other members’ conditions.

As a Telepathist, she quickly noticed a few abnormalities.

Eh, The Sun is very anxious. Did something happen with that former exploration team captain? Did he encounter Amon?

Also, Fors is in a state of wanting to ask but not daring to ask… She must have read the newspapers, guessed from the tarot cards that Capim’s death was the work of our Tarot Club, but is confused about whom the Emperor card represents… She seems to have become even more in awe of Mr. Fool. Did she run into something?

Mr. Hanged Man is in a very good mood. His potion has already been completely digested… He seems to be anticipating something…

Mr. World is still gloomy and reserved as ever. It’s hard to read his current thoughts. He really is the natural enemy of the Spectator pathway…

The Sun, Derrick, made no attempt to hide his anxiety, but he did not directly consult the Tarot Club members either.

He was very clear that the opening portion of the gathering belonged to Mr. Fool, unless there were none of those Roselle diary pages.

There’s no need to be anxious. The gathering has already begun… If Mr. Fool is in a good mood, perhaps He’ll answer some questions… Derrick comforted himself in this way.

The Hanged Man, Alger, turned his head toward the seat of honor and spoke humbly.

“Honorable Mr. Fool, I have collected three new pages of Roselle’s diary.”

Diary? Roselle’s diary? The Magician, Fors, instantly perked up her ears.

Klein answered with a smile, “What do you wish to exchange them for?”

Glancing at the card covered beside Mr. Fool’s hand, The Hanged Man, Alger, suppressed the fervor filling him and said, “I would like to know what that card beside you is.”