Chapter 2: Madam Sammer

Chapter Two
Madam Sammer

“Did you see a boy in his teens? Wearing an old coat!”

One of the men who had rushed into the carriage glared fiercely at the conductor.

From the corner of his eye, Klein saw that the man was lean and capable-looking, his skin darkened as though by long exposure to sunlight, his eye sockets far more sunken than those of ordinary Loen citizens.

Highlander? Or mixed-blood?

He nodded thoughtfully.

In the central part of the Northern Continent, where the Hornacis mountain range began, lay a dry plateau. Most of it belonged to the Feynapotter Kingdom. The west leaned toward the Intis Republic, while the east near Loen was occupied by the Loen Kingdom. The natives were lean, rough, and savage, yet brave and skilled in battle. For a long time, they had been one of the greatest headaches for the three nations. But as gunpowder weapons improved and warfare changed, these Highlanders had finally recognized reality and thoroughly submitted.

A large portion of them left the plateau and entered Backlund, Trier, Feynapotter City, and the various prosperous cities and ports of the Northern Continent. Some became workers. Others became fresh blood for the local gangs—daring to fight, daring to kill, and unafraid of making trouble.

The conductor was a young man in his twenties. Hearing the question, he shrank back slightly and pointed in the direction of the third-class carriages.

“I saw him… He went that way.”

The leader in black coat and half-top hat nodded almost imperceptibly, then led his accomplices in a thudding rush toward third class, paying no attention at all to the gazes of nearby passengers.

If I were that boy, I would already have gotten off from the third-class carriage by now…

Klein thought idly while reading the newspaper.

A little over a minute later, the whistle sounded with a woo, and the carriage doors slowly closed.

Clank, clank. The steam underground accelerated from slow to fast and began racing forward. At that very moment, Klein suddenly felt something. He raised his head and looked toward the door leading to the other second-class carriages.

The boy from earlier—the one wearing the old coat, round-topped hat, and worn satchel—walked slowly into this carriage.

His face was youthful. His features were delicate. His bright-red eyes were calm and serious.

“…Impressive. So he got off from third class, looped around, and boarded again near first class? Was he afraid the pursuers had accomplices waiting inside the underground station?”

Klein felt slightly surprised. He thought this older boy handled matters with considerable maturity and caution, far better than many people in their twenties.

Lightly tapping the left side of his teeth, he quietly activated spirit vision and swept one glance over the boy. He saw that the boy’s body was fatigued, and his emotions were tense and depressed, yet he still maintained the blue of calm thought.

Not simple… considering his age…

Klein muttered silently and continued lowering his head to read the newspaper.

The older boy did not notice that a Beyonder had examined him once. He once again headed toward the third-class carriages.

The rest of the journey was steady and calm. More than twenty minutes later, Klein arrived at one of Cherwood Borough’s three underground stations.

He then took a rental carriage for nearly ten minutes and finally found Minsk Street. Following the newspaper’s description, he arrived next door to No. 15—No. 17—and pulled the doorbell.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

As the bell echoed inside the house, a mechanical bird emerged from the door. It was no larger than a palm, made from gears and various components. It kept nodding and made a sound similar to a cuckoo.

A rather nice toy. The workmanship is a little crude, though…

Klein gave a fair evaluation.

After a dozen seconds, the dark-colored door was pulled open. A young woman in a black-and-white maid’s dress looked at Klein warily.

“May I ask what you need?”

Klein smiled and lifted the newspaper wrapped around the head of his cane.

“I am here to see Madam Sammer about renting the house. It should not have been rented out yet, right?”

The full name given in the newspaper was Stelyn Sammer.

“No. Please wait a moment.”

The maid bent politely.

She hurried inside to report to the mistress. After a while, she came out again, led Klein into the house, helped him place his cane and suitcase in the hall, and hung his coat and hat on the rack there.

A wave of warmth rushed toward him, driving away the damp cold he had brought in. As Klein’s gaze swept the room, the first thing he saw was the uniquely structured fireplace, the red blocks within it, and the smokeless charcoal burning there.

The Sammers’ living room was quite large—almost equal to the entire first floor of the Moretti household. Certain areas were even covered with decorative carpets, and landscape oil paintings hung from the walls.

The maid brought Klein to the sofa area and said to the mistress, who wore a pale-yellow gown, “Madam, the guest has arrived.”

The mistress was around thirty. She had golden hair and blue eyes, and she was attractive, well-maintained, and charming. In her hand was a court feather fan inlaid with silver.

Because she was at home, and because the fireplace had created a warm environment, she was not wearing high-collared clothing. Her chest showed a broad patch of fair skin, and her neck was long and smooth.

“Good evening, Madam Sammer.”

Klein pressed a hand to his chest and bowed.

Madam Sammer smiled reservedly.

“Good evening. Please sit. Would you like coffee or black tea?”

Klein sat down on the long sofa and answered calmly, “Black tea, thank you.”

“Julian, Marquis black tea,” Madam Sammer instructed the maid. Her eyes turned slightly as she asked, “How should I address you?”

“Sherlock Moriarty. You may call me Sherlock directly.”

Klein had long since chosen the alias.

At that moment, he smelled fragrance coming from the kitchen and saw the complex pipes there.

“Heh, that is my husband’s design. Although his profession is manager at the Cowim Company, he is an amateur mechanical enthusiast, as well as a member of the Kingdom Coal Smoke Reduction Association,” Madam Sammer explained with a smile, noticing Klein’s gaze.

Madam, you do not need to introduce him in such detail. I am not here to court your husband…

Klein mocked silently. The smile on his face remained unchanged as he said, “Madam, I wish to rent the house at No. 15.”

