Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

185 Missing Goods

Why did I have such a dream? It felt eerily real… Lumian collected himself and assessed his condition, but found nothing amiss.

Yet, in his dream, he felt as though he was once again wearing the Mystery Prying Glasses, and they revealed even more.

After pondering for a while, Lumian suspected that the negative effects of wearing the Mystery Prying Glasses three times in a row still lingered. They seemed to have seeped into his subconscious, manifesting in his dream within the confines of Salle de Bal Brise, an ancient burial ground.

It appears that something is truly amiss beneath the surface here… Lumian sighed inwardly. He rose from his bed, donned his coat, and resolved to spend the night elsewhere to test his hypothesis.

Under the cover of darkness, with Salle de Bal Brise devoid of any illumination, Lumian followed the shadows along the roadside and returned to Auberge du Coq Doré, its main entrance locked.

For Lumian, this posed no obstacle. He didn’t try rousing the irritable Madame Fels by knocking on the door. Instead, he circled around to the side, traced the pipe, and climbed onto the balcony on the second floor.

In Room 207, Lumian slept until six in the morning. He experienced only two sporadic, ordinary dreams.

So, it was indeed the ancient bones buried deep beneath Salle de Bal Brise that triggered the residual powers of the Mystery Prying Glasses within me… Lumian sat up, a mixture of delight and disappointment washing over him.

His original plan was to use the Mystery Prying Glasses to create one or two supernatural paintings each day, accumulating them for future needs. However, it seemed that frequent use of the glasses was ill-advised. He would have to wait until the lingering negative effects dissipated before attempting further experiments. Otherwise, he risked something dreadful and bizarre happening over time, possibly leading to a strange demise akin to the Lawyer who had left the glasses behind, leaving behind only an eerie oil painting with enduring abnormal effects.

Tonight, I shall sleep within Salle de Bal Brise and ascertain whether the negative effects have dissipated… In the future, I must refrain from wearing the glasses more than twice in a brief span of time… These are the details Mr. K neglected to mention. Yes, I must experience them firsthand. Only through firsthand experience can I truly comprehend… Lumian rose energetically and made his way to the washroom to freshen up.

It being still early, many of the tenants were still abed, and the morning remained tranquil, devoid of the usual clamor over access to the washroom.

From time to time, Madame Fels would ascend the stairs to inspect the water meters on each floor, ensuring no one wasted the precious resource.

A contract had been inked between Auberge du Coq Doré and the Imperial Water Supply Company, stipulating a daily allowance of no less than 250 liters and no more than 500 liters of water. The cost amounted to 100 verl d’or per year.

Leisurely, Lumian strolled to the café on Rue des Blouses Blanches. He indulged in delectable treats like sablé cookies and brioche, a softer variation of croissants. Afterwards, he sought out a place for exercise.

Upon returning to Auberge du Coq Doré, he spotted Charlie, sporting a linen shirt and black trousers, seated on the steps outside the entrance, relishing a mouthful of meatloaf accompanied by an Apple Whiskey Sour.

“So early?” Lumian inquired, a smile playing on his lips.

Salle de Bal Brise closed its doors at 2 a.m., and the morning had yet to reach 8:30 a.m.

Uncertain whether to hastily rise and greet his employer or engage in the usual casual conversation, Charlie hesitated for a moment before standing up, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I think I’ll catch a bit more sleep before heading back to the dance hall. I don’t think I can keep doing this. I reckon there ought to be some time when we don’t have to sleep or work. Otherwise, it feels, feels…”

Salle de Bal Brise opened at 10:30 a.m.

“Feels like we’re mere machines built for work, devoid of a life to call our own?” Lumian finished Charlie’s sentence, lending him a helping hand.

“Exactly! That’s spot on!” Charlie agreed. “You’re quite the refined individual, you know? Sometimes, you don’t seem like a mobster at all. I mean, not like the leader of the Savoie Mob. You come across as more… civilized!”

Had everything gone according to plan, I would have been studying at a university in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative. I would be spending time chatting with my classmates and exploring the depths of Underground Trier… Lumian’s heart sank as he focused his attention on Charlie.

This was the method he used to observe whether Susanna Mattise’s issue still lingered and when it would rear its head.

“W-What are you staring at?” Charlie stammered nervously. “Do you see something amiss?”

Lumian eased his worry. His luck appears to be relatively normal and stable. He smiled, raising his right hand and giving a wave behind Charlie’s back.

“Good morning, Susanna!”

Charlie spun around, eyes wide open, scrutinizing every detail.

A few seconds later, he exhaled and turned back, forcing a smile. He addressed Lumian, “You’re just messing with me again.”

That name remained a haunting nightmare he couldn’t shake off anytime soon.

“I’m strengthening your mental endurance. This way, if something truly occurs, you won’t panic and find yourself unable to devise a solution.” Lumian earnestly patted Charlie’s shoulder.

Moments before 10:30 a.m., Lumian made his way back to Salle de Bal Brise.

Upon his arrival, Louis and Sarkota approached simultaneously, their voices merging into one as they spoke. “Boss, something’s up!”

