Chapter 4: The detective's commission |
"Since there's now a short-term goal, the plan is to conduct a more thorough inspection of the room, search for money, find a city map, and look through the books. I'll try to understand this world through written records, investigate the historical and religious customs, and cautiously adapt to this place. Should I stay for three months to help the detective complete that task? I'll decide everything after I figure things out."
Shade summarized the situation and accepted the reality of the detective's death. The worst part wasn't the presence of mysteries in this world but the complete lack of any memories from the original owner of this body, leaving him utterly ignorant of this world. Otherwise, things weren't too bad.
Standing up, Shade walked towards the washroom.
The gas lamp in the washroom was somewhat faulty, emitting only a faint light even when turned to maximum brightness.
In the dim glow, he looked at the figure in the mirror: dull golden hair, dark brown eyes, a distinctly Western male face around twenty years old, with a slightly tense expression. He was roughly six feet tall.
Having been a vagrant in the past, his looks weren't particularly striking, but according to Shade's personal standards, he wasn't bad either.
"So, this is me. I'd better not scare myself with my reflection in the future."
He mentally reminded himself carefully. Yet, instead of leaving the mirror immediately, he checked his surroundings cautiously and then whispered:
"Hey, are you still there?"
Next on the agenda was to find money. Earlier, he hadn't found any food in the kitchen, and this body was clearly hungry. He needed to put his other worries aside temporarily to secure some money and get a meal.
However, another surprise awaited him. About half an hour later, Shade sat back down on the sofa under the warm yellow glow, his expression filled with a vague sense of panic.
In his hand was a ten-denomination banknote, crumpled and stained. It was smaller than the cards inside the journal. One side displayed a portrait, while the reverse bore the royal crest of the Kingdom of Drarian.
After searching the entire apartment, going through all the books, documents, and every pocket in the wardrobe, Shade only managed to find this single note, seemingly lost in a gap behind the bookshelf.
"Does this world have some special pricing system where this one note can last me three months?"
He tried to comfort himself with humor but knew it was impossible.
"This is bad."
Leaning back into the sofa, he closed his eyes and looked up at the white ceiling.
"Mr. Hamilton, where on earth did you hide the money? I agreed to stay, but you didn't leave me a single penny?"
Despite the eeriness of it all, he genuinely wanted to chase down the horse-drawn hearse carrying the coffin and shake the corpse awake to demand answers.
If the language barrier existed, he could adapt with intelligence. If the body had disabilities, courage could compensate. But having no money was a dealbreaker.
The late Sparrow Hamilton clearly didn't cook at home; there wasn’t even a single vegetable leaf in the kitchen, let alone a mouse carcass. Shade had no idea when this body last ate, but he needed to fix that urgently.
Considering human survival limits, Shade had to find money or a way to earn some fast. Otherwise, come sunset, he might have to resort to scavenging trash bins outside restaurants.
"No, I won't let that happen."
He glared at the single banknote in his hand, his face dark as the sky outside.
"Even if I don't know its value, it's still money. Plus, the card labeled [Sun 3] from the journal might help. If I can’t find money for now, I must think about long-term income sources."
His knowledge as a transmigrant might be valuable, but monetizing that knowledge in an unfamiliar world was both troublesome and dangerous—especially since this world had mysterious forces.
He recalled that this place was a Detective Agency, and Mr. Hamilton had mentioned safer tasks that could sustain the agency and Shade’s assumed identity. If there was no hidden money left by the detective, Shade would need a backup plan.
"Given Hamilton knew the original Shade wasn’t bright, the tasks he left must be simple enough to keep the agency afloat. Maybe he already solved most cases, leaving me to collect payments. Even though there’s mystery here, ordinary life still seems to be the norm."
Feeling inspired, Shade fetched the journal, the account book, the memo pad, and the work log from Hamilton’s belongings. Although no money was found, these records were intact.
Detective Sparrow Hamilton was meticulous and detail-oriented. Even without training in accounting or business management, Shade found the operational records remarkably organized. More importantly, most of the pending cases were straightforward and nearly resolved.
"Find Miss White’s runaway sister, follow Mr. Lawrence’s mistress, locate a missing orange tabby named Mimia, and gather information about a doctor treating eye diseases... Simple enough and not too risky. Hamilton even completed most of them. With two or three weeks, I could wrap everything up and keep the agency running."
While flipping through Hamilton’s handwritten reports, Shade mused that he didn’t need long-term plans just yet—he only needed quick cash for survival.
After evaluating the cases for difficulty, payment terms, and rewards, Shade chose to take on the task of tailing Mr. Lawrence’s mistress.
From the case report, Hamilton had tracked her for months but stopped recently due to poor health. The current report could be submitted to the client for payment. However, Hamilton had left a note suggesting that updating the records with recent observations could yield higher compensation and avoid arousing the client’s suspicions.
This meant Shade only needed to conduct one more round of surveillance to complete the task. Although not perfect, it would satisfy Mrs. Lawrence, the client, and secure the remaining reward of £1 4s from the total £1 7s fee.
This case appealed not only because of the payment but also its simplicity. Hamilton had handled many infidelity investigations and was experienced enough to avoid complications during handovers.
Shade, unwilling to stay in the eerie, death-filled apartment eating paper, prepared to set out and conduct the surveillance, aiming to deliver the report by dusk.
"No problem. I’ll finish this task, get my first payout, then explore the dead detective’s secrets and figure out the source of the voice in my head. Everything will get better!"
Encouraging himself, Shade first retrieved a city map. Cross-referencing Hamilton’s report with a wall calendar, he deduced that "Madame Lasso’s" most likely locations could be tracked. This detective work was simple, but the hardest part was locating his current position on the map.
Hamilton’s map of Tobesk City had many annotations, including taverns for gathering intel and black-market locations. However, Hamilton hadn’t marked his own home. Fortunately, Shade found a past tracking route that identified the apartment as No. 6 on St. Derain Square in the city center.
"Thanks to Detective Hamilton’s meticulous notes... Wait, is this... an apartment right next to the city center square? How much would a place like this cost?"
Shade murmured, surprised. He also noticed that just two streets away lay the "Yodel Palace," a royal residence for the Drarian Kingdom’s monarchy, as mentioned in a crumpled newspaper between articles on the third steam pipeline reconstruction and an ancient tower collapse investigation.
Shade, who had never owned property in his original world, felt his heart race. Fear and anxiety were momentarily replaced by shock and delight.
"So, I’m in the capital city of one of the world’s two great kingdoms, living in a central square apartment? How could I have such a place and still worry about starving to death?"
The oppressive mood lifted instantly. Yet, property wasn’t immediately liquid. Besides, Shade wasn’t planning to abandon the three-month commitment to Hamilton’s work. For now, surviving took precedence.
A genuine smile replaced his tense expression. Owning such a prime property eased his worries about the future—until it dawned on him that he hadn’t found any deeds or titles among the documents.
"Could this apartment be rented?"
The thought unsettled him. If Hamilton could afford a property here, why bother running a Detective Agency? The décor didn’t suggest the place belonged to Hamilton either.
"Does that mean I might owe an unknown amount of rent every month?"
Shade couldn’t believe his conclusion. He glanced at the calendar hanging in the living room.
It was currently Saturday in the third week of the Sunlit Month, June, 1853. If rent was due monthly, it was probably payable at the start of each month.
"This world uses a twelve-month system like back home... Should I just pack up, grab a suitcase, and leave? Start wandering this mysterious world as a vagrant? Staying here not only lacks income but might also mean inheriting Hamilton’s unknown debts."