Chapter 45

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The Antigonus notebook was in the apartment across the landing!

Although it was a striking coincidence, Klein believed his intuition was correct. He immediately got out of bed and quickly changed out of the old clothes he wore to sleep. Picking up the white shirt beside him, he slipped it on and began buttoning it from top to bottom.

“One, two, three...,” he counted, then suddenly realized he’d missed one. Worse yet, the left and right sides didn’t seem to match.

Upon closer inspection, Klein realized that he had made the mistake at the very first button, causing the front of his shirt to twist out of shape. He shook his head helplessly, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, using his meditation techniques to restore his composure.

After putting on his white shirt and black trousers, he calmly attached his shoulder holster. Then he pulled out the revolver he’d hidden under his soft pillow and bolstered it. With no time to affix his bow tie, he draped his suit jacket over his shoulders, grabbed his hat in one hand and his cane in the other, and walked to his bedroom door. After donning his short top hat, Klein gently twisted the door handle and stepped into the corridor.

He carefully closed the wooden door behind him and tiptoed down the stairs like a thief. Using the fountain pen and paper in the parlor, he left a note for his siblings, explaining that he’d forgotten to mention the previous night that he had to be at work early today.

The moment he stepped outside, Klein felt a refreshingly cool breeze. All at once, he felt much calmer.

The city street was dim and silent, devoid of pedestrians; gas lamps quietly provided most of the illumination.

Klein took out his watch from the inner pocket of his jacket and snapped it open. It was just six in the morning. The crimson moonlight had not completely receded, but a soft sliver of light was already visible above the horizon.

He was about to seek out an expensive for-hire carriage when he noticed a two-horse, four-wheel trackless coach coming down the street.

“There are coaches this early in the morning?” Klein was taken aback as he flagged it down.

“Good morning, sir,” said the coach driver, stopping the horses skillfully. The fare collector beside him covered a yawn with his hand.

“To Jutland Street,” Klein replied, pulling out two pennies and four halfpence from his trouser pocket.

“Four pence,” the fare collector confirmed without hesitation.

After paying the fare, Klein boarded the coach and found it completely empty. A profound loneliness settled over him amid the dim morning.

“You are the first passenger,” said the driver with a smile.

The two brown horses began trotting, briskly picking up pace.

“To be honest, I didn’t think there would be a coach so early in the morning,” Klein remarked, sitting near the driver to engage in idle chatter and distract himself from his tense thoughts.

The driver replied self-deprecatingly, “From six in the morning to nine at night. But I only make one pound a week.”

“You don’t get any days off?” Klein asked, shocked.

“We take shifts to rest once a week,” the driver explained somberly.

The fare collector added, “We work from six to eleven in the morning, then take our lunch and a break. Near supper time, at six in the evening, we come back to replace our colleagues... Even if we don’t need rest, the horses do.”

“It wasn’t like this in the past, but ever since some needless accidents, like drivers losing control due to fatigue and overturning their carriages, they’ve implemented shift work... Why else would those bloodsuckers suddenly become so kind?” the driver scoffed.

In the light of dawn, the coach moved steadily toward Jutland Street, picking up only seven or eight more passengers along the way.

After Klein had relaxed somewhat, he closed his eyes and replayed yesterday’s experience frame by frame, checking if he had missed anything.

By the time the sun had risen fully and the skies were bright, the coach finally arrived at Jutland Street.

Klein kept his left hand on his hat and jumped hurriedly off the coach. He quickly stepped into 36 Jutland Street, ascending the stairs until he reached the door of Blackthorn Security Company.

The door was still closed.

Klein took out the ring of keys on his belt, found the corresponding one, and inserted it into the keyhole, twisting with aclick.

Slowly pushing the door open, he saw the dark-haired, green-eyed Leonard Mitchell sniffing a cigarette—a recent trend, apparently.

“To be honest, I prefer cigars... You seem to be in a rush?” the poet-like Nighthawk asked in a relaxed tone.

“Where’s the captain?” Klein inquired instead of replying to the comment.

Leonard pointed at the partition. “In his office. As a Beyonder who used to be a Sleepless, he only needs two hours of sleep during the day. I believe those factory owners and bankers would love potions like that.”

Klein nodded and quickly passed through the partition. He saw that Dunn Smith had already opened his door and was standing in the doorway. Dressed in his black trench coat and holding his gold-inlaid cane, the captain wore a solemn, stern expression.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I experienced that feeling—the sense of déjà vu. It’s probably the notebook...the Antigonus family’s notebook,” Klein replied, striving to suppress his nerves and keep his answer clear and logical.

