Chapter 16
At the End of Harvest… (2)
Why!? Why must we always be on opposite sides of every polarity!?
Every answer…
Every action…
Even a damn idea!
If I said the sky was blue, he would argue it was the royal navy! If I wanted silence, he would open the phonograph! At this point, we must already move from beyond ‘Nemesis’ to ‘Mortal Enemies’—the one that could only end by one of us getting thrown off into a waterfall.
And yet—GRRRRR!!!
Why was I sharing the carriage roof with him again!?
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“We’ve left Bakerstead for nearly fifteen minutes,” John spoke his mind. “Don’t you think it’s a little awkward that we’re still sitting here in silence?”
I didn’t bother turning to look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the window and the passing streets.
“For you,” I said flatly, “I could be silent for another hour.”
“In that case,” he hummed thoughtfully. “If we ever found ourselves in any unfortunate business rivalry situation, you wouldn’t be angry if I had to leave you tied up and gagged for an hour, right?”
I whipped my head around, ready to unleash my fury.
But, John slid on the seat next to me, leaning in with dangerously close space. His mischievous eyes, like one of a predator teasing its prey, made me lose my word in my thoughts.
Steadying myself, I took a slow breath.
“Alright,” I muttered through clenched teeth, “what exactly do you want to talk about?”
“Actually, I don’t have anything specific,” He leaned back, smug and satisfied. “But since we’re in different professions that inevitably put us on opposite sides, I figured it might be wise to discuss… ‘the Rules.’”
“Rules?” I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of rules?”
“Rules of engagement,” He smiled. “Something to help maintain a good relationship between us, even after everything to come.”
“Good relationship? That’s absurd!” I scoffed. “You know what’s a healthy way to have a good relationship with me? Stop running illegal businesses. Be a fine, respectable gentleman. You have potential, but you throw it away on this dirty life.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll do it instantly… if you make a compromise.” John chuckled, almost cheerfully. “Stop risking that adorable self of yours in dangerous games. Live peacefully. Be the elegant, peaceful lady society expects you to be. That way, I’ll have no reason to get involved with you, and I promise you’ll be treated with the utmost respect.”
I didn’t argue.
Because, frustratingly, he had a point, and it wasn’t one that I could comply with.
“Of course, you can’t,” he mused, reading my silence. “Which means—I’ll also keep being me.”
“This rule of engagement,” I clenched my jaw. “Do you think you will make international law?”
“Well, you could see it that way! And if I ever violate these rules, I’ll gladly let you treat me as a war criminal.”
“Just speak.”
“From this point forward, I will only touch you under three conditions.”
I braced myself. “First?”
“With consent.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Isn’t that common sense for a decent person?”
“Second, in response to a life-threatening urgency.”
“You’re speaking like you actually want to protect me.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
I exhaled sharply. “Third?”
“During our business days.”
“That’s too vague. I don’t think I can accept it.”
“Come on,” he said, feigning disappointment. “You are my ‘Nemesis.’ My work would be far too difficult if I couldn’t touch you during our battles.”
“Why should I accept your rules?”
“Because, well, these rules are made to benefit you, not me.”
“No, I think not.” I held his gaze.“A devil always has an interest when making a deal.”
“Devil!?” he clutched his chest theatrically. “You wound me, my dear Sherlin!”
He held my gaze, still grinning—but something in his expression shifted. Then, after a pause, his voice softened.
“But, if you insist, then I suppose I do have one interest.”
His smirk wavered—just for a second. The playful arrogance in his voice faltered, replaced by something quieter and real.
“Please… don’t hate me more than you already do.”
I stared at him, searching for any sign of deceit in his expression. But John was like the devil—ominous in his intentions, yet strangely earnest when it came to making a deal. Unlike an angel, who grants blessings on a whim, the devil is a strict businessman. A Faustian bargain is far more trustworthy—so long as you read every letter on the contract.
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“If you insist there’s no hidden interest behind those rules,” I said coldly, “then there’s nothing I can do about it.”
John tilted his head. “So… is that a yes or a no?”
“You made those rules for yourself,” I turned back to the window. “Whether you follow them or not—it’s entirely up to you.”
He hummed, his voice dipped in mock-thoughtfulness. “So, that means... yes?”
I gave him no response.
He was a criminal mastermind. A genius like him didn’t need me to emphasize answers like some common fool.
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“Welcome, Mr. Moriaty! And you must be Lady Sherlin Hound, I presume?”
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The woman behind the counter greeted us with practiced warmth as we stepped into the boutique.
“Yes,” I replied, eyeing her with mild curiosity. “And you are, Miss?”
“Missus, actually,” she corrected with a graceful smile. “Mrs. Julien Von Herder. I run this shop with my husband, Mr. Erich Von Herder. I handle the tailoring, and he’s the expert when it comes to accessories. We’re at your service, Lady Hound.”
“Von Herder, hm?” I murmured, the name tugging at something buried in memory. “Your husband doesn’t happen to secretly get involved with the arms trade, does he?”
Mrs. Von Herder froze—just for a moment. It was barely, but enough for me to notice. Oh no… Maybe I was getting a bit too big-mouthed about this.
“I mean,” I let out a dry laugh, “I just found an extraordinary firearm in the underworld market named the ‘Von Herder Rifle.’ But surely—it must be a coincidence!”
“A coincidence, surely,” she replied. “But if my husband truly has a hand in anything illegal… well, let’s just say he and I would be having a very serious word.”
