Screech.
Regardless of my thoughts, the carriage soon arrived at the factory.
It was one of the places the hospital director had identified and informed us about while Liston and I were busy with surgery and causing an uproar.
Didn't this man even get Liston to give a speech in Parliament?
Consequently, just with a brief inquiry, he had already identified four factories.
This factory was the one located closest to us.
"How can I help you?"
As we pushed open the wooden door without knocking and entered, a man who looked like a guard (騎徒, a term for cavalry or infantry) standing nearby approached and asked.
You might wonder why such a person is at a factory, not a tavern, but during this era, they were essential personnel for factories.
Why?
Because the workers try to run away.
Even I would want to run away from a place like this.
White fumes, dog-like cramped spaces… do they even get proper breaks or meals?
It would be a miracle if they were paid properly.
In a way, the pervasiveness of Marxism in the 19th century was perhaps inevitable…
"We came by carriage."
Anyway, answering a question is the civilised thing to do, right?
Both Liston and I pride ourselves on being civilised men, so we gave a proper answer.
But apparently, that wasn't the answer the other party wanted, as the guard just stared blankly at us.
"What the…"
"Well. Where's the owner?"
Liston seemed displeased with the guard, who had done his bit but was now being difficult.
He grabbed the man by the neck with one hand and lifted him up.
I don't know if any of you have experienced this…
But when this happens, the vocal cords are compressed, and no sound comes out.
How can you speak when you can't even breathe?
Gack.
"I answered you, but you won't talk to me?"
It wasn't that Liston was ignorant.
It wasn't because he was a doctor and well-versed in anatomical structure.
It was clearly knowledge gained empirically from much experience.
"Ugh… ugh…"
"Owner! Call the owner!"
Liston smiled as he saw the other men scurrying into action the moment the grabbed man fell silent.
This man knew very well that causing a scene like this was the fastest way to get things done.
Me?
I was acting in a manner befitting my reputation.
I stood with one leg propped on the chair the guard had been sitting on.
It was the most delinquent-looking pose I knew.
"Pyeong."
"Yes."
"Stop fooling around and come stand by me. You only look tough when you're with me."
"Ah, yessir."
While I was adjusting my posture, a commotion broke out inside, and a large man began striding towards us, looking furious.
He was definitely running at first.
But now he was walking.
No, he stopped, maintaining an awkward distance.
"What… Who might you be?"
It's not for nothing, but isn't the combination of Liston and me a bit much?
Liston is obviously a thug.
And I'm an Asian standing next to him, so I must be a thug too.
The guard who was being difficult earlier was the strange one.
Thud.
Liston threw the now completely silent guard to the floor and looked at the owner.
He looked more like someone who'd be involved in gang activity than legitimate business, but surprisingly, most capitalists of this era were like this.
Isn't this a society where you make money by threatening and bullying workers, paying them as little as possible and making them work as long as possible?
That was competitiveness and ability.
"If… if you need money…."
These were men operating on the border of legality and illegality.
Naturally, they often got entangled with proper gangs.
It seemed they naturally assumed Liston was one of the major gang bosses, and one of the men following the owner pulled out a wad of cash.
"Hmm."
It was a sum hefty enough to make Liston's eyes gleam.
Frankly, I was a bit tempted too.
If we got that from all four factories…
"We're not here for money. First, everyone out! Yes, you there! Everyone, out!"
"Wha… What right do you have to do this!"
But Liston soon regained his composure and began herding the workers, who were still inhaling white phosphorus fumes bare-faced, outside.
Finally, the owner, losing his head out of fear, grabbed Liston's arm.
He must have thought his livelihood was at stake.
He probably didn't even think he had done anything particularly wrong.
"Two female workers who worked here haven't been showing up for a while now, right?"
"Ah, yes, yes. Ah… Did those two borrow money or something? I'll find them! No, I'll repay the money in adva…"
"You fool. I'm not a thug, I'm a doctor!"
"That can't be…"
"Liston! I'm Liston!"
"Ah, ahh! Th-the Sword Master…!"
As the conversation kept going in circles, the owner finally knelt before Liston, who had revealed his identity.
Normally, a doctor couldn't be more frightening than a gangster.
But if the other party was Liston, everything changed.
The owner, finally noticing the scabbard, kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Wh-what brings you here…."
Following his gaze, cold sweat dripped plink, plonk onto the floor.
With each drop, dust rose from the floor, which clearly had never been cleaned.
"Have you seen those two female workers recently? Have you?"
"I… I'm not sure."
"No? Then we'll have to show you. Pyeong."
"Yes."
I took out the two drawings and handed them to Liston.
Liston held the two drawings open with one hand, and with his other hand, he grabbed a handful of hair at the back of the kneeling owner's head and forced him to look up.
"Aaaah!"
"See?"
"Yes, yes!"
"This is what happened to them. It's all your fault. Understand?"
