The Crown Hotel glistened elegantly in the pale moonlight, emitting an ethereal aura like a sea of fish scales shining in a pool of black sky. Here was the final destination where Sigerson hoped to bury the first head of the monstrous dragon in front of him. Already, a few discreet Enforcers had already passed Sigerson's abandoned apartment block, spotted by the detective instantly, who could recognise their stiff military-like march with an eye closed.
"It's nearly time," he muttered, staring at the hotel, his hair and long frock coat flapping wildly in the wind. He sneezed— perhaps a little too violently. Down below, a curious Enforcer, dressed in plain clothes, glanced up cautiously, forcing Sigerson to stoop down and hide. The thick grey scarf muffled his ragged breaths, as the Enforcer shrugged the suspicion away and continued to stealthily approach the hotel.
"Turner's got to get out of there the moment he confirms that Hartland's in the room," repeated the detective to himself calmly.
With a few last reassuring comments to himself, he peeked up, his head barely above the metal handrail. No enemies spotted. That was good. The time was now… twelve o'clock.
Something wasn't right… Why was there a glint coming from the balcony right behind him?
Just as he recognised the barrel of a gun from the reflection from his watch, a bullet whistled past his ear as he leapt aside to dodge it.
Rook! There's no doubt about it; it's the same bullet from that crime scene, which means… Since the bullet was fired from this angle, he's right behind me, about a floor higher.
More bullets smash into the floor around, somehow noiselessly. Was this… A trap?
Jumping down three stairs at a time as silently as he could, Sigerson bolted down the mouldy staircase and into another room, one he had prepared in case of an ambush.
This time, there was only one window and one door leading into the room. Rook would never be able to shoot him here; there was no angle for the bullet to penetrate into the room. If anyone tried to enter through the door… His revolver was loaded and ready to be unleashed on the enemy. However, one thing was certain… There was no escape from this room.
He must have foresaw everything up to this point. I should have known he would never give up one of his valuable proxies that easily… At any rate, if Hartland is being used as bait, it puts him in a very vulnerable position…
Just beyond this neglected room was an ancient pantry connected to a dusty, rancid kitchen. An overwhelming smell of rotting rats shot straight into the detective's nose, while the soft, rapid patters coming from the surrounding cupboards floated from his ears, probably from the dead rats' friends. Silky cobwebs hung from every corner like decorations, each housing fat dark spiders lurking around looking for nonexistent flies to catch.
These elements combined together gave off a feeling that reeked of hopelessness and misery, something that the detective shook off along with the cobwebs stuck around his arms.
Messing up was not an option here— everything was slowly falling into place already, so to blunder here would be foolishness.
Just the day before, crucial preparations were made, in case of situations like these. A bottle of beer, some thick rope, and a large bag of flour were already hidden in the room.
Sigerson picked up a frayed rug from the floor, making sure to keep it a good distance from his nose before soaking it with some of the beer he had prepared and attached it to a nearby pole. Now he had a simple torch he could use. Getting to work, he placed the flour bag high above the door, tied to the ceiling by the rope. He splashed the rest of the alcohol on the ground below the bag, careful not to step into it himself, then checked the emergency exit one last time. Everything was ready.
Harsh voices whispered recklessly right outside of the locked door. Another gang of Blight's henchmen must have been instructed to trap him in. Their croaking, spitting voices argued quietly but heatedly outside.
It's them alright. The Enforcers would never be so careless like this, arguing with themselves… When they eventually break down that rusty lock, I'll make my escape… Wait… They're coming in now.
One loud clunk, then the lock was smashed open, allowing the burly men to rush in. Sigerson pointed his revolver at the ceiling, giving them only a glimpse of him, and pulled the trigger.
An almighty boom rang out through the neighbourhood, turning every head sill wandering around in the streets to the source of the explosion. Inside of the room, a white powdery mess being rapidly engulfed by ferocious flames was all that remained. The men, armed with knives and clubs, were knocked out of their senses the moment the flour in the air made contact with the torch he left burning on the ground. Combined with the additional alcohol on the floor, the room became a roasting furnace in no time.
Only managing to get away with a light burn, Sigerson bolted down the stairs, which were located on the side of the building, putting his life in danger if he stuck his head any higher than the handrail.
As expected, several others blocked his way out, barricading the last few flights of stairs. Three shots rang out into the peaceful night; three men, dark crimson stains covering their chests, fell to the floor, unable to recover.
"Shouldn't you be worrying about yourselves?" asked Sigerson coolly, knocking out another pair with a single bullet through the skull. "The Enforcers should be here to arrest the lot of you if you stay any longer."