“What’s the matter?” Lumian inquired with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the anxiety and unease radiating from his two subordinates.

Louis glanced towards the staircase, lowering his voice. “Red Boots, Giant, and Rat are all here. It must be something serious.”

Every leader present? Lumian pondered his recent actions and found it hard to believe that he hadn’t offended all the leaders of the Savoie Mob.

I’ve been on my best behavior these past few days!

“Indeed,” Louis confirmed with a solemn nod.

Lumian ascended the second-floor stairs nonchalantly, where Franca and the others awaited.

Franca had swapped her footwear for darker red boots. She sported light-colored pants and a trendy dark skirt that had gained popularity in Trier recently. Completing her ensemble was a more masculine formal attire.

With her right leg crossed over her left, Franca grinned at Lumian as he approached.

To her right was Baron Brignais, donned in a formal suit and top hat. On her left was a slender-faced man, barely reaching a height of 1.6 meters, boasting a pair of rat-like whiskers. He wore a dark brown shirt that fell short, and his thick, grayish-black hair framed his countenance. His dark blue eyes revealed a trace of anxiety.

“‘Rat’ Christo,” Baron Brignais courteously introduced Lumian to the thin-faced man.

Baron Brignais then gestured towards the man seated opposite him. “‘Blood Palm’ Black.”

Black possessed brown hair, blue eyes, and a round face. He appeared to be in his early thirties and had a warm smile that hardly resembled that of a mob leader.

Clad in attire leaning more towards formality, his hands were large, with clearly defined bones beneath the surface. He held a slowly smoldering cigar.

“Good morning, everyone.” Lumian dragged an armchair closer and settled in, positioning himself nearly a meter away from the table, assuming the air of someone in control.

“Giant” Simon glanced at him, took a drag from his cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of grayish-blue smoke.

“Christo met with some trouble and requires our assistance.”

“What sort of trouble?” Lumian directed his gaze towards “Rat” Christo.

Christo played a vital role in Salle de Bal Brise’s lucrative business.

Despite the premium he charged for the smuggled liquor he peddled, its lack of taxation made it significantly cheaper than the wholesale liquor stores in Trier. Moreover, a substantial portion of the alcohol Christo dealt with was moonshine, cleverly adorned with labels from relatively renowned brands and origins.

Gritting his teeth, Christo, who bore a striking resemblance to a rat, spoke up.

“I’ve lost a shipment underground. The delivery men and escorts have vanished. Damn it, my younger brother was among them. His wife and child are in tears at my place!”

Something has transpired in Underground Trier? Smuggling operations are divided into carriers and armed protection? That’s right. Osta Trul had mentioned helping others transport illicit books. Horse-drawn carriages are useless in Underground Trier; they rely solely on manual labor… Lumian nodded subtly and inquired, “What kind of goods?”

“A batch of red wine and brandy, along with some Blackfish.” “Rat” Christo couldn’t help but slam the table. “Damn it, we’ve taken that route countless times. Nothing ever happened, nor did we encounter those hyenas.”

The term “hyenas” referred to the quarry police, who specialized in cracking down on smuggling activities and maintained order in the underground.

Observing Lumian’s confusion, Baron Brignais casually explained, “‘Blackfish’ refers to firearms.”

Among the mob’s top five lucrative ventures, the bootleg alcohol supply chain ranked second. Firearms, due to low demand, brought in the least profit. The casino business, which was the most lucrative, wasn’t particularly favored in the market district, given the modest incomes of the local population. The money one could extract from the patrons was rather limited. Compared to gambling, which required wit, those who toiled all day preferred indulging in cheap liquor, gyrating their bodies, and seeking solace in the company of captivating dancers.

Regarding the sale of psychotropic drugs, the police department in Trier cracked down heavily on it. Following repeated warnings from the market district’s police headquarters, Salle de Bal Brise had put an end to such incidents. However, Rue du Rossignol, overseen by “Giant” Simon, occasionally experienced a few cases.

Lumian turned to “Rat” Christo and spoke, “Any suspects?”

“None,” Christo lamented. “Damn it, that route is incredibly well-concealed. Apart from me and my men, no one in the market district is aware of it.”

He paused for a moment before sharing his intentions.

“I need your help to search for clues along that route, using your expertise. I’ve gone through it myself, but found nothing.”

Without waiting for Lumian’s response, Franca nodded and suggested, “Let’s form pairs to ensure safety during the investigation.

“Right, I’ll team up with Ciel. There’s something I need to discuss with him.”

“Giant” Simon’s gaze flickered between Franca and Ciel a few times before he recalled that Ciel was suspected of sleeping with Franca’s mistress, thus cuckolding her.

Seizing the opportunity to teach Ciel a lesson, “Giant” Simon nodded imperceptibly and said to “Blood Palm” Black, “You and I will be a team.”

Baron Brignais then turned to “Rat” Christo. “I’ll accompany you for your second trip.”

After Baron Brignais and “Giant” Simon scoured the underground route to no avail, Lumian and Franca followed a smuggler into Underground Trier.