Chapter 42

[AI ERROR / SAFETY BLOCK - RAW ENGLISH RETAINED]

Hire us for a job...? You might’ve come to the wrong place... This security company’s sign is really just a sign...

Countless retorts bubbled up inside Klein as soon as he heard the visitor’s words. How he yearned for a message board with bullet comments in this world so he could share his thoughts. But he soon recalled that he had once asked a similar question—the captain’s answer being, “Why not take on the jobs if you have time? The money earned can be set aside in the team’s petty cash fund, and there’d be bonuses for the participants.”

Rosanne’s eyes darted around, and after a moment of thought, she said, “Our security personnel are all out on missions. The soonest they’ll return is in about an hour. If your matter isn’t urgent, you can consider our services.”

Among the six formal Nighthawk members, Captain Dunn Smith had been invited to the cathedral by the bishop to discuss some business. Leonard Mitchell was guarding Chanis Gate in his place. Corpse Collector Frye and Sleepless Royale Reideen had already headed to the Golden Plane area to assist the police in investigating a robbery case with possible links to cults. Kenley White, the other Sleepless, was on leave, while Seka Truan, another Midnight Poet, had gone to Raphael Cemetery in the suburb outside Northside on her daily patrol.

As for the remaining two Beyonders, Old Neil was frail and advanced in years, having not taken any missions in a long time, and Klein was still a novice—truly inadequate in every aspect.

“They are all out...” The man, holding his umbrella in one hand, dropped his expression. He removed his hat and bowed, “Apologies for the intrusion. Good day.”

He turned and walked out, descending the stairs and leaving 36 Jutland Street amid spattering rain and howling winds.

“What a pity,” Rosanne sighed regretfully as she watched him leave. Though she wouldn’t get any share of the commission, she would have enjoyed a sumptuous meal.

“There’s nothing we can do about it. Chanis Gate needs to be guarded at all times,” Klein said, putting down his cutlery in satisfaction. Even though he didn’t care for the soup with its mixture of turnips and vegetables, he still ate every last drop. “Don’t tell me you want Brett to go on the mission? Or go yourself?”

Rosanne turned her eyes to him and giggled, “Brett can’t, but you can. Our Mister Seer..."

The moment the words left her mouth, she instantly realized that her comment might expose their secret; the front door was only half closed. If anyone passing by or visiting overheard anything about Beyonders, it would be a problem.

“Good thing Captain isn’t around...” Rosanne looked out the door and secretly stuck her tongue out. “Or I’d have to go to confession again!”

Brett and Klein laughed in unison. Exchanging a knowing look, they began putting away the cutlery.

After everything was done, Klein decided to stay at Blackthorn Security Company until the rain stopped, mostly because he had not brought his umbrella. He grabbed a newspaper and sat on the soft, bouncy sofa, leisurely beginning his “siesta.”

“The airship route from Backlund to Desi Bay is now in service...”

“The complete anthology of Great Detective Munson will soon be available in print...”

“An advertisement for Lagolas Weapons? A standard-model six-round revolver for three pounds and ten soli... A double-barrel hunting rifle for two pounds...”

...

Flipping through Tingen City Honest Paper, a particular piece of news suddenly caught Klein's eye:

“...The suspects wanted for the deaths of Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya have all been apprehended. No doubt, this provides a much-needed reprieve from the horror that has gripped Northside, Golden Plane, and Eastside... Mr. McGovern, Welch’s father and a banker, has escorted his youngest son’s body back to Constant where a grand funeral will be held...”

After reading it a few times, Klein suddenly sighed. It appeared that Welch’s father had bought the police’s explanation and had not hired a private investigator to look into the matter...

His grief from losing his youngest son can't he greater than that of my parents who lost their only child...

In a sullen mood, Klein sat there motionless for a long time. He didn’t find it odd that he was not invited to either Welch’s or Naya’s funerals, and it didn’t sadden him.

Once everything calms down, I'll find a chance to visit their graves and offer a bouquet of flowers...

Klein was about to take a nap in the respite room when a knock sounded on the front door again.

“Please come in,” Rosanne said as she suddenly jolted awake in the midst of dozing off.

The half-closed door was pushed open, and the lanky man with white hair from before walked in once again.

“Would you mind if I wait here? Your mercenaries—no, your security personnel—should be back soon, right?” he asked sincerely, doing his best to mask his anxious expression.

“Sure. Please have a seat,” Rosanne said, gesturing toward the sofa nearby.

Out of curiosity, Klein asked, “Where did you hear about our security company? Did someone introduce you to us?”

He had made two trips here despite the heavy afternoon storm and was even willing to wait?

Yes, it must be because the Nighthawks can easily resolve missions that seem too difficult for others, and they've accrued quite a reputation...

The man left his umbrella leaning outside the door. As he walked to the sofa, he replied with a rueful smile, “I have visited every mercenary—uh, security company and private investigator—on every street in this area. You are my only hope. The others are all out of manpower to take on any further missions... To be frank, if it weren’t for the waiter I ran into outside, I never would’ve imagined there was another security company here.”

...That's entirely different from what I imagined...Klein froze in surprise.

Rosanne interjected with a question, “They’re all very busy? Are there really that many missions?”

