"Ugh—" The stench of alcohol overwhelmed Wilson’s brain. His mind was blank. But now, he was finally sobering up.
Rain hammered the streets. Wilson stared at his reflection in the puddles. Three men stood in the narrow alley, blocking his path.
"Oho~ Young man, you look sturdy~ How about~ Hehe~" The hat-wearing man let out a shrill voice, like nails scraping a chalkboard. Wilson felt even sicker.
"Ugh…"
Even in England, famously dubbed "Gayland," this was common. But happening to him? He was a gentleman, after all. Why did drinking always attract weirdos?
"Enough! Kid, he was joking! We want money. You look loaded. You let that little beast go earlier. Pay up, or we starve. Hand it over. Or die." The scar-faced man behind the hat spoke coldly. Golden hair, proud as a lion’s mane. Like those damned Celestials… Wilson always felt uneasy around golden-haired people.
Wilson narrowed his eyes. He slowly leaned against the alley wall, watching the trio.
Just… three men?
What had he done earlier? "Little beast"? No memory. Probably something good.
"Ugh—" He didn’t want trouble with these two men—and whatever the third was. His head throbbed. How to seem like a drunk lunatic?
Oddly, Wilson’s mind raced.
"I… have no cash~ Hehe~~" Wilson grinned. He shuffled toward the nearest man, the hat-wearer.
A gleaming liquor bottle in his hand. Clear letters printed on it: "Hongpai Vodka."
"No money~ But my life~ Hehehe~ Come on~"
Rainy night. A madman. Strange figures. All trapped in the alley.
"Stab him." The umbrella man spoke coldly, each word sharp and clear.
Wilson’s smile froze. His heart turned icy.
So scary? Kill me over nothing??
Unconsciously, he gripped the bottle tighter.
The man lit a cigarette, standing guard.
□
A massive clock tower stood beside the Thames, piercing the city skyline. Advanced steam tech launched airships into the sky. An eerie fog followed, veiling the city like a ghostly shroud.
"Wheee—"
Sirens wailed. Patrol officers gathered, staring dumbfounded at the female corpse on the ground. A young constable held an oil lamp, examining her. She’d been killed in sheer terror. The method… brutally cruel.
"Midnight curfew… If I’m right, women out now are usually…" A plump officer murmured under his umbrella. His words were veiled, but her revealing clothes screamed one word: prostitute.
"Get the imager. Photograph this."
A man dismounted from his horse.
He stared at the body, rubbing his temples. This was the third one.
□
"Listen, kid! I know it was you! Even my toes tell me so!" The man ranted. Wilson was lost. A special woman had died nearby. He was the only suspect—Scotland Yard found no one else.
"Hey… friend…" Wilson interrupted softly.
"This is my ship ticket. The port stamp shows my arrival time… I just got here today. Can’t be the killer." Wilson sighed.
"This… ahem…"
"Who’s your friend? Call me Inspector!"
The man fumed, spitting rage. Poor Wilson took the brunt.
"Inspector, that’s enough. I saw him there. He’s no savage!" A girl smiled warmly. She didn’t knock, just walked in. She refilled coffee cups and left.
"Here. It’s cold. Warm up." She handed Wilson a cup, grinning.
"Wilson." The young man felt oddly shy.
"Callie." She extended her hand.
Callie was curious about him. At the scene, she’d found Wilson sitting on steps. Behind him, three men lay in the alley, joints dislocated.
Her smile radiated warmth. Seeing it felt like spring arriving.
Callie left. She wasn’t on duty tonight, but happened to be there.
"Ugh…"
The man slumped in his chair like a deflated balloon, staring out the window.
After a while, he turned. He studied the young man.
"What are you looking at?"
"Who is she?" Wilson pointed at the blanket.
"How did you know?" The Inspector was startled.
"Lucky guess."
"My friend’s daughter. Nearly an orphan. Her roof got smashed tonight. With the rain, I brought her here."
"What’s her name?"
Wilson asked, forgetting he was here for a brawl report.
"Wait—you’re interrogating me! Why do you get to ask questions?"
The Inspector realized this felt like equals chatting. It undermined his authority.
"Hehe~ Late hour, Inspector. I’ll take my leave."
Wilson grinned, dodging the topic. He walked out slowly.
"Take your gun…" The Inspector eyed the black weapon on his desk, head aching.
"Oh! Almost forgot! Thanks, sir!" Wilson dashed out, sprinting through the hall. Rain still fell outside, clinging to the night.
The Inspector pulled a pipe from his drawer. Packed tobacco. Glanced around—no one. Lit it with a match.
"Hecate Type 72 standard-issue pistol… Fresh from the battlefield? But his frame looks injured… How did he break three men’s bones without firing? Uncanny… Type 72? Must be from the recent Celestial war…"
He recalled the three thugs, beaten bloody and bone-shattered. Hard to believe… At least Wilson spared them. In his place, he’d have drawn his service revolver.
Besides, those three…
Reading the file, he shuddered. Their backers were terrifying. They were that man’s lackeys. They’d meant to stab Wilson dead.
"Cough… cough…"
The blanket stirred. The girl sat up slowly.
"Uncle Reddus… cough… no smoking… I feel awful… cough…" Her thin arms looked like withered branches. Malnourished. She tugged the blanket higher.
Merchants value profit over people… Damn merchants… Reddus thought.
"Sorry." He snuffed the pipe.
"Can I see today’s case photos?" the girl asked.
"Helly, are you sure?"
Reddus studied her. He always felt guilty about this girl. She was reclusive, yet as sharp as her father. He hated her father—a gloomy crow that unsettled him.
"Mm."
A feverish blush colored her cheeks. Her white nightgown strap had slipped slightly, revealing collarbone. She had her mother’s warm golden hair. Up close, she was beautiful—just starved into frailty.
Reddus handed her the report.
"Same as the others…"
She stood slowly. Paced deliberately, examining every detail.
"By the way, what did that man do to get interrogated at night?"
She set down the papers. Clearly, she’d dropped the case.
"Just a bar fight. He brawled with them."
"Was he hurt?" Helly asked.
"No. They were. Bones broken. Hospitalized. Won’t heal soon. Serves them right."
"I see…" Helly murmured.
She crawled back to the sofa, wrapping herself in the blanket.
Living like an orphan. Even sick, no one cared.
Maybe dying like this would end this cursed life…
Following Mother…
