Burton spoke confidently, taking pleasure in this—though he did not say it directly, it felt as though he were insulting Boro’s intelligence.
Boro remained silent, as he often did. Just when he was on the verge of pulling the trigger to kill this damned detective, Burton would always prove his worth, then infuriate him to no end.
“So this is your plan, to borrow those forensic doctors?”
Burton nodded.
“Boro, you must admit, expertise lies in specialization. I once attended classes at the Royal College of Medicine.” A twisted expression, as if recalling a nightmare, crossed Burton’s face.
“To be honest, it was the first time I felt lost in the face of knowledge.”
“Of course, you also have your uses, otherwise I wouldn’t come to this wretched place in the Lower City to meet you.”
Burton was always this confident, caring not at all that Boro had just pointed a gun at him.
“Boro, I’ve come mainly to ask you some questions.”
“What questions?”
Boro placed the gun on the table, once again falling into Burton’s rhythm. Though he was the employer, the leader of the entire Lower City, when Burton began his long-winded discourse, Boro would always unconsciously feel inferior to him.
It was like a teacher and his student, with Burton being the unruly teacher who did not teach his student anything, but instead toyed with their mind to showcase his own superiority, as if deriving satisfaction from it.
“Boro, I need to know the full picture of this case.”
Burton stared intently at Boro, and in the unique teal-blue pupils of the Inverwegian people, his blurred figure was reflected.
“A sailor knows the secret you want to know… Boro, I am a detective, not a writer. I need to know the full story to figure everything out, otherwise I will just go home and find a way to fabricate a plausible story for you.”
Clutching the edge of the table, Burton pulled himself closer, until the two of them looked like inseparable friends.
“So, are you interested in telling me?”
Burton asked with a smile.
The story began half a month ago.
According to Inverweg law, from mid-June to mid-September is the fishing ban period, during which all fishing boats are anchored in port and forbidden to set sail for fishing. But one day half a month ago, a fishing boat arrived at Reyndona Port amidst thick fog.
“My men have been tracking that ship for a long time. It departed from Nobildo, the Viking Kingdom, and during the journey, it changed course and passed through the Ice Sea, finally arriving at Reyndona Port half a month ago.”
“Sounds nothing suspicious. Every year during the fishing ban, many fishing boats catch fish in other seas and finally deliver them to Old Dunling.”
Burton said as he listened.
“The problem is that after their fishing boat docked, they did not unload any cargo, and no one came out. It just stayed at the dock. After several days of exposure to the sun, the fish and shrimp began to stink, which caught people’s attention.”
“Then… what value does this fishing boat have?”
This was a fundamental question. Everything has its value, even this fishing boat. Burton could not understand how it had alarmed a big shot like Boro.
“It is not just a simple fishing boat.”
Boro told the hidden story, with alcohol enhancing the atmosphere, making him feel much better.
“My business is not limited to Old Dunling; I have dealings with surrounding regions… That ship was transporting something it should not have. My men have been tracking it using new-style steamships, which are more than twice as fast as them.
Originally, they were going to intercept them in the North Sea, then send this unfortunate fishing boat to the bottom of the sea and send those Vikings back to their Valhalla.”
He drank the remaining wine in his glass in one gulp and continued.
“But an accident occurred. It was as if the god Odin was favoring them. That fishing boat sailed into the Ice Sea, and my men lost their trail in a storm. Then, as I said, they arrived at Reyndona Port. The fish and shrimp were just a disguise; the real cargo had long been transported away.”
“So what I need to investigate is that mysterious cargo, right?”
Burton lowered his head and lit his pipe, speaking as he nodded.
“Right. According to the list, that Vohl was a sailor on the Silver Fish. Since their arrival, this group of people has vanished into thin air. Vohl was the only one whose trail I could find.”
“Including the captain and first mate, there are a total of seventeen people. Excluding the dead Vohl, the remaining sixteen are still missing.”
“But now the only Vohl is dead because of you.”
Boro said unhappily.
Burton looked at him, the confusion in his heart not lessening.
“Why didn’t you do it yourself? It’s just about capturing a person.”
“This cargo is related to a certain duke. My men cannot appear at the scene.” Boro was a king in the darkness, but when facing that noble duke, he still showed hesitation.
“And the cargo?”
“I don’t know. I only know it was sealed in an iron crate.”
Burton laughed.
“Look, another vague request. Can I go to the blacksmith and randomly bring an iron crate to claim the reward?”
This time, Boro did not get angry at Burton’s provocation. He was very calm, contrary to his usual self.
“Do you believe in things like the sixth sense?”
“Do you mean intuition?”
“Something like that.”
Boro’s eyes drooped as he looked at the revolver on the table, where ghosts and spirits were carved on the cylinder. He was mesmerized by it.
“When you see it for the first time, you will understand… Like intuition, when you see that iron crate, you will recognize it.”
The words were mysterious and profound, a side of Boro that Burton had never seen before, and he felt something was amiss.
“Boro, there are still many things you haven’t explained to me clearly.”
This was a fragmented story, and even Burton felt at a loss, with shadows he could not see clearly behind it.
“Burton, you are just a detective I hired, not my accountant. You’d better not know too much about my business.”
Boro refused to reveal more, his gaze firm.
“This is for your own good.”
“The remaining information is all here. The carriage is already waiting outside. You can take a look at it on the way to the hospital.”
As he spoke, Boro took out a document, flipped through a few pages, tore off the parts Burton should not know, and threw it to him.
“Burton, you know how much I trust you. I am the hated Butcherbird, and you are the iron thorn I use to pierce my prey.”
Boro looked at him.