The man sat down and sighed. “Since you are a mercenary team— no, a security company—you must have heard of the armed burglary and murders on Howes Street?”

Howes Street... Armed burglary, murders... Oh, right. Unfortunately, I'm one of the people involved...

Klein nodded with a slightly heavy heart. “Yes.”

“Due to the brutality and ruthlessness of the criminals, the wealthy gentlemen living on the neighboring streets—and even across all of Tingen—are terrified. Apart from expanding the size of their security details, they have contracted many security personnel and private detectives, which has led to a shortage of supply in your line of work,” the man explained clearly.

A standard chain reaction...Klein and Rosanne exchanged glances and shared a self-deprecating smile.

The security industry had entered a brief golden age. Yet Blackthorn Security Company was completely out of the loop. One could see from this how poorly they were doing as a business. Of course, to a certain extent, it was also proof of the Nighthawks’ successful disguise.

After waiting another twenty-plus minutes, it looked as if the storm was coming to an end, so Klein got ready to leave. He planned on going to Jutland Shooting Club for his practice.

Just then, the dark-haired, green-eyed Leonard Mitchell walked through the partition. He looked inquiringly at the sofa. “And who might this gentleman be?”

“A client. Is the captain back?” Rosanne asked happily.

“Back?” The lanky man looked a bit confused. He had been sitting there, staring at the door. How did he not notice someone had returned?

Rosanne’s expression immediately froze as she chuckled to cover her slip. “As a security company, of course, we have more than just a front door.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” the man nodded in enlightenment.

He was also not surprised that she used the termcaptain.Security companies were the modern equivalent of the private military contractors or small-scale mercenary guilds of old. It was only normal that they would have a captain.

Leonard’s white shirt was untucked, and his black waistcoat hung loosely. He took one glance at the lanky man and suddenly snapped his fingers before saying, “I’m a member of the security personnel at Blackthorn. How should I address you? And how may we be of assistance?”

Perhaps it was because he had long heard tales of unrestrained mercenaries, but the man did not feel disrespected. Instead, he let out a relieved sigh as he organized his words. “My name is Klee, a butler of Mr. Vickroy, a tobacco merchant. His only son, little Elliott, was kidnapped this morning. We have already informed the police, and the matter has been given high priority. However, Mr. Vickroy remains uneasy. He wishes to investigate the case from a different angle through mere—uh, security personnel like yourselves who understand Tingen—so that little Elliott can be rescued safely.

“If you are able to find where the kidnappers are hiding, Mr. Vickroy will be willing to pay you one hundred pounds. If you have the means to successfully rescue Young Master Elliott, he is willing to double the reward to two hundred pounds.”

Leonard Mitchell gave an easy smile. “Mr. Vickroy seems to only wish for us to find the kidnappers’ hideout. Otherwise, he wouldn’t think his only son was worth only a hundred pounds. A tobacco merchant with close ties to the southern plantations can surely come up with far more than two hundred pounds”

“No, Mr. Vickroy is only an ordinary merchant. He’s not particularly wealthy. Besides, he believes the police will be more professional when it comes to rescuing his son,” Klee answered frankly.

“All right. No problem.” Leonard snapped his fingers again. Then he turned his green eyes on Rosanne. “My beautiful lady, if I could trouble you to write up a contract?”

“Don’t act like a poet all the time. In fact, all you do is recite other people’s works.”

Rosanne quipped, momentarily forgetting the presence of the client. She was used to bantering with Leonard like this.

[AI ERROR / SAFETY BLOCK - RAW ENGLISH RETAINED]

Of course, Blackthorn Security Company didn’t really care about its clients. It was great to have them, but it was equally fine if they didn’t.

Rosanne left the reception counter and entered the clerk’s office. Soon, the clack-clacking of the typewriter filled the air.

The corners of Klein’s mouth twitched as he watched the scene. He was a little stunned at how unprofessional it all was. They didn’t even have a standard template for a contract!

What a tragedy... And even more saddening is the fact that I'm working at such an unprofessional company...

As these thoughts swarmed in his mind, Rosanne had already completed a simple contract with only a few clauses. Then Klee and Leonard Mitchell signed it together. After Klee stamped it, she took the contract to the accounting room so Mrs. Orianna could affix the Blackthorn Security Company’s stamp—one that was practically useless. Typically, Dunn left it in Mrs. Orianna’s possession for safekeeping; on Sundays, it was usually passed on to Rosanne and the others.

“I’ll wait for your good news.” After receiving one copy of the contract, Klee stood up and bowed, hat off.

Leonard was quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly, he turned toward Klein with a smile. “I need your help.”

“Huh?” Klein was taken aback.

“What I mean is, you and I can carry out this mission together.” The corners of Leonard’s mouth lifted as he explained, “I’m good at combat, shooting, climbing, sensing, and even singing, not to mention some support roles. But that doesn’t include tracking people. You don’t expect Old Neil to go out in this weather, do you?”

When he mentioned “sensing,” his voice dropped to a mumble, barely audible.

“All right.” Klein felt the urge to test out his new abilities, though he still felt a bit wary of Leonard Mitchell. He exhaled.

Let’s hope we can complete it successfully... I wonder how useful my Seer abilities will be...