Chapter 29: Gambler |
Dr. Cray was an older man, but not yet fifty, with a slightly corpulent figure that he managed to keep just under the "obese" threshold. However, he was completely bald, so he wore an obvious brown wig that made it hard not to glance up during close conversations.
“Are you sure Dr. Schneider won’t be back today?” Shad reluctantly confirmed, holding the orange tabby cat Mimia. The cat, likely unfamiliar with such an environment, was wide-eyed, curiously looking around.
“Yes. When the count’s butler came to invite Bill, they mentioned the consultation would take some time,” the doctor replied.
“Do you know Dr. Schneider’s friend, Miss Dorothy Louisa? Do you know where she lives?” Shad asked again. If he couldn’t find the doctor, perhaps one of the other Ring Warlocks in their group could help. This matter involving the statue of an Evil God couldn’t be handled lightly.
“Yes, I know her, of course. She’s a regular at our clinic, often seeking help for anorexia and insomnia... but I can’t disclose patient information casually,” Dr. Cray said apologetically. Aware that his request might be overstepping, Shad left a message for Dr. Schneider instead.
Although the Evil God statue was not a [Relic], its value was significant. While the academy discouraged Ring Warlocks from interacting with such bizarre items to gather the Four Mystical Elements, professors with lifelong tenures at St. Byrons Comprehensive College, especially those above Nine Rings, could potentially use the remnants of the Old Gods to craft powerful narratives imbued with strength. This method was far safer than Shad’s direct exposure to the statue today.
Whether due to concerns about Madame Lasso’s intentions or the desire to contribute by reporting the matter, informing Dr. Schneider was imperative. Yet, since the doctor was unavailable, all Shad could do was wait patiently. Reporting it directly to the church was out of the question—not because he feared the statue of the Old God of Blood being confiscated but because he had no idea how to anonymously report it.
“But the doctor will be back tomorrow, so waiting one more day shouldn’t be an issue,” he reassured himself, leaving the clinic with the cat. However, an underlying unease lingered, distracting him enough to nearly get hit by a carriage on the way back to St. Derain Square.
Having left home early in the morning, Shad found the commission to locate the orange tabby surprisingly smooth. By the time he returned, it was only 2 p.m. He and Mimia had eaten lunch outside, leaving him with nothing pressing to do for now.
Afterward, he reviewed past entries to plan completing the two remaining simple commissions—a runaway girl and a doctor search—in the next few days. This way, once the academy’s materials arrived on Wednesday, he’d have time to investigate the secrets potentially hidden by Sparrow Hamilton’s old acquaintances.
Shad spent the afternoon organizing the belongings of the previous detective and estimating their value. In the evening, he dined out with the cat and bought breadsticks near the square for breakfast, paired with the milk he had at home. He also remembered to buy premium cat food, determined to care for the orange tabby properly since he had been paid to do so.
Thus, just two days after arriving in this world, Shad had become a young detective living in the Kingdom Capital’s central square, with a cat and a job.
“Thinking about it, my luck isn’t bad... except for being broke,” he mused.
In the evening, he continued studying [Space-Time] and [Silver Moon]. Contact with the Old God’s remnant earlier had accumulated enough [Miracle] elements to enhance his spirit, making the silver light on his fingertips even more brilliant.
Although the light still had no offensive power, it was bright enough for illumination. He also tested its ability to heat paper, which had improved. The young tabby was startled by the warming paper and hid in Shad’s arms, refusing to leave. Shad found the reaction amusing and felt satisfied.
This night’s study session ended around 9 p.m. as Shad, sitting in the study and grappling with the doctor’s florid handwriting, heard the downstairs bell ring. The cat, napping on the desk, quickly darted under it, frightened.
Reassuring the timid Mimia, Shad left the room and descended to the first-floor hallway, wondering, “Could the doctor have returned early and seen my message?”
But it wasn’t. Opening the door, he found a short, middle-aged man with yellow hair, dressed in a black coat and looking somewhat nervous. He was likely a client seeking Sparrow Hamilton.
Shad’s first formal commission had arrived.
The man introduced himself as Rugert Franklin, an accountant residing in the city’s western district, employed by “Hunter and Laura’s Textile Mill.” Familiar with Sparrow Hamilton from previous commissions, he expressed shock upon learning of the detective’s death.
“A sudden illness, with no effective treatment,” Shad explained, repeating the cover story. Medical advancements were limited, and the era’s remedies had only recently moved beyond bloodletting and enemas. Sudden deaths weren’t unusual.
“I’m his nephew from the hometown, inheriting this detective agency. Uncle Sparrow entrusted it to me before his passing,” Shad said, using the fabricated identity. Seeing Franklin believe the story, he asked, “Although Uncle Sparrow isn’t here, I can still handle commissions... at a lower cost. What brings you here so late?”
Moved by either Shad’s sincerity or the promise of a discount, Franklin hesitated before revealing his issue.
Despite living in the kingdom capital, Franklin’s family was ordinary in the grand scheme. As an accountant, he supported his wife, who worked as a scribe at a private library. Their sole child, young Franklin, was their greatest headache. Once a well-behaved boy, he had fallen in with a group of delinquent friends, developing a gambling habit that kept him out late at clubs and underground casinos, stealing money from home to squander it.
Franklin had previously sought Sparrow Hamilton’s help twice: first to locate his missing son, who had been found in an underground casino in the city’s northern slums; and second to retrieve the boy after he spent three days at the “Lucky Southern Cross Club,” an establishment that operated as a bar by day and an underground casino by night.