Inside the nearly abandoned teaching building of the medical academy, the gathering had ended. Audrey, who was walking in a circle to leave, suddenly entered a trance and saw the familiar dense
"This is a clue."
Accompanying Mr. Fool's deep voice was a scene like a photograph — and a colored one at that!
A man nearly two meters tall, not particularly burly, stood in the shadows wearing black clerical robes. His pale yellow hair was soft and slightly curled, his deep brown eyes concealed fierceness behind their coldness, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly downward, giving him the aloof air of a lone wolf.
A clue? A clue to the Dalavi Street explosion and Gavin's drowning? Was this the murderer? Audrey froze for a moment, then came to a realization.
Mr. Fool already had a clue… He truly was remarkable — no, omnipotent… After silently marveling, she turned her head to look at Fors beside her.
Fors had just taken off her mask and surgical cap and settled into the carriage when she noticed Miss Audrey's somewhat peculiar gaze. She asked in puzzlement: "Is there something on my face?"
"No." Audrey withdrew her gaze, sat down after her, and began removing her disguise.
Fors recalled the gathering from earlier and asked with some curiosity: "Miss Audrey, why didn't you bid for the Spectator formula? That would be the way to establish a connection with the
She remembered that the generous Miss Audrey had remained silent for almost the entire gathering, listening the vast majority of the time, only selling some spiritual materials and purchasing other varieties in return.
Audrey smiled faintly: "This was my first gathering in this circle. I believe observation and patience are more important."
"I'm very eager for the potion formula, and even more eager for wondrous items, but I told myself there's no need to rush. Getting familiar first before taking action is the better strategy."
This was also a "professional habit" of the Spectator Pathway, and moreover, the extraordinary materials that Mr. World wanted — spinal fluid from an evil-patterned black panther, crystallized marrow from an elven spring — hadn't appeared either… Audrey silently added.
Fors looked at the girl who hadn't yet turned eighteen and suddenly felt she was more mature than she had ever been before.
She let out a self-deprecating laugh: "If I had been like you back then, I wouldn't have wasted that precious opportunity."
Audrey gave a reserved smile in response, then said: "Tomorrow morning I'll go ask some special friends whether they have any leads on the Dalavi Street explosion. You and Xio wait at the usual place for news."
"Sure." Fors nodded without suspicion.
…………
Klein didn't return to Minsk Street that night. Instead, he went straight to sleep in a one-room unit on Black Palm Street in the East End.
He feared that the suspected murderer—the man in the black priest's garb—might have accomplices who were currently scouring the streets for him.
Though the odds of encountering them were low, and he'd already disguised himself so they likely wouldn't recognize him, since the divination indicated some possibility, Klein decided to err on the side of caution and roughed out a night in the East End.
At the first glimmers of dawn, he changed into another dark blue worker's uniform, donned a light brown flat cap, left the room, descended the stairs, and stepped into the street.
At this hour, a pale, yellowish fog blanketed everything, passing figures were hazy silhouettes, and the morning chill seeped right through his clothing.
Klein kept his head down, hurrying along just like all the other early-rising workers around him.
As he walked, he noticed a middle-aged man of forty or fifty with graying temples, bundled in a thick jacket, stamping his feet in place while shivering uncontrollably. With trembling hands, he fished out a rolled cigarette and a nearly empty matchbox from his inner jacket pocket.
Just as he opened the box, his right hand jerked suddenly, and the crumpled cigarette tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop right in front of Klein.
Klein halted, picked it up casually, and handed it over.
"Thank you, thank you! This old friend of mine—there are only a few left." The man accepted the cigarette with heartfelt gratitude.
His complexion was a sickly greenish-pallor, his beard looked like it hadn't been shaved in ages, and exhaustion showed plainly at the corners of his eyes and brows. He sighed and added: "Another sleepless night. I don't know how many more days I can hold on. May the Lord bless me and let me get into the workhouse today."
He's a vagrant driven out from the parks... Klein asked casually: "Why don't the king and the ministers allow you to sleep in the parks?"
"Who knows? But sleeping outside in this weather, you might never wake up again. Better to keep to the day—find somewhere warmer. Sigh, though that leaves no time or energy to look for work." The man lit his cigarette and took a deep, satisfying drag.
His energy seemed to revive a little. He fell into step beside Klein, walking toward the place where the fog either ended or deepened further.
Klein had no intention of making small talk and was about to pick up his pace to shake him off, when suddenly he saw that clearly-spoken man bend down and pick up something dark from the ground.
It looked like an apple core that had been gnawed remarkably clean.
The man swallowed hard, stuffed the filthy, mud-caked core into his mouth, crunched it to mush with a squelch, and then skillfully ate every last bit without leaving a trace.
Meeting Klein's startled gaze, he wiped his mouth, shrugged, and gave a bitter smile: "I haven't eaten in almost three days."
The words struck Klein squarely in the heart, leaving him with an indescribable jolt of feeling.
He sighed silently, then smiled and said: "Sorry, I didn't introduce myself earlier. I'm a journalist working on a story about vagrants. Could I interview you? Let's go to that café up ahead."
The man blinked in surprise for a moment, then broke into a grin: "No problem at all. It's much warmer inside than out here on the street."