The brawny man snarled, swinging his dagger menacingly, strongly representing a wild wolf. With all his strength, he pinned the Sigerson to the wall with one bulky arm, raised his weapon with the other, and brought it down with so much force, it shattered into a hundred pieces upon hitting the brick wall, leaving a deep dent. Drops of blood fell as if in slow motion— the detective had twisted away at the last second but still not fast enough to fully evade the blade. A deep gash formed on his right arm, staining his coat with blood. He hid the dark patch with the scarf and put a bullet through his assailant's skull. Smoke swirled out from the barrel of his revolver.
As he stepped over the motionless man, Sigerson could barely make out the shrill whistle of a policeman not too far away.
"They can clean up after me," he muttered under his breath, sneaking away to blend in with the crowd and make his escape.
—
The feeble trickle of blood stopped flowing, stemmed by the rough bandage coiled around his arm like a suffocating snake. Harvey, under the guidance of the oil lamp next to him, made a few last adjustments then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"How does that feel?" he inquired, giving the bandage a good tug to make sure it was tight enough.
"Much better, thanks," replied Sigerson, offering a rare smile to show his appreciation. Harvey tilted his head sagaciously, his expression resembling one who had just discovered an impossible cure to a fatal disease.
"I also helped disinfect it; by the looks of things, it should be better in a week or two, although I must say, that is a rather deep cut. You're lucky it missed your arteries. How did you even get such a wound?"
"Knife," said Sigerson simply. "Blight was only using Hartland as bait— he must've known all this time and set a gang on me as I was waiting there."
Harvey glanced out of the grimy window and said curiously, "Turner sure is taking his time, isn't he? You don't think he's been caught, do you?"
Before the question was answered, Turner stomped in, his face clearly displaying the hardships he experienced in getting back. Turning to Sigerson with a pale face, he asked, "Was that fire your doing, Sigerson? Enforcers and police were swarming the streets like ants."
"Never mind that," said Sigerson hastily. "Did you see whether Hartland was arrested or not?"
"Wasn't able to get a clear view," returned Turner, shaking his grey head sadly. "The crowd blocked my way, so I can't be sure. Do you think it'll be in the news tomorrow morning?"
"I'm positive. Crowne would never let this opportunity slip past him; he'll broadcast this news far and wide to blame it on the poor guy."
Harvey left quickly and returned with two apples in his hands, clasping the last red fruit in his jaws. Chucking one to each of his companions, he said, "Eat up. We'll set out at the crack of dawn tomorrow and get you a newspaper to confirm your suspicions."
His face was dead serious— all his boyish cheeriness vanished. Deep within him, he knew what had to be done; his newly found friend could trust him with this final task. Once, he was a loner, a mere shadow walking on the face of the world. Now, life had some meaning to it. He was going to do everything in his power to see the end of Sigerson's mission.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to Sigerson and said, "I'll do it. You and Turner stay here and I'll get the paper myself."
Silence fell over them. It was some time before Sigerson replied, perhaps a bit too dryly.
"Aren't you aware of how much influence the Enforcers have over the city? They have eyes everywhere, especially in places where you least expect them to be. I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to waltz right into their clutches like that, even if it means exposing myself to Grock again."
That's right, especially if Grock captured Hartland and interrogated him. Grock would definitely know the existence of my accomplices, something that even I would be powerless to stop.
"Why not?" Harvey pressed on. "I can easily disguise myself among the crowd and snatch whatever ya need without 'em noticing."
"No. I've told you— if you intend to help, then I'm putting my life on the line as well. You're still young— go and experience life before it's too late."
"To me," said Harvey quietly, almost as if he were about to announce his whole-hearted devotion to Sigerson, "there's no life worth livin' if I can't be with my friends."
Seeing that the boy's determined fervour was not to be broken, nor did he expect it to, Sigerson let out a deep sigh before addressing Turner, who was standing next to the door awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
"I only have one last request to ask of you, Turner. Can you deliver this to the post station as soon as it opens tomorrow?"
He rummaged through a half-wrecked mouldy drawer, pulling out a fresh envelope. Inside was a tiny sheet of paper with a few sentences scribbled hastily.
Receiving it carefully, Turner gave him a thumbs-up, tucked it away safely in his coat pocket and suggested that they turn in for the night. This was accepted gladly by the detective, who almost fell asleep the moment he laid back on the coarse spare mattress. Listening to the soft chirps of the crickets ringing like shrill bells, he smiled as he closed his eyes, thinking how lucky it was to have such a devoted comrade by his side. He certainly would be helpful later on…
—
"Why don't we try and set up a trap to force the Enforcers to reveal him? It'll be way faster than trying to catch the news if they're hiding it, ya know."
