"Did you see a teenage boy? He was wearing an old coat!" one of the men who rushed into the carriage said menacingly to the conductor.
From the corner of his eye, Klein caught a glimpse of the man's lean, tough build, skin darkened as if from prolonged sun exposure, and eye sockets much more sunken than those of a typical
A plateau native? Or perhaps of mixed blood? He nodded thoughtfully.
In the center of the Northern Continent, at the foothills of the Hornacis Mountains, lies a dry plateau. Most of it belongs to the
A large number of them left the plateau, entering
The conductor, a man in his twenties, shrank back upon hearing this and pointed toward the third-class carriages.
"I saw him... he went that way."
The leader, wearing a black coat and a bowler hat, gave an almost imperceptible nod. He led several companions and stormed toward the third-class carriages with heavy footsteps, completely ignoring the gazes of the surrounding passengers.
If I were that boy, I would have definitely gotten off at the third-class carriage by now... Klein thought, letting his mind wander while pretending to read his newspaper.
Another minute or so passed. A whistle blew ("Woo!"), and the carriage doors slowly closed.
Clack-clack, the steam subway accelerated from a slow start, but just then, Klein felt a sudden impulse and looked up toward the door leading to the other second-class carriages.
The same boy from before—wearing the old coat, a round bowler hat, and carrying a tattered satchel—walked slowly into this carriage.
His face was youthful, his features delicate, and his bright red eyes were deep and solemn.
"...Impressive. He got off at the third-class carriage, circled around, and boarded again here in the first-class carriage? Are the pursuers' accomplices still waiting in the subway station?" Klein felt slightly surprised, thinking the older boy handled the situation quite maturely and cautiously, better than many people in their twenties.
Tapping the teeth on his left side, he secretly activated Spirit Vision and scanned the boy. He saw that the boy's body was exhausted, his emotions tense and depressed, but he still maintained the calm, blue aura of rational thought.
Not simple... for his age... Klein muttered silently and lowered his head to continue reading his newspaper.
The older boy, unaware he had just been examined by a Beyonder, headed back toward the third-class carriages again.
The rest of the journey was smooth and uneventful. After about twenty minutes, Klein arrived at one of the three subway stations in the Cherwood Borough.
He took a hansom cab for nearly ten more minutes and finally found Minsk Street. Following the description in the newspaper, he went to No. 17, next door to No. 15, and rang the doorbell.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
As the chime echoed from within, a mechanical bird emerged from a hole in the door. It wasn't exactly good-looking—about the size of a palm, made of gears and other parts, repeatedly bobbing its head and making a sound like a cuckoo.
A neat toy, just a bit crude in its craftsmanship... Klein offered a fair assessment.
After a dozen seconds or so, the dark-colored door was opened by a young woman in a black-and-white maid's uniform. She looked at Klein with considerable wariness.
"May I ask what your business is?"
Klein smiled and raised the newspaper wrapped around his cane's handle: "I've come to see Mrs. Somer about renting a house. It hasn't been rented out yet, has it?"
The full name given in the newspaper was Starling Somer.
"It hasn't. Please wait a moment." The maid curtsied politely.
She hurried inside to inform her mistress. After a while, she returned, ushered Klein into the house, helped him set his cane and leather suitcase down in the hallway, and hung his coat and hat on the coat rack in the same area.
A warm wave of air washed over him, dispelling the chill Klein had brought in from outside. His gaze swept across the room, and the first thing he noticed was the uniquely structured fireplace, the red glow within it, and the burning smokeless charcoal.
The Somer family's drawing room was quite large, nearly equal to the entire first floor of the Moretti residence. In some places, decorative rugs were laid out, and landscape oil paintings hung on the walls.
The maid led Klein over to the seating area and said to her mistress, who wore a pale yellow dress: "Ma'am, your guest has arrived."
The mistress was around thirty, with blonde hair and blue eyes, delicate features, and a well-maintained appearance. She held a silver-inlaid court feather fan in her hand.
Because she was in her own home, and because the fireplace had created a warm environment, she wasn't wearing high-collared clothing.
"Good evening, Mrs. Somer." Klein pressed his hand to his chest and gave a courteous bow.
Mrs. Somer smiled with polite restraint: "Good evening. Please, sit down. Would you like coffee, or black tea?"
Klein settled onto the long sofa and answered frankly: "Black tea, thank you."
"Julian, Marquis black tea," Mrs. Somer instructed the maid, then shifted her gaze slightly. "May I ask how I should address you?"
"Sherlock Moriarty—you can simply call me Sherlock." Klein had long since prepared the alias.
At that moment, he caught a whiff of fragrance drifting from the kitchen direction and noticed the complex network of pipes there.
"Ha ha, those are my husband's design. Although his main occupation is a manager at the Kuym Company, he's an amateur mechanical enthusiast in his spare time, and also a member of the Kingdom's Soot Reduction Association." Mrs. Somer noticed Klein's gaze and offered the explanation with a smile.
Ma'am, there's no need to be quite so detailed—I'm not here for a blind date with your husband… Klein quipped inwardly, his smile unwavering as he spoke aloud: "Mrs. Somer, I'd like to rent the house at Number 15."
Mrs. Somer straightened her back, her posture elegant as she smiled: "Then I must give you some advance warnings. The house at Number 15 doesn't have pipes like these, doesn't have an armchair like this, no card table, no sideboard with a mahogany base, no fine ceramic dinner plates, no silver cutlery, no gold-plated tea set, no removable carpets…"
She pointed to the items in her own home, introducing them one by one, and added at the end: