"What are you all doing here?" asked Sigerson in a whisper. "Did you manage to get the address out of him?"
"We went around the bank searching for him but he wasn't there to begin with," explained Turner, glancing around to buy another beer. Sigerson held him down, preventing him from leaving his seat.
"No more drinking for now," said he while ironically taking a long draught from his mug. Turner looked absolutely miserable.
With the three of them now together again, Sigerson considered changing to the plan he had devised in case the address of his target was unobtainable.
Turner seemed to be thinking along the same lines; he shifted around in his chair and asked, "What's your next move, Sigerson?"
There were three options: either they give up on their current attempt now, wait for another opportunity patiently for another opportunity to extract the address from him, or…
"Hold on. Let me finish listening to their conversation, then I'll tell you what to do. Pass the message on to Harvey for me."
As Turner moved away and whispered to their youthful companion, the detective's attention was once again drawn towards Hartland. He and his colleagues, who were busily chatting among themselves, completely missed Sigerson, unaware of his existence.
Consequently, Sigerson knew this was an opportunity too good to miss, so he paid attention to every detail, from the involuntary stutter, down to the unnoticeable microexpressions on their faces.
"So what was it yesterday?" asked Alastor as the newcomer left. "Poker or bridge?"
"I dunno. Time sure passed fast for three hours."
"You got that much in only three hours?"
"Well, there is a rule regarding the minimum amount of money players can bet, so that made everyone lose their cash quickly, which in turn led to them folding rather prematurely… It's only a matter of time before the big shots arrive and dominate the games, so I plan to be long gone before that disaster happens."
Lowering his voice, Alastor leant in closer to prevent anyone from listening to his next question. Sigerson, however, could still hear him as clear as if he were right next to him; the excessive noise around the room seemed to simmer down with more customers leaving to resume their work shifts.
"You did cheat though, didn't you?"
"Absolutely right. There's the second reason I will be leaving the moment I find a chance."
"But they haven't caught on to you yet?"
"Of course not. As I said, the establishment is quite new, with most of the security being rather lax. Besides, I wouldn't be talking with you now if they were on to me, would I?"
Alastor nodded in response. Hartland stretched his arms out lazily and yawned once again. His droopy eyes sank down, gazing into his mug blankly.
"Must have stayed up all night playing, eh?"
"Yeah," replied Hartland, grinning widely. "Must have been… around one? Yes— I remember now. It was around one when I left; Mr Garnet, who left a few minutes ago, wouldn't let me go before then, you see. Cost him quite a lot too. Of course since it was so late at night by the time I had finished, there weren't many cabs around, so I returned home by foot, which explains my fatigued disposition."
"You walked all the way back? In the middle of the night?"
That was enough for Sigerson. The moment these words were uttered, the detective tugged at his companions' sleeves lightly, indicating that their time here was coming to an end. Three clunks sounded as Sigerson led his confused party out of the tavern and into the sunlight again.
Clouds gathered around the sun, like balls of grey cotton, casting a spell of despair over the bleak city. Although sunlight seeped in from the tiny cracks in the sombre sky, the entire landscape could feel no warmth; the sun seemed to be holding back its power from the city's citizens grudgingly.
Sigerson, completely contrasting the gloomy weather, had revived himself with a new, hopeful spirit. Now, he had more than enough to lead him towards his next move.
Excitedly, he turned to Harvey as they marched down a stony path towards Fallow's Row and asked, "Are you aware of any new establishments in Brighton?"
"Brighton? Hmm… I do think there are a few shops that opened recently this week. Other than that, I'm not too sure… Hold on… No— I've only just remembered; there's been some sort of gambling house established close to the entrance of Fallow's Row. Wait— you don't think…"
"I believe you understand what I'm thinking now, don't you?"
"Yes… I take it you'll be heading to Brighton now?" question Harvey carefully, who had formed a vague idea of Sigerson's plan.
Without warning, Sigerson halted in the middle of the path, causing Turner and Harvey to collide into each other like a pair of bowling pins.
"Wait…" murmured Sigerson, oblivious to his companions' sore heads.
A curious idea had just come across his mind. Since Blight clearly had the upper ground against him, what if…
"We're losing valuable time standing here, you know, Sigerson," commented Turner, slightly impatiently as he took out a tarnished brass watch.
"Alright, now there's something I need you to do for me, Turner. Can you deliver this to the person I've noted down?"
Another piece of paper— it seemed like Sigerson had stashed enough into his pocket to fill an entire encyclopedia— was plucked out and on it, Sigerson wrote down a brief introduction and request then folded it up, before signing his signature on top. He passed it to Turner, who took it cautiously with his gnarled hands. Shock crawled across his face as he looked up from the paper and asked, "Dexter Eiter? Do you have any idea who this man is?"
"Who is who?" asked Harvey innocently, jumping in at the worst possible moment, although he truly had no idea what was going on.
"The underworld's deadliest hitman," answered Turner with a slow dramatic voice that mildly impressed the detective. "Never in his career has he failed to hunt down and kill his target. His name is feared by all criminals, because his victims are usually political opponents or rival gang leaders. Why would you need to approach him? I'd stay far away from him if I were you, Sigerson."
"Never mind the reason," snapped Sigerson impatiently. "I've got a task only he can perform. And please don't unfold it; there's nothing in there that you could possibly need to know."
"So… You want me to deliver this to him?"
"Only if you can do it without others noticing."
"I guess I'll be off then," sighed Turner, waving the paper in his hand as he walked the opposite way, his coat flapping around him animatedly in the wind.
"What if he never receives your message?" asked Harvey.
The two of them continued to travel along the rows of dirty, neglected brick units, which indicated they had reached the center of Fallow's Row at last.
In the past, this street was known for containing most of the poorer populace along with grimy windows glaring out at every angle and dingy alleys everywhere the eye could see which also happened to make up more than half of the filthy labyrinth of buildings. Nobles and wealthy merchants often steered clear from here, if they wished to make it out unscathed. Countless street urchins, most of which were juvenile orphans, roamed around during the day, either seeking employment from others or simply looking for people to rob. Their senses, sharpened to a degree that even the rats would struggle to compete against, enabled them to slip among cracks and crowds alike, similar to snakes but with the appearances of doves. Whoever they chose to target, whether it be a local shopkeeper or a nervous businessman, would usually never be able to escape from their clutches.
But this was not entirely to be blamed on them. Quality of life here was, to say the very least, absolutely horrendous. Those lucky enough to have a roof over their heads constantly worried about food and expenses, while the homeless simply waited for the day of death to come, their eyes devoid of life and hope. There was no light at the end of the tunnel here.
However, just fifteen years ago, an anonymous benefactor sent an enormous sum of money to the district's head, providing him with enough resources to change the lives of thousands living in Fallow's Row. Within the next two years, everything rapidly metamorphosed; new shared apartments were built, shops that had been deteriorating over time were renovated, and most importantly, a brand new orphanage was opened, providing a home for those with nothing, effectively cleaning the streets. Education, through the orphanage, which also functioned as a school at times, began to spread its roots out within the community. At last, new life bloomed within the streets like a blossoming flower, giving the people there a renewed appreciation for life.
—
"So much has changed after that mysterious person sent the money," thought Sigerson. "I'm guessing it was Blight but there's no tangible evidence nor any motive for him to do so. The only string connecting him to this bizarre event is—"
"Hey, William," chimed Harvey abruptly, talking so casually, the two of them might have been close buddies for their entire lifetimes. "Why are you so afraid for? Is somethin' wrong?"
"What do you mean?" questioned Sigerson sharply, who obviously did not find it amusing to be forcibly shaken out from his thoughts.
"I—I mean, I noticed your expression hardening while we were eavesdropping on those guys…"
"Was I really that obvious?"
"N—No, not really. I guess you could say I have a sort of talent for this kinda stuff."
"Turner was right to choose you," commented Sigerson, nodding his head appreciatively. "And don't worry about me; I was just concentrating, that's all."
A grin spread across his blushing face, Harvey, embarrassed by this sudden praise, took a step forward to walk alongside Sigerson and replied cheerfully, "Well then, we'd better get a move on if you don't wanna lose any more time talking. I'll go get us a cab real quick."
Paranoia filled Sigerson involuntarily as the cab pulled up next to them, the horse distracting him for a moment by making an attempt to nip his coat off him.
"Take us to the intersection between Brighton and Fallow's Row, cabman."
In they went, and during the brief journey across the once neglected streets, the troubled detective had yet another difficult situation to decide. Should he confide in Harvey, whom he had known for only a little more than a day, everything he knew just as he did with Evelyn? Certainly, Harvey would be a massive help, assuming he was on their side.
The only problem now was trust; Sigerson still had incomplete information. Knowing Harvey possessed more cunning than he'd expected made him uneasy. What if it were only an act to get his guard down?
"I know ya don't trust me," said Harvey, looking out of the window wistfully. It was almost like he could read Sigerson's mind. "I wouldn't either if I were you, but let me help you just this once. Stop here please, cabman."
After the fare was paid and the glossy chestnut horse pulled the cab away, all was quiet; nobody else was around them at the invisible border between Fallow's Row and Brighton.
"So you've figured it out?"
"I have a good idea of where he lives," returned Harvey with an optimistic grin.
"That's a relief. Let's compare our answers to see if we've come to the same conclusions; I'll go first.
I believe it's somewhere a considerable distance from the gambling house on the opposite side from Fallow's Row, in the vicinity of the markets there."