“So get out now. If you can’t do this well, I will load the last bullet into that gun.” He was referring to the revolver with a one-sixth probability of firing.
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“Fine, fine.”
Burton stood up, picked up the document, turned to leave, but then stopped.
“Still going about it my way, right?”
“I only care about the result of this matter.”
This was probably an answer, so Burton pushed open the iron door and left without looking back.
Stepping out of this castle of random stones, the cold air instantly rushed into Burton’s nostrils. The air was so damp, cold, and oppressive.
So cold…
Old Dunling was like this. With thousands of tons of water vapor lingering day and night, it was always overcast and rainy. The vapor gathered above the city, like a dome of clouds covering everything. When the sun shone, it would make the cloudy sky golden, as if the sky itself were burning.
The coachman was already waiting outside for Burton. This time, Burton directly entered the carriage and began to flip through the document.
The scenery outside the carriage window changed slowly. After passing through several inspections, they entered the Outer City. Different from the dilapidation and desolation of the Lower City, here one could see towering Gothic and Baroque architecture everywhere. Tall steam towers stood between each block, and billowing smoke rose from the chimneys, turning everything gray and white.
This was the birthplace of steam technology, the most advanced city in the world. With the innovation and development of technology, everyone lived with hope.
The document was fixed with an exquisite iron frame, and the edges were decorated with weathered brass. This was a common decorative technique in this era, featuring gears and pipes, as if everything were part of a steam machine. For this reason, there was even a group of people who worshipped those scalding machines, believing they were a great power bestowed upon humans by the gods.
Flipping open the document, Burton read carefully in the rocking carriage.
What was written here was much more detailed than what Boro had said. Most of it was the personal accounts of the investigated persons, with messy words, but without exception, they were all recorded.
Seeing this, Burton felt more comfortable. In the past, when those people handled cases, they only retained the important and concise parts, making some records look extremely cold.
Recording every word in detail was an opinion put forward by Burton. Only in this way could Burton, when facing this piece of paper, feel that he was facing a real person, a flesh-and-blood individual who rambled on, slowly saying everything.
Reaching into his bosom, he took out a gaudily carved iron box, which was neatly filled with cigarettes.
He picked up one of the cigarettes with a red line drawn on it, put it in his mouth, and looked at everything on the document.
The carriage was filled with curling smoke, rising slowly.
Time seemed to slow down. The substances contained in the tobacco spread to his nerves after being exchanged in his blood, so there was a faint light in his gray-blue eyes.
It was as if the carriage had entered another world. The outside of the window became dark, and finally turned pitch-black. In this darkness, only the little sparks from Burton’s cigarette remained.
“Let me take a look at you…”
Burton whispered, and along with the sparks from the cigarette, his fingers rubbed against the rough paper, and he silently recited the words on the document in his heart.
The so-called “word magic,” simply understood, was that words could bring about reality, just like the classic “God said, let there be light, and there was light.”
It was a narrative from the bottom of the heart, so “spirit” fermented in the darkness.
Burton looked at the document by the light of the fire. In this darkness, there was suddenly the sound of a rapid wind, carrying the fishy smell of seawater and sweeping over him.
It seemed that something was approaching Burton. It was slowly crawling on the ground, making a sticky and disgusting sound. Its eyes stared quietly at this meditating man, and it stopped not far away.
A thunderbolt flashed, and under the coercion of this storm, it lit up the darkness for an instant, causing the earth to shake.
Although it was only an instant, one could still see that Burton was sitting on a chair with his head bowed in thought. When the view was pulled back, it could be seen that he was now on the Silver Fish.
The sea beat against this ship on the verge of sinking, and an eerie cold wind caressed him. On the cracked and damp deck in front of him, there were now people standing everywhere.
As if none of this existed, Burton coldly raised his head and looked at the silhouette paled by the thunder, with seaweed-like hair swaying in the wind, and seawater dripping like blood.
Burton had no trace of fear, as if everything was as ordinary as could be.
“Where on earth did you all go?”
He demanded of this eerie darkness.
The crew who had vanished into thin air, the mysterious cargo. He was searching for the strangeness hidden in the lines, the true force driving all of this.
The instant thunder was about to depart. Just as this light was fading, Burton detected a trace of stale blood.
That creature staring at him in the dark.
Suddenly turning his head, Burton found it—the key point.
His gaze swept over rapidly, catching a grim corner, but immediately that corner overlapped with a familiar face, and a voice sounded.
“Mr. Holmes?”
The coachman opened the carriage door and looked at Burton surrounded by smoke. His eyes were dull and empty, as if looking at a void.
It was not until the ash burned Burton’s fingers that he reacted as if waking from a dream and threw away the cigarette butt.
As the coachman opened the door, that eerie, dreamlike scene ended.
The sky was still gloomy, and there was a hint of disappointment on the coachman’s face.
“Sir, I thought you wouldn’t touch things like hallucinogens.”
Victoria Central Hospital had been reached for a long time. He had called Burton many times, but Burton had not responded. Even when he opened the carriage door, Burton was still in that dull state of being lost in a fantasy.
Although he worked for the leaders of all the gangs, the coachman still instinctively resisted hallucinogens. Young people believed these were keys to heaven, but in his view, they were invitations to hell.
“You know, in my line of work, sometimes I need a little inspiration.”
Burton smiled and did not directly answer.
The coachman stepped aside to make way, and as Burton got out of the carriage, he muttered.
“If you need it, I know a few good addiction specialists… but their methods are rather rough.”
Out of politeness, Burton smiled and thanked the coachman for his concern, then strode forward toward the hospital, which was as magnificent as an ancient castle.
