Hazy hallucinations lingered in front of Derrick's eyes, and the sudden sense of mistiness reached its peak at this moment. He stared at the ordinary young man who suddenly appeared in front of him, trying hard to open his eyes wide. The micro figure who belonged to the "Light Prayer" The light expands on the surface of the body, and the unfocused eyes can only see a small lake.
Distorted white light trembled underground. On the upper floor of the round tower, in the house where Colin was located, the old chief stared in the direction of the underground, his light blue eyes flashing for a moment in confusion.
"Child...child?"
The old voice passed through the steel wall, weak and distorted. Derrick held his head in confusion, and his perspective refocused.
"What happened to me just now?"
For some reason, he suddenly felt as if his spirituality had been drained, and his brain felt unnatural swelling and pain.
He felt like he had forgotten something...
"By the way, you just asked me what that person's name was, and then you suddenly acted like this."
The old voice was still calm. Derrick, who had a splitting headache, had a flash of doubt in his eyes and pursed his lips into a thin line.
I asked the foreigner's name, and then... Derrick adjusted his sitting position to make himself more comfortable, breathing in the cold air in the dungeon, trying to get his thoughts back on track.
Is there something wrong with that person's name, or is it the side effect of the herbal medicine just now?
Although he had only become an Extraordinary not long ago, the general courses in Silver City had always emphasized that the names of some mysterious beings themselves symbolized a certain kind of power, and it was possible that just mentioning them would lead to unimaginable disasters.
I won't be contaminated too, right?
While he was thinking, the horrifying speculation suddenly sent a chill across his body, and even the headache and emptiness that made him feel tortured were washed away a lot.
The old voice behind him was still mumbling something through the iron wall. Derrick touched his body in panic, enduring the severe pain. The holy light penetrated his skin and purified himself with the holy light. Take a breath.
No mutations have occurred...at least I haven't been executed by the "Crown of Glory" yet...
In the cell next door, the blood of the out-of-control man was still scattered with blood mixed with the smell of rust. Derrick smelled the smell and swallowed hard with his saliva.
"Well, why don't you speak?"
There was a rhythmic muffled knock on the wall, and an old voice whispered.
"No, it's nothing. The herbal medicine just seemed to have worked, and I feel a little uncomfortable." Derrick Lake replied while playing with it.
"Oh, just rest more," the old voice said, having seen too many things before, so he didn't pay much attention to it, "I hope you won't be executed by the sealed artifact here so soon."
He comforted Derrick somewhat harshly, and his voice gradually subsided.
Rest... But if I am contaminated, I don’t know if Mr. Fool will allow me to participate in the Tarot Club... After hearing the response, Derrick subconsciously followed the other party’s suggestion. He climbed back on the low bed, curled up into a ball with his tall body, and stared at the ceiling blankly.
The pain buried deep in his brain continued, so he raised his palm and pinched the socket of his right eye.
Suddenly, the pain disappeared.
In the next room, an old man with his head cracked along the central axis was leaning against the cold iron wall, with a smile on his face, and his eyes that were far apart gradually lost their light.
............
Tuesday morning, Backlund factory area.
Klein, who had not yet received a reply from Mr. Azik and was a little worried about the recent actions of MI9 and gangs, came to the factory-dense area of the East District alone.
This time he did not rely entirely on illusions. Instead, he found a hotel near the street and rented a room for a long time.
After changing into an ordinary worker's uniform, he wrapped the chain blade cane in linen cloth and disguised it as a pick pole that can be seen everywhere, but it looked much shorter.
After the fall of Kapin, a large number of empty areas were left outside the original gang's sphere of influence. It has become even more unsettled recently... With his peaked cap lowered, Crane carefully observed his surroundings in order to distinguish himself from Sherlock Moriarty.
In order to improve his appearance, he took off his plain glasses, and even the beard created by the human skin mask became much thinner.
In the suburbs of Backlund, workers were being recruited for the construction of a new wharf... After walking for a while, he sneaked into a street corner where laid-off workers often gathered, and borrowed a crumpled flyer from the crowd.
