"Okay." Klein bowed slightly, took off his short top hat and put it back on, his mind still imagining the sealed artifact "0–08".
A very ordinary-looking quill?
Writing without ink?
What is its true function? That it has to be kept highly secret and considered "very dangerous"?
It couldn't be a causal pen where whoever you write dies, could it?
No, that would be too heaven-defying; there would be no need for Ince Zangwill to flee...
Just as Klein turned to leave, Dunn Smith suddenly called out from behind:
"Wait, I forgot something."
"What?" Klein turned back, his eyes full of confusion.
Dunn put away his pocket watch and smiled.
"Remember to go to the accountant Mrs. Orianna and ask for an advance on four weeks' salary. That's twelve pounds in total. After that, you'll only receive half of your weekly salary until it's paid off."
"That's too much, there's no need for that. It can be less," Klein said instinctively.
He wasn't opposed to an advance; after all, he didn't even have money for the return public carriage, but the sudden large sum of twelve pounds still somewhat frightened him.
"No, it's necessary," Dunn shook his head and smiled. "Think about it, do you still want to live in your current apartment? Sharing a washroom with several households? If you don't consider yourself, consider the lady. Besides..."
Seeing Klein nod in agreement, he paused, casually looked over Klein's clothes, and said meaningfully:
"Besides, you also need a cane and have to buy a new formal suit."
Klein was stunned for a second, then suddenly understood, his face flushing with embarrassment because the clothes he was wearing were cheap.
Normally, a top hat should be made of silk, costing five to six sule; a bow tie, three sule; a silver-inlaid cane, seven to eight sule; a shirt, three sule; trousers, vest, and tailcoat suit, about seven pounds; leather boots, nine to ten sule. All together, it would come to over eight pounds seven sule. Of course, a respectable gentleman also needed a watch chain, pocket watch, and wallet.
Back then, the original and his brother Benson had saved up money and went to a hat shop to ask, but left in embarrassment without even haggling, and bought a cheap set each in a cheap store near Iron Cross Street for less than two pounds total.
It was because of this incident that the original had such a deep impression of clothing prices.
"Okay, okay." Klein stammered slightly in response.
Like the original, he was also a face-conscious person.
Dunn took out his pocket watch again, opened it, and looked.
"Or maybe you go to Mrs. Orianna first? I don't know how long you'll stay at Old Neil's; soon Mrs. Orianna will be going home."
"Okay." Klein, feeling the pinch of poverty, didn't object.
Dunn walked back to his desk and pulled one of several hanging cords.
"I'll have Rozanne take you."
The cord moved, gears turned, and Rozanne in the reception hall of "Blackthorn Security Company" heard the bell ring softly, quickly stood up, and carefully descended the stairs.
Soon, she appeared before Klein.
Dunn Smith smiled humorously.
"Not disturbing your rest, I hope? Mmm, take Mr. Moretti to Mrs. Orianna."
Rozanne silently pursed her lips and "cheerfully" replied:
"Okay, Captain."
"Just like that?" At this moment, Klein asked, surprised.
Don't you need to write a note or something, Captain, to get an advance from the "finance department"?
"So?" Dunn asked in confusion.
"I mean, to get an advance from Mrs. Orianna, don't you need to sign?" Klein tried to phrase it simply.
"Oh, no, not needed. Rozanne can vouch," Dunn Smith pointed at the brown-haired girl.
Captain, our "financial management" here is almost no management... Klein suppressed the urge to complain and followed Rozanne out of the room.
Just then, he heard Dunn call out again:
"Wait, there's one more thing."
Can you say it all at once? Klein, smiling, turned back.
"You speak."
Dunn pressed his temple.
"When you go to Old Neil's, remember to pick up ten 'demon-hunting bullets'."
"Me? Demon-hunting bullets?" Klein asked in surprise.
"Welch's revolver is still with you, right? No need to turn it in," Dunn said with one hand in his pocket. "With 'demon-hunting bullets', if you encounter any strange danger, you can protect yourself. At least it'll give you courage."
No need for the last half-sentence... Klein was just worrying about this, so he unhesitatingly answered:
"Okay, I'll remember!"
"Then I need to write a formal document. Wait a moment." Dunn Smith sat down, picked up a dark red fountain pen, scribbled a "note", signed it, and stamped it.
"Thank you, Captain." Klein took it sincerely.
He slowly stepped back and turned around again.
"Wait."
Dunn called out again.
... Captain, you look only about thirty, why are you showing signs of premature aging? Klein forced a smile and turned back.
"What else?"
"I forgot, you haven't practiced shooting, so 'demon-hunting bullets' are useless to you. Like this: you get thirty normal bullets every day, and while you're out, go practice at the shooting range on the street, specifically the underground range at 3 Zouteland Street. Most of it belongs to the police department, but there's a venue exclusive to us Nighthawks. Ah, right, you also need to get a badge from Old Neil, otherwise you won't get into the range." Dunn slapped his forehead, took back the "note" from Klein, scribbled something, and added another stamp.
"Good marksmen are fed by bullets; don't underestimate it." Dunn handed the revised "note" back to Klein.
"I understand." Klein, fearing danger, wished he could go today.
He took two steps toward the door, then cautiously half-turned and ventured:
"Captain, nothing else, right?"
"No." Dunn nodded firmly.
Klein breathed a sigh of relief and finally walked outside, every step of the way wanting to turn back again and ask "Are you sure there's nothing else?"
He suppressed this urge and finally "successfully" left the "duty room".