“Where is it?” Dunn Smith’s expression remained impassive.

Klein sensed, with his spiritual perception, that a subtle, invisible something stirred within him—a flash of his spirit or a change in his emotions. “It’s in the office where Leonard and I rescued the hostage yesterday, across the landing from the kidnappers’ room. I didn’t notice it then until I had a dream and received a revelation.”

Leonard, who had walked up to the partition, chuckled, “Sounds like I missed out on making a very big contribution yesterday.”

Dunn Smith nodded gravely. “Get Kenley to replace Old Neil at the armory. We’re taking Old Neil and Frye with us.”

Leonard reined in his frivolity and immediately went to notify Kenley and Frye in the Nighthawks’ recreation room—Kenley was a Sleepless, and Frye an Corpse Collector.

Five minutes later, the two-wheeled carriage used by the Nighthawks drove down the sparsely populated morning streets.

Leonard wore a felt hat, a shirt, and a waistcoat, standing in temporarily as the carriage driver, flinging out the riding crop from time to time with a crisp crack.

Inside the carriage, Klein and Old Neil sat on one side, and Dunn Smith and Frye occupied the other.

The Corpse Collector’s skin was so pale it looked as if it had never seen sunlight, or as though he suffered from severe anemia. He looked to be in his thirties, with black hair, blue eyes, a tall nose bridge, thin lips, and a dark, chilly demeanor; a faint odor, likely from years spent around corpses, lingered about him.

“Tell me again what happened in detail.” Dunn adjusted the collar of his black trench coat.

Klein rubbed the yellow crystal dangling in his sleeve and began recounting their mission, starting from accepting the job up to his haunting dream. Beside him, Old Neil chuckled and said, “Your fate seems somehow entwined with that notebook, to encounter it again in such a manner.”

That's right. Its too much of a coincidence! Kleinthought.If Leonard hadn't mentioned that the preliminary interrogation of the kidnapping case revealed no manipulations by hidden powers or mysterious forces and that it was solely a money-motivated crime, I would have suspected someone had deliberately arranged for this to happen...

Klein found the situation rather odd.

It was too much of a coincidence!

Dunn offered no commentary, lost in deep thought, and Corpse Collector Frye, also clad in a black trench coat, maintained his customary silence.

Finally, when the carriage stopped outside the building, Dunn broke the silence. “Let’s go upstairs. Klein, you and Old Neil stay behind us. Remember, be very careful.” He alighted from the carriage and withdrew a strange-looking revolver with an overly long, thick barrel, tucking it into his right coat pocket.

“All right.” Klein didn’t dare take point.

After Leonard found someone to watch their carriage, the five Beyonders filed into the building. Treading quietly, they reached the third-floor landing.

“Is this the place?” Leonard asked, pointing at the apartment across from where the kidnappers had been hiding.

Klein tapped his brow twice to activate his spirit vision. In that state, his spiritual perception was enhanced; he felt the door was familiar, as if he had entered it before.

“Yes.” He nodded.

Old Neil activated his spirit vision as well, and after careful observation, he said, “There’s no one inside. No spiritual glows of magic.”

Corpse Collector Frye added in his hoarse voice, “No evil spirits.”

Even without activating his spirit vision, Frye could see many spiritual bodies, including evil spirits and resentful ghosts.

Leonard stepped forward and, as he had yesterday, punched the door’s lock with his fist. This time, not only did the surrounding wood shatter, but the lock itself flew out and clattered noisily to the ground.

Klein felt an invisible seal vanish instantly. Almost immediately, a powerful stench reached his nose.

“Corpse. A rotting corpse,” Frye stated coldly, unfazed.

Dunn reached out his black-gloved right hand and slowly pushed open the door. The first thing they saw was a fireplace. In the warm days of early July, an abnormal, stuffy heat permeated the room.

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In front of the fireplace was a rocking chair. An old woman dressed in black and white sat in it, her head hanging low. Her body had enlarged abnormally. Her skin was blackish-green and so bloated that it looked almost shiny—as if a simple prod could make her explode and spew forth a foul, rotting stench. Maggots and other parasites squirmed between her flesh, blood, and rotting juices, within her clothes and their wrinkles. When viewed through spirit vision, they appeared as pinpricks of light, swarming around a body of extinguished darkness.

Plop! Plop!

The old woman’s eyeballs dropped to the floor one by one and rolled a short distance, leaving behind yellowish-brown streaks.

Klein felt bile rising in him. Unable to tolerate the putrid stench any longer, he bent over and vomited.