Harvey leaned against the window and looked out at the bleak scene out in the streets. The soft repetitive clip-clopping of the fresh new horseshoes almost hypnotised the detective's mind, causing it to fall into subconsciousness to cover up for his sleepless week. As the two of them sat on edge in the cab, Sigerson spotted Harvey's suspicious glances at the cabman in front, so he placed a soft hand on his shoulder, calming him down and telling him to stay focused on their task.
"Don't worry; the cabbie's a trusted friend of mine, so stop wriggling around. As for your suggestion, I'm afraid the chances of pulling that off are extremely slim. Blight used Hartland as bait last night, then predicting which building I would go to to get the perfect view, set his men on me and nearly killed me. Since Turner said he never saw the Enforcers arrest Hartland with his own eyes, there's a possibility he was safely carried away by Blight's spies among the crowd when the ruckus started. Therefore, setting a trap wouldn't be easy, since we don't even know if he's been arrested or not by the Enforcers."
"But at the same time, we might be walking straight into a trap! It's far too suspicious— how could every newspaper publisher in Sodor suddenly just have paper shortages all at the same time?"
"We don't know for sure— that's why we're coming here. In fact, Grock probably knows the reason behind my urgency. He knows that if I wait too long with no tangible answer, Blight will have more than enough opportunities to pull Hartland away. So in short, I need a clear answer to determine whether or not I can leave this city."
"You make Grock sound like a mind-reader," commented Harvey matter-of-factly. "If he's so smart, why don't you just step right up and work with him again?"
"I…"
Sigerson stared down at the carpeted grey floor of the cab.
"I find his approach to problem solving… distasteful. Both him and the president of this country make me positively sick when I think of their deeds. Besides," he added trying to lift the heavy gloom resting on their shoulders, "if you want a real mind-reader, you should talk with Evelyn. She's been able to tell how I felt every single night I came back from work."
"Really? How does she do it?"
"Not sure," was the laconic reply. "I guess you'll have to ask her when you meet her. Now please hold your tongue for now, if you can. We've arrived."
Eden had changed significantly since the last time Sigerson had visited. In contrast to the lively town he vividly remembered, a vast expanse of dead buildings and shops laid before his eyes. Wilted flowers, twisted by malicious weeds, pulled themselves up with gasps of pain, the polluted thick air choking them to death. Signs were posted on the windows of most of the major shops in the town, adding to the abandoned atmosphere swirling above Eden.
The signs weren't the only new additions; on every wall, window and door was a poster, stuck firmly to its surface. Displaying a giant eye as well as a few grotesquely drawn figures, its captions were fairly simple:
TRAITORS WILL BE PUNISHED
In miniscule lettering, a small paragraph underneath the captions described how spies were slowly torturing the nation and were the rotting cause of the war and encouraged citizens to turn them in.
Peeling his eyes away with disgust, Harvey whispered covertly, "They didn't even write what they've done in the past!"
"Well, now you know why I don't intend to cooperate with Grock. His methods don't quite appeal to me, plus I'd be chained to him pretty much the moment we start."
"I see what ya mean," said Harvey grimly, stabbing the poster with another fierce stare. "Let's go; the sooner we get this done, the better."
—
Biting winds picked up speed, whipping the two outlaws as they clawed their way to shelter. It was almost as if the weather stood in their way, denying them the path to success.
Panting hard, Sigerson checked the sign of the building, clutching his sides. Large letters hung above them; they were now under the roof of Eden's only inn.
"Watch out for Enforcers," breathed Sigerson, narrowing his eyes and scanning his environment like a hawk. "Remember, we're here only to confirm the arrest— nothing else. Does that sound good?"
"Sounds fine to me. Oh wait… Hold on, there's a group of 'em there."
Ducking to avoid their eyes, both of them squatted behind a cluster of empty barrels, holding their breaths until the air around them was so quiet, the beating of their hearts could be heard, thumping against their ribs like drums.
Murmuring…
They were getting closer and closer…
"Psst. Here!"
Harvey tapped open a trapdoor on the ground close to them. A basket laid displaced to the side, its contents totally undisturbed. Sigerson obeyed without hesitation. The Enforcers were far too close to be avoided now…
Down they went, hastily but silently, and after the basket was pulled back over the trapdoor via a thin stick provided by Harvey, they were almost lost in the dark.
"I'm sure it was around this corner," muttered Harvey, who was groping onto the brick wall pressing against him.
"How did you know this even existed?"
"Oh, I've been here more than once," he replied casually, "I learned a bunch from my predecessors. Anyhow, I guess we're here: the basement of the inn."
Sweet fragrances spilled into their senses; their eyesight slowly became clear, revealing dozens and dozens of barrels, shelves and bottles of liquor.
They had snuck into the heart of Eden, where news buzzed around like flies, waiting to be caught.