Madam Sammer held her back straight and sat elegantly.

“Then I must warn you of several things in advance. The house at No. 15 does not have such pipes, such easy chairs, a card table, a mahogany-based sideboard, fine porcelain plates, silver knives and forks, gilded tea sets, removable carpets…”

She pointed to the objects in her own home one by one as she described them. At the end, she added, “It originally belonged to my elder sister and brother-in-law. But my brother-in-law’s business failed, and they could only move to the Southern Continent. They own a plantation in Balam, but I do not approve of their choice. It is unfair to my poor nephew and niece. There are no good grammar schools there, not even decent tutors.”

Madam, none of that is what I want to know…

Klein nodded sincerely.

“Aside from the weather, nowhere in the Southern Continent can compare with Backlund.”

His agreement clearly satisfied Madam Sammer. Her eyes turned lightly as she said, “That house still has three years left on the lease. I hope you can pay one year’s rent at once. Eighteen soli a week, plus one soli for furniture use. I can charge only a small deposit. The total is fifty pounds.”

Klein shook his head and smiled.

“Madam Sammer, you should be able to tell that I have only just arrived in Backlund. I do not know what I might encounter next. Paying fifty pounds at once would reduce my ability to withstand risk. My limit is half a year—twenty-five pounds.”

He still intended to rent a one-room place somewhere in Backlund’s East Borough to use for changing clothes, disguising himself, and shaking off pursuit. That was an indispensable preparation for the things he planned to do.

Stelyn Sammer nodded lightly, then instead asked, “Have you attended grammar school?”

Klein chuckled.

“Yes. Later, I also studied history on my own.”

“Do you have identity documents?” Stelyn asked casually.

“I am very sorry. I left home too hastily and forgot to bring them. Heh, I forgot to mention just now that I am from Midseashire.”

Klein deliberately used the accent his classmate Welch had often spoken in.

The moment he said “forgot,” he thought of Captain Dunn Smith, and the smile on his face grew even brighter.

At that time, the maid Julian brought over a cup of black tea. The cup’s porcelain glaze was snow-white, the pattern classical, and some areas were gilded.

Klein took it and sipped. He felt the fragrance linger, with a moderate balance of sourness and sweetness. It was clearly far better than the Sibe black tea he usually drank.

“Very pure Marquis black tea,” he praised in a description no one could fault.

The corners of Madam Sammer’s mouth lifted faintly.

“Then let us rent it for half a year first. Twenty-five pounds.”

Klein thanked her. He chatted with her for a few minutes, until another maid found a standard contract in the study.

After both parties signed, Klein painfully counted out twenty-five pounds in cash and pushed it toward Madam Sammer.

Stelyn spread the notes out and silently counted them. Then she raised her chin slightly and asked, “Mr. Moriarty, I imagine you plan to look for work in Backlund?”

“Yes,” Klein answered, a little uncertain.

The corners of Stelyn’s mouth curved.

“Then I can give you some advice. If your weekly salary is below three pounds, it is very difficult to live in Cherwood Borough. Your rent, food expenses, water, gas, charcoal, transportation, and so on will add up to at least two pounds five soli. Believe me, that is Backlund. The remainder must still account for new clothes and proper tableware and tea sets… Three pounds a week is an extremely strained baseline.

“If your weekly salary reaches five pounds, you may hire a maid. At six pounds, you may consider hiring a cook. At seven, add a male attendant. At eight, you may hire one more maid…”

Madam Sammer, I feel you are showing off… I once had a weekly salary of ten pounds…

Klein maintained his smile and listened with serious attitude.

Just then, the door suddenly opened. A burly man walked in. He wore a black double-breasted frock coat and gloves of the same color. Above his lips were two attractive mustaches.

“Luke, this is Mr. Moriarty. He is now our neighbor,” Stelyn Sammer went over and introduced him.

Luke, clearly the man of the house, removed his coat and handed it to the male servant following behind him, smiling politely as he said, “Mr. Moriarty, would you accept a dinner invitation?”

So this is the manager of that Cowim Company, member of the Kingdom Coal Smoke Reduction Association…

Klein smiled.

“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Sammer. I ate on the steam train, although the flavor left quite an impression.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, Klein, led by the maid Julian, left the Sammer home and entered No. 15 next door.

Its layout was very similar to the house beside it. The first floor had a large living room, a dining room with excellent lighting, two guest rooms, a washroom, a basement, and a kitchen extending toward the back. The second floor had four bedrooms, a sitting room, a solarium, a study, two washrooms, and a large balcony.

“Madam said you may rent out part of it, but not to workers, and you must not make the place too noisy or crowded. Mm… clean quilts, bedsheets, and pillowcases will be brought over shortly.”

After explaining, the maid Julian returned to the Sammer home.

After tidying for a while, Klein had finally settled down in Backlund.

He sat in the empty living room and suddenly felt a sense of loneliness. Thus, he forced himself to think about what he should do next.

Whether he wanted it or not, revenge and improvement were not things that could be completed in the blink of an eye. Therefore, he needed work that could earn income and avoid a financial crisis.

However, the work could not restrain him or interfere with his movements and arrangements. In other words, it needed sufficient freedom.

After weighing and eliminating unsuitable occupations, Klein was left with only three choices.

The first was to plagiarize novels and become an author. But his identity was sensitive, and the higher his fame, the more fatal it would become. He could only painfully abandon that option.

The second was to become a newspaper reporter. In the present day, that was a fairly respectable job. Applying required diplomas and other documents. Regarding that, Klein could only express helplessness.

In the end, he chose the third profession.

Private detective.

That, too, was the reason he had chosen that alias in advance.