I remember that the old Kohler told me about this kind of recruitment inspiration last time. The so-called new dock construction company will pay to bring the families of suitable workers to their construction sites. Therefore, this project has been sought after by many workers, and more because of "
Farmers who were forced to move to cities due to the Corn Laws actively signed up, almost seeing this as their hope for future life.
However, the family moved... Klein read the above description carefully, read it two or three times, and found no part about the location of the construction site. There was only a registration address for registration at Port No. 2 in the dock area.
To be honest, after learning about the royal family’s conspiracy, I now doubt whether this is a secret method for the royal family to recruit people... With a long sigh, Klein’s inspiration was touched, and he followed that
Dao commented that he looked around and saw a man who looked like a foreman standing in front of the group of unemployed workers, arrogantly looking at the relatively healthy ones among them, and he glanced at Klein several times.
The sound of clanging and clanging echoed around them, and workers who were staring numbly one after another suddenly came back to their senses, with a rare gleam in their eyes, and stood up tentatively.
"Ahem, I only need three people to unload the packages at the dock."
The foreman, who was just a bit stronger than the ordinary workers, looked at the thin bones who came closer, curled his lips in disappointment, cursed secretly, and then applied it to their bodies without restraint.
He pinched the arms of the workers who looked the healthiest for a while, and then vigorously opened the arms of the old guys and sick ones who wanted to come over and beg to choose him. Finally, after spending some time, he gathered three of them.
A middle-aged man who looks similar.
"Sir, I can also..."
There was also a middle-aged and elderly man who was holding on to the foreman's clothes, twisting the wrinkles on his face and pleading hard.
"Sir, all I need is sixpence a week..."
"Six pennies?" The foreman, whose face was full of irritation, threw away his hand, frowned deeply, and lit a cigarette with an unknown brand.
He took a deep breath from the filter, slowly exhaled the white smoke, and said with a sideways nose:
"Six pence a week is enough for farmers who are younger than you. If you are willing to pay four pence a week, I can consider it."
Four pennies a week!
The middle-aged and elderly man with a stooped body suddenly twitched his cheeks, and his mouth, which was still brewing something else to say, suddenly froze.
Six pence a week was only enough for him to rent a bunk in someone else's house, and he could only sleep at night. The remaining money was barely enough to cover his food expenses for a week, and he couldn't save at all.
If he does the same job and only gets four pennies a week, he won't have a place to sleep and will have to squeeze under the bridge like now. But he will never get enough rest. He can work for more than three weeks at most and less than one month.
In the next month, he will lose his job again due to lack of physical strength, and may even get sick in this increasingly cold early winter. Whether he can survive this winter is a matter of two questions.
Seeing this middle-aged and elderly man lowering his hands, the foreman frowned deeply, took a deep breath of cigarette, cursed secretly, and walked away. The few workers who were lucky enough to be selected just now followed eagerly behind him, leaving only
The man behind him stood helplessly, motionless.
The other workers around who were not selected and were still forced to live a life of unemployment witnessed all this numbly. After seeing that they had no hope, they looked away hastily, either conserving their strength or continuing to gather around the literate people.
Trying to find a new way out from the recently distributed leaflets.
"Khloe, right?"
Hearing an unfamiliar voice calling his name, the middle-aged and elderly man who stood there suddenly turned his head, with an uncontrollable look of hope on his face, which seemed to be mixed with a little fear.
The disguised Klein looked at the man in front of him who was paler than before. His beard was longer, his gray hair was greasier, and even his thick jacket had more stains.
"Don't you remember me?" He pulled up the peaked cap covering his head, and blinked lightly with his camouflaged light blue eyes.
"I said, if I come to the East District next time and need a guide, I will come to you."
Guide... The look of hope on old Kohler's face slowly spread, and the light in his eyes lit up.
"Good sir, is that you?"
His voice was low, and his hands subconsciously wanted to hold Klein, but he timidly took them back.
"But why are you dressed like this? I didn't recognize you at first."
Following Klein's footsteps, they walked out of the center of the crowd. Old Kohler looked up and down at Klein's dress, which was no different from that of ordinary workers in the East District, and poked his head suspiciously.