"What? I… I didn't do anyth…"
"You fool! Didn't we tell you to stop making white phosphorus matches? We sent out official notices, didn't we?"
"Ah… that. I did see them, but… does that make sense? Just from a little fumes…"
Even with the evidence, it was hard to get through to him.
But that was okay.
If you were a factory owner making big money in this era, it was safe to assume you had no conscience.
But what about the other workers?
Indeed, there were people here showing early symptoms.
"Ugh, so it's because of this?"
"This can't be…"
"You evil bastard!"
Complaints began to erupt from the mouths of the female workers who had been forced outside.
That said, no one dared to rush at the owner.
The law was on the side of the propertied.
As proof of that, policemen were arriving.
The owner's face lit up upon seeing them.
"Let go! How dare you persecute an innocent man in broad daylight?"
He simultaneously began to yell threats at Liston.
He even wore a triumphant smile, but Liston, far from letting go, tightened his grip and pulled out a handful of hair from the back of his head.
"Aaaaargh!"
"This is for my patient's share."
"Aaaaaah!"
"And this is for Pyeong's patient's share."
Not satisfied with that, he also pulled out a good portion of the hair from the front.
Having inflicted both physical and mental anguish, the owner was unable to regain his composure for a while.
Therefore, it was Liston, not the owner who had called them, who greeted the arriving police.
"Ah…"
Of course, there was no question of him being arrested immediately.
"Ah, yes. Is the Commissioner well?"
"Yes, yes. Dr. Liston."
"Good. What brings you here?"
"We received a report of a disturbance here."
"Ah, this man here has been making noise since earlier. The sounds he was making…"
Liston pointed at the owner.
He was making noise.
Screams, but still…
"Well… this is this man's place of business. Disturbing business is…"
"Ah, that 'business' of his is the wrongdoing."
"Pardon?"
"See for yourself."
"Ugh. What is this?"
Liston literally handed the drawings to the policeman, who was at a loss for what to do.
"These are people who worked here. This is what happened to them."
"What? Were they beaten?"
"No, it's because of the fumes."
"Fumes…?"
The policeman's face, which had initially thought the owner was at fault, changed to a 'what's wrong with that?' expression upon hearing 'fumes'.
This was an era where the term 'industrial accident' didn't even exist.
It wasn't that the policeman was ignorant; it was just the spirit of the times.
If something went wrong while making money, people usually just shrugged and said, 'What can you do?'
"I believe I mentioned it before. Inhaling the fumes from making white phosphorus matches can cause this."
"Ahh, I do recall that."
"Then why did you let it continue?"
"We thought we'd deal with it if a problem arose, something like that."
Wow.
I thought he'd hit the policeman.
But Liston, whose thinking wasn't that different, showed surprising patience.
"That's understandable. But a problem has arisen now."
"This… seems to be beyond my purview to handle."
"Yes, I know. So, should more work be done here?"
"I don't think that will be possible…"
"Why not?"
"The workers won't just stand for it, will they?"
"I suppose that's true."
The workers, not the owner?
I wondered if I had heard wrong and looked around, and I realised I had heard correctly.
Almost all of those who had been complaining just moments ago were now looking anxious.
Most of them lived hand-to-mouth, so it was inevitable.
Their stomachs were always the priority.
Even in 21st century South Korea, weren't there lives ignored due to economic logic?
Expecting anything else in 19th century London would have been stranger.
"Shall we squeeze this bastard dry until they find other jobs?"
"Pardon?"
"I'll negotiate it well. Peacefully."
"Uh…"
The policeman's eyeballs darted back and forth.
Liston's vicious face, his brutal hands, and even his sword…
Nothing about him looked legal.
But…
In reality, Liston was an extremely honourable London citizen and a doctor.
Hadn't he even just earned credit for saving lives in France?
The fact that even the proud French had expressed their gratitude meant the high and mighty in London currently had no choice but to view Liston favourably.
"Well… I didn't see anything."
The policeman's gaze finally landed on the owner, who was looking at his scattered hair with a face full of pain.
The policeman, who should protect the weak more than anyone, barely averted his gaze and slowly retreated.
"No! The money I've paid all this time…!"
"You can give that money to the workers now."
The owner screamed, but what good would it do?
Once the police turned a blind eye, there was nothing in London that could stop the limb-amputating master, Liston.
"Yes, you thought well."
The owner was quite clever.
At first, he seemed a bit angry and said some strange things, earning himself a few more hits, but that was enough to make him see reason.
He must have also been afraid he might be killed.
"I was going to curse you otherwise."
Liston took the wad of cash and glanced pointedly at me.
The owner began to tremble in fear.
Leaving the trembling owner behind, we distributed the money to the workers and headed for the next establishment—no, factory.
The events that unfolded weren't much different.
Guards were knocked out, owners had their hair pulled out, and money was extorted.
"This is good."
"Yes, there shouldn't be such problems anymore."
"The weather is nice too."
"Haha. It's autumn, isn't it?"
It was autumn.