“Ahem,” John cut into our conversation. “Mrs. Von Herder, would you mind showing us the dress?”
“Of course. Right this way,” she said, gesturing toward the back room. “Following Mr. Moriaty’s specifications, I’ve crafted something truly unique. A gown that isn’t only elegant but also comfortable. No corset, no stiff high collar. Light, breathable, flexible.”
I stared at John, cautiously.
“Since when did you become an expert in women’s fashion?”
“Around the same time I started researching how to throw a birthday party.”
“You speak like you’ve never had one?”
“Of course not. This is my first birthday party experience,” he feigned humble. “So I must apologize in advance for any potential flaws and you’re welcome to point out anything that needs improvement.”
Please don’t do it…
He already did more than enough.
The whole event was complete madness, and the dress before me elevated things to a new level. Since he’d arranged some kind of medieval tournament and fair, naturally, my gown had been tailored to match the theme.
Look at me now.
The dress was made of soft satin that shimmered with every step I took, dyed in a blend of vibrant rose and regal violet. The colors gave off an air of nobility’s grace—and paired with the sophisticated gold-thread embroidery winding through the fabric in elegant patterns, it made me feel like a real ‘Princess’ mascot for a fairy tale theme park.
“How is it, my Lady?”
Mrs. Von Herder asked kindly, adjusting the sleeves with professional care.
Well… if we completely ignored how embarrassed I was, “It’s beautiful, and very comfortable.”
Mrs. Von Herder beamed with pride. “So, you’re satisfied with it!?”
I nodded, mostly to keep her goodwill intact. “Of course.”
“Mrs. Von Herder,” John spoke up, sounding far too pleased with himself. “If you’re finished with Lady Hound, could you show me my suit?”
“Your suit? Ah, yes! That suit!” Mrs. Von Herder’s eyes sparkled. “Lady Hound, would you excuse us for just a moment?”
“Hey—wait!!” I turned toward them. “At least help me get out of this dress first!”
But they were already gone. The door shut behind them, leaving me alone in the fitting room like some forgotten doll on display. Curious—and more than a little annoyed—I crept toward the room they’d vanished into, intending to peek through the gap. But the door was locked.
Seriously, what could be so secretive about a suit?
With a sigh, I gave up and looked for somewhere to wait. I found an empty seat near the corner, next to a small magazine rack prepared for guests. Out of sheer boredom, I picked up today’s edition of the Steamburg Gazette—a paper I’d already read this morning at the estate.
Still, it was better than nothing…
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Wait a minute…
Was this really the same newspaper!?
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ANOTHER GRISLY MURDER IN BLACKCHARPEL
FOURTH VICTIM FOUND
Terror stalks the alleys of Blackcharpel once more, as a fourth woman has been found brutally murdered in the early hours of the morning. The victim, like the others, was a labor-class woman. Metropolitan Knights have identified her as Miss Clarette Mourn, a late-night shift worker at Karlson’s Industry.
The pattern is unmistakable. Over the past weeks, four women have been slain in strikingly similar ways. Though the Metropolitan Knights have yet to make any official statement, locals believe this is clearly the work of a phantom killer known only as ‘The Ripper.’
What troubles the public most, however, is the utter lack of protection afforded to potential victims. Labor-class women in the slum districts are frequently overlooked by the authorities. Critics claim the Metropolitan Knights have made minimal effort to track down the killer, using Blackcharpel’s poverty and high crime rates as an excuse for their inaction.
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I was certain I had never read this article before.
Quickly, I flipped through the rest of the newspapers at the stand. One after another—every edition had the same topic.
The Ripper.
A serial killer on the loose.
Then why did every copy delivered to my estate act like this story didn’t exist? Nothing could give me a logical explanation, except...
“Mrs. Von Herder, your work is always splendid,” The door finally opened. “However, if possible, could you adjust the weight? My tactics require agility. Could you lighten the material? I’ll sacrifice a bit of protection if needed.”
The two of them stepped out—and John turned straight toward me, just as I sat, arms crossed, waiting.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone bother you?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just a bit curious.” I tossed the stack of newspapers at his feet.
“For two weeks, I’ve been isolated at Bakerstead—no cases, no letters, nothing. Even the Steamburg Gazette, which I read every morning, had nothing but dull and irrelevant articles. But then I found these on a magazine rack. Real newspapers. And every one of them had a headline about a serial killer on a rampage.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“John... Do you know anything about this?”
“Of course not. How would I know anything about your newspapers?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. What, do you think I cast some kind of spell to erase headlines from your personal copies? Am I some kind of a sorcerer?”
“Then don’t bother sending me back home. Clearly, I haven’t been keeping up with the world—and I need to catch up.”
I turned on my heel to walk out.
But before I could take a step, John grabbed my arm.
“If you mean the Ripper—don’t!” His voice dropped. “That case is too dangerous for you to pursue.”
“So… you do know something.”
“I don’t know anything,” he sighed. “But fine. I had someone forge a fake version of the Gazette for your estate. I just… didn’t want you to get tangled up in something so hideous or to see it was more important than the birthday event I prepared.”
I clenched my fists so tight—tight enough for me to feel the sting bite in my palm. I took a long, deep breath to calm myself down.
But, trust me, it didn’t help a bit.
Hearing that confession was the last straw. It was the final snap.
And so, I swung my knuckle…
Right toward his handsome nose!!!