"You know, reporters sometimes need to investigate some things secretly." Klein looked forward and said casually.
Old Kohler, who was following closely, said "Oh" and glanced around. When Klein wasn't paying attention, he hurriedly straightened his hair and pulled his clothes a few times to try not to look so sloppy.
.
After walking for about a minute or two, the two walked out of the street corner where unemployed workers gathered, and turned to the outer streets where factories were densely packed.
There are some cheap bars and cafes scattered here, providing workers with a rare place to rest and relax.
He glanced at the pocket watch in his pocket covertly and found that it was almost noon. Klein walked into a nearby cafe and sat by the window, his sleeves not touching the greasy tabletop.
"Let's chat while we eat. I plan to ask you some questions. This meal is part of the reward."
The old Kohler, who had an empty stomach, did not show any pretense, but his movements were still somewhat reserved and he sat down opposite Klein. His eyes were directed at the table, focusing on the greasy spots.
"What do you want to eat?"
Klein asked casually while reading the simple menu.
"I can do anything. All you need is some black bread and tea." Kohler waved his hands quickly, his throat moving.
Brown bread... Klein would think of the dry and hard food mixed with wood residue that he had eaten in Tingen, and decisively chose its close relative.
"Three pieces of white bread, a bowl of goulash, coffee, and Dixie pie."
After clicking a few words with his finger, Klein handed the menu and banknotes to the boss who was also a waiter. He watched the middle-aged man, whose hair and beard were much neater than those of the workers outside the house, walk quickly around the kitchen and said to himself
After the wife, who was acting as the cook, shouted a few times, she hurried to another location.
"Sir, there is really no need..."
Old Kohler opposite was still saying something with a sheepish expression. Klein breathed a sigh of relief and interrupted him:
"You can call me Mr. Moriarty. My last name is Moriarty."
He looked at the unemployed worker who was not in good mental and physical health. He tapped his arms rhythmically with his fingers wrapped around his chest and said in a low voice:
"While we're at it before dinner, we can talk about your remuneration."
With that said, Klein winked mischievously in order to make the other party relax.
It's just a pity that his face has become stiff due to wearing the human skin mask for a certain period of time, and he did not show the gentleness it should have.
"I actually..." Kohler recalled the one sole reward that Mr. Kang had delivered last time. Various thoughts were fighting in his heart. After struggling for a while, he forced a smile and said proactively:
"You only have to pay me sevenpence once."
As he said that, when he saw that Klein didn't respond, he nervously explained why he hoped it would be seven pennies.
"It's like this, I want to find another job, but if so, I must have a place to rest. If it's seven pennies, I can rent a bunk where I can rest at night for a week...
....”
He rambled on about the strange leasing methods in the East District, and Klein's lowered eyes slowly raised.
"One suler a week. If the results are good this time, I can consider hiring you long-term."
Klein nodded without a doubt, and then reviewed the questions he had already arranged in his mind. Without giving old Kohler a chance to breathe, he quickly asked:
"Answer me a question first. Have you heard about anyone wanted by the gangs in the East District recently?"
He looked into the middle-aged and elderly worker's eyes and nodded slightly.
"wanted?"
Old Kohler was obviously a little surprised by this question, but he didn't ask why. He just thought about it for a moment, and then quickly gave an answer.
"I seem to have heard that they were arresting two people at the dock recently, but it doesn't seem like the same gang is arresting them."
"Not the same one?" Klein was a little surprised.
Old Kohler looked out the window and continued to recall:
"Yes, it seems that some new sect members in the East End are hunting for a man named... Azik Eggers, but there is another small gang in the dock area who is looking for someone else."
"As far as I know, big gangs such as the Tories and Whigs have not made any movements. Only some small gangs that have been active recently have issued wanted notices."
"Well... the names written on the wanted poster over at the dock seem to be Maric and..."
Old Kohler frowned, and after thinking hard for a while, he shook his head guiltily.
"Sorry, Mr. Moriarty, I can't remember the other one clearly."
Miss Sharon...
Winter... Klein's fingers tapped lightly on the table.
－－－－－－Digression－－－－－
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