"Exactly the same here," grinned Harvey, "except, I already know where the gambling house is. This way, Will."
The detective watched Harvey's scruffy auburn hair flopping around limply in the wind, while he struggled with himself.
Should he continue to put this boy in danger?
Soft breeze gently blew from the sky, sending a cool draught of air down their spines, causing Sigerson to shiver slightly and grasp his coat tightly; the weather his body couldn't stand was ironically the biggest obstacle standing between him and his goal so far. Everything had run so smoothly… Far too smoothly… He suspected Blight and Grock were just biding their time…
"There's something you might want to know, Harvey."
Sigerson decided to speak up; he had come to the conclusion that handing his accomplice scraps of information without revealing the main picture would be an optimal move at this point in his plan. The innocent youth was still humming to himself, completely unaware that Sigerson had addressed him.
I only need to feed him enough information for him to be able to piece together his own opinions, nothing more. The less he knows, the safer he'll be if he actually decides to help me.
Just as the keen boy in front of him turned around to announce that they had reached their destination, Sigerson spoke up again, this time with more sincerity than usual.
"Harvey," he repeated. "There's something I would like you to have in case I am unable to accomplish my goal."
Knowing he had him hooked at last, Sigerson continued.
"Here, take this; go to this address and give them the password and you'll be able to join Evelyn. I've already given her instructions so you two should be fine in my absence."
He gave a clean-cut card to a baffled Harvey who nearly dropped it in surprise.
"W–What?" he stuttered, bewildered at this sudden move. "W–Why would you give this to me? We're total strangers, aren't we?"
"Just take it. Think of it as a token of trust or something of the sort."
"O–Oh, thank you, I guess," stammered Harvey. He flipped the card over in his hand as if to check whether or not it was genuine.
"Anyways, now that you know where our supposed 'hideout' is, I'll fill in some details for you."
The excited youth nodded, his hazel eyes brimming with determination. Sigerson coughed, checked around him to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, then continued.
"The man I'm trying to arrest is Patrick Hartland, the man wearing spectacles that you saw earlier. He and August Rook, whom I assume you already know, are the leaders of an influential criminal organisation. There is one greater power behind them.
Elysius Blight, a wealthy Custodian with the entire economy in his hands, is the true mastermind. He can control the market and effectively, the lives of everyone living in the country. Multiple farms and factories have cooperated with him out of self-interest, not realising they have placed themselves in the center of his palm, ready to be used— or discarded."
Seeing that Harvey was still humming lightheartedly, Sigerson's conscience pushed him to warn the boy even further.
"The enemy is far greater than we could imagine, Harvey," said he solemnly. "Don't take my words lightly. When I warn you that he could wipe your very existence from the face of the earth, I mean it. He has absolute control over everything in the country without anyone, not even the Enforcers, noticing. Your life was in danger from the moment you agreed to help me; if you want to opt out now—"
"Why would I?" said Harvey all of a sudden. He raised his face up at Sigerson with an indignant expression.
"Since there's nowhere for me to go, I think I'd rather die rescuing the country than living the life of a nobody. I don't care what I have to do; I'll stick with you until the end, William."
Sigerson recoiled slightly, momentarily caught off guard. Within seconds, he had regained his composure, answering with a satisfied smirk. "Very well. If that's your choice—"
He cast another wary look at the boy who nodded vigorously.
"—then I have nothing else to say. Let's get down to business."
They marched to the newly renovated building in front of them with renewed energy.
Clearly standing out among the rusty ancient apartment blocks surrounding it, the newly installed gambling den was like a diamond among pebbles. The striking sign above its doors read:
FORTUNE'S LUCK
Fancy lightbulbs placed around on the border of the sign greeted them flashily, illuminating the words like stars in the black sky.
"Well, this is the place," announced Harvey brightly. He held out his hands, shaping them into a picture frame to capture the view of the buildings in the scene, while simultaneously sketching out a mental map of the roads and blocks ahead.
"He couldn't have walked that far…" muttered the boy forcefully, stroking his smooth chin. "Fallow's Row is behind me; a distinguished man dressed as he did would almost never settle down anywhere close to there…"
"Just to be sure, are you certain you can do it?"
"Yes, of course," grinned Harvey. "One of the men there said 'all the way back', indicating he must have walked pretty far. I'm sure his home is this way, Sigerson; most of the new tenants in this area prefer to live close to the marketplace, which is just beyond that apartment over there."
They travelled across the streets to the place Harvey had indicated, which took them a fairly short amount of time for such a long distance.
Something caught the detective's attention right away, the moment they stepped into the bustling marketplace. A collection of prints next to the door of a nearby apartment stood out among the mess.
Sigerson smiled victoriously before prompting Harvey to follow his lead, finally finding some of the fruit of his searching.