"So what do you think, Blight? Did this meet your expectations?"
Dressed in a plain checkered jacket that barely restrained his stout figure, Bork stepped back to admire his handiwork, a brass cog-driven piece of machinery. To say it was an automobile would've been a mistake—it had the appearance of a metal box stuck with cogs and bits of tarnished copper all over it. On the inside, a vast solar system of gears whirled around, while a spring, connected to the wind-up handle on the side, slowly uncoiled itself until it gave up its energy and the machine's treads clunked to a stop.
"So what do you think?" repeated Bork, pushing his glasses back up his chubby face, which was positively beaming with pride.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" questioned Blight uncertainly. This was about the fifth time Bork had come to Blight, showing off his newest inventions. Blight stared blankly at the metal cube.
"Is there any difference between this one and the previous one?"
Bork, instead of backing down, puffed his chest out and said pompously, "Of course there is. I've managed to maximise the efficiency of the wind-up system by redesigning the model to allow less energy to escape from it while focusing the power to move the new lightweight gears I picked out."
"Sounds interesting," yawned Blight. Bork shot a glance with his piggy eyes at the jaded figure seated down majestically in front of him. Suddenly, his face brightened.
"I know! You're a top student in physics, aren't you, Blight?"
"I was a top student, Bork. We're not in high school anymore, so I doubt I'd be able to keep up with your ideas."
"Ah, don't be like that," grinned Bork, slapping Blight on the back. "I'll only need a little bit of your time, that's all. You see, I've been working on—"
"Master Blight."
A voice called from the opposite side of the door. The butler, Manfred, strode in and announced that Blight was required to come down at once.
Gladly seizing this opportunity, Blight apologised to Bork, while privately thinking he was quite lucky with this convenient excuse. He told his acquaintance to wait for him on the veranda before being escorted into Mr Campbell's private office, knowing exactly what they were about to discuss. As he was about to sit, Mr Campbell, who was unaware of his arrival, jumped out, exclaiming, "You were right, Elysius! Rochenbach's project is falling apart rapidly and there's been quite a scare in the stock market today concerning him and railroads in general."
Blight only nodded, not knowing what to say nor how to react to this piece of news.
"You must be wondering why I called you in," smiled Campbell. Blight did not speak; a sharp nod of his head sufficed.
Still wearing the same kind smile, Campbell said, "If you're up for it, could you also predict what will happen in the future for me?"
Scoffing to himself inwardly but keeping his face straight, Blight responded with a simple, "Yes, of course."
If you're up for it. That, coming from you, is a command, not a passive request. This man… always treating people like inferior beings just because of your wealth and status… I'll be sure to rid the world of you next, Mr Campbell.
"In events like this, the railway collapse would usually cause many problems, most of them related to the economy, such as ruined investors, bank troubles, rival magnates fighting among themselves, and so on."
Looking quite smug with himself, Campbell gestured for Blight to go on.
"I understand how ruined investors and rival magnates would arise, but I don't get why you say the bank will experience trouble, Elysius."
"Of course, a panic in the market will cause many investors to sell, otherwise their shares may very well become useless in the future, don't you agree, Mr Campbell?"
Campbell gave his wordless agreement.
"This will cause a massive supply of stocks but little to no demand for them. This is one outcome of this mess.
"Now, the bank itself has lent massive sums of money to fuel the project. Once the project has completely collapsed, they will lose a significant portion of their assets. How do you think the bank will distribute enough to every depositor? As you well know, banks never keep all their deposits in cash—most is lent out to other businesses in other forms, especially to the railroad project. Since the project is failing, its value decreases rapidly, also causing the bank's assets to decrease rapidly. Humans have a common tendency to fear losses. As they see others withdraw money, they too will do the same from other banks, leading to an overflow of depositors for the banks. Same goes for the railroad companies as well. When they see one company fall, there's bound to be somebody who suspects the other companies' falls as well.
"Every event I have mentioned will lead to two things: bank crises and economic unrest, especially concerning railroad stocks."
And he finished his little explanation with a bow of his head like a performer departing from the stage. Campbell sat there, speechless.
"W–What should I do then?" he stuttered, pale-faced. "It sounds like a national disaster!"
"Calm down, Mr Campbell," said Blight soothingly. "There's still time. You should hurry over to the banks now, if you can make it, but remember to be as inconspicuous as you can; you don't want to create a mess before anything happens, of course."
"Yes, yes," muttered Campbell, hurrying out of the office. Blight grinned—he now had the entire office to himself.
I'll start by returning some of the money Campbell secretly embezzled from the citizens—maintaining a desirable public face is important after all.
With fingers as delicate and precise as surgery tools, honed to perfection through countless hours of piano playing, the deceptive youth flipped through every drawer in sight, file by file. AMong the wads of paper, he found it at last: the records of each one of Campbell's 'debtors'. At first glance, it might have appeared like any other dull financial report, but toBlight, it was a gold mine that could be used to his advantage. Here was a list of potential allies if he acted properly…
Mr Johnson, living alone with his children after his wife died from illness… His debt is currently two hundred sovereigns… I'll pay him a visit first…
—
A walk down the crunchy gravelly road was, in his opinion, the best way to refresh a tired mind. After sending Bork home, not without describing his eagerness to help in the future, of course, Blight wasted no time in withdrawing as much money as he could without arousing other people's interest and headed to his first stop, the shoddy cottage where Johnson lived.
Upon arriving at the half-broken front gate, its cheery white paint stripped off in stripes, two young children came into Blight's view. The boy, only an inch taller than his sister, glared up at him with bleary eyes, while the girl, her hair tied neatly into two ponytails, presumably done by herself, tugged her brother's tattered sleeve fearfully.
"We're not supposed to bother other nobles, that's what daddy said, remember?"
The boy said nothing, only sparing a second to shoot a rebellious look at his sister. He gulped and said in a tough voice, "Whatcha want, mister?"
Blight raised his eyebrows. Now that was interesting—he'd rarely been talked to like that. Keeping his warm smile, Blight replied, "If you'll let me pass through, young man, there's something important I must return to your father. Perhaps you'd like to do it for me?"
He reached deep into his coat pocket and slowly drew out a massive sack of coins, which jingled brightly. Both of the children's eyes widened at the mere sound of the coins. The boy sucked in his breath.
"I'll tell you what," added Blight, bending down and beckoning for them to come closer. "I can give you two a sovereign each if you become my messengers."
"Messengers?" repeated the boy, his expression softening as a hint of eagerness came over him.
"Yep, just run along and tell your father there's somebody waiting for—"
Out of the corner of his eye, an odd detail caught his eye. Just before the boy could pull down his sleeve, Blight reached out and gently held his arm.
"This is…"
Shining visibly across the boy's arms was a deep gash, throbbing lividly. The boy tugged away rapidly.
"I–It's nothing," he muttered, turning away.
He took a glance back at the cottage and seemed to be hiding it—could it be?
"There's nothing to fear," said Blight comfortingly.
The boy's tense figure loosened, melting like ice. Blight slowly let go of him.
"Can you tell me… it was your father who did this to you, isn't it?"
The boy nodded hesitantly, then exploded into tears, burying his face into Blight's coat. His sister stepped forwards, eyes brimming with horror as if she expected Blight to tear her brother away in disgust. However, when it was clear that Blight had no intention of doing so, she mumbled in a small voice, "Please help us, sir. Our father—"
She closed her eyes, which had tears swimming around like a clear pool, and unbuttoned her collar to reveal five livid red spots displayed on her neck. She explained with unexpected calmness how their father constantly fell into drunken rages and even worse, subjected them to unspeakable beatings during those terrifying times. Blight listened with great patience and care as the two children poured out their sorrows to him. Evidently, he had developed a terrible sense of misunderstanding.
I've been wrong this entire time… Maybe… I've been turning away from the truth blindly. I was always blaming the Custodians. Those with power and wealth… I've been hiding the truth from myself for far too long…
He chuckled softly, unnoticed by the children. Patting their small heads warmly, he got up and stepped into their garden. Two distinct voices could be heard from within the cottage. As he peeked through the window, the realisation hit him harder than ever. Injustice was truly unavoidable, no matter the status, appearance, or age.
Wearing filthy rags that screamed poverty, a man whom Blight recognised as the children's father, was landing blow after blow with a merciless empty glass bottle on a fragile elderly woman equally as poor as him. She made no objection whatsoever but remained on the floor, blood dripping steadily with each heavy blow. The fact was, she couldn't resist, even if she wanted to.