by B.Y. Yan
it that was when his mind was clearest.
“But so you have,” he said. “And as I recall you stated yourself, through your own observations that the man I saw was as young as he turned out to be, for his great size and stubbles. You were right in telling me you wouldn’t have put him past twenty, if even that, and there he becomes useless to me. I need the man, the fiend, the legend of yesterday who has been marauding for decades.”
“Really it was only the one year,” said Breakerfast’s wife offhandedly. “That was when things were at its worst, though for the next twenty we have been trying to live it off.”
Beside her the patrolman looked somewhat sullen, wearing an expression which plainly suggested that all of this was well-known to him. Though he was of the opinion that there was no reason to pursue the matter further when a perfectly decent opportunity had fallen into their lap, and an explanation has already been readily accepted by all present.
“It has been twenty years since the last man was strung up over the walls of the Old Quarter,” he said. “In all likelihood that fiend has long met an end worthy of him, and everything else which happened after only the belated fallout of amateurs. Begging pardon, my lord, but why should we ask questions when the result is already everything we can want in this day and age, especially on your word that it is so which nobody will doubt?”
“Ah, but I shall!” said Bailey. “And mine is the only word which will count in the end, in more ways than one.” He chewed on his lips. “I have my obligations just as you do your desires, my good man, and we must both follow up where we may. The giant, for instance, is in my sights. You put him there, for by your own admission that while making criminals out to be Owls is nothing out of the norm, few are keen to have that name saddled on for themselves. Indeed, they cannot hope to get away fast enough. But here is a man—too young to be the legend himself, but perhaps not too young to know something about him, despite his untimely demise—who has very eagerly professed to me his desire to take up the tainted mantle. And there is also the tattoo you spoke of. We only have to find a valid connection between all of these things, and your keen mind for deductions will be of utmost uses to me here.”
“Oh it shall,” put in Breakerfast’s wife at once on her husband’s behalf. “He has a good head for reasoning, but it is wasted on that street corner. He’s stood vigil in that same spot for far too long.”
“Then you may regard this as an opportunity for you to show your qualities,” said Bailey. “When are we expecting to hear from the page?”
“Very soon, sir,” Breakerfast replied. “I’ve left instructions that the boy is to call a cab just as soon as we know where we are heading. We were promised word on new developments.”
Bailey nodded. “I put the utmost faith in your postal system, though today I am hoping to be on site to see these developments through. But goodness if that isn’t the rattle of a carriage coming to stop at your front door. And now a ring of the bell, and maybe we will be in for a pleasant surprise after all!”
No sooner had his voice fallen was there the sound of wheels drawing up to the front door beneath the window, and not a moment later there was another pull of the bell-rope, followed by the footsteps of the landlady headed to the door.
“Come, Breakerfast,” said Bailey, getting to his feet in a hurry. “We shall meet them downstairs.” Then, to the patrolman’s wife: “Madam we shall in all likelihood be a while in the field, and will certainly lunch on what time we might find for ourselves. If we are late we will wire, so feel free to begin supper without us.”
She agreed without paying much mind to the matter, and waved them away after wishing them good morning.
“Hold down the fort, Alex,” said Breakerfast as he held out Bailey’s long coat for his guest to slip into.
“Of course,” she replied. “Good hunting, boys.”
They descended the narrow staircase with Breakerfast holding the detective’s coattails, and were met at the bottom by the landlady showing up a boy. The message on him was a brief one, but exciting to hear nonetheless, for something had been made of the giant’s identity and an invitation was extended to Bailey to attend the proceedings as things developed.
“So you see, Breakerfast,” said he triumphantly as they rushed into the street on the boy’s heels, “We will get somewhere yet with this matter.”
“After you, my lord,” replied the patrolman, holding the door of the cab open, and taking to a knee to act as a step for Bailey to hop aboard.
In they both went, one after the other, and the boy latched onto the back, dangling there like a monkey from a basket while the driver gave a sharp whistle followed by a crack of his crop. The heavyset, mule driven two-door carriage which was the nation’s workhorse transport for the middle-upper classes lumbered forward, and with a practiced hand the driver guided them into the narrow lane where they melded swiftly into the morning traffic.
The day was a crisp one with a biting wind threading through the roundabout streets of the city, but gloomy also with the sky overcast and drifts of scattered snowflakes carelessly falling over the buildings for hours at a time. It was in the season of the deep south to alternate its mannerisms from bitter rain to chilling winds without notice, and thus the very notion of streets which had been wet from a strong downpour only days ago now being all but buried beneath thin carpets of grey and white has long since stopped drawing interest from those living here. Breakerfast, a local man, barely took any notice of it as they rattled along before entering a great thoroughfare taking them all along the wharfs with a view of the drab grey sea in the distance. But Bailey, for his part, shivered endlessly, muttering about the strange temperament of nature as he gazed upon the clouds from the carriage window.
“But you are a northerner yourself, my lord,” said Breakerfast in protest. “Surely this is barely a chill to your impression.”
“When I was in Pegging it was still summer,” replied Bailey. “And where I come from myself it hardly snows at all. I have come to look on it as a saintly thing, pure and picturesque, but here it is as if the very landscape is being held hostage behind a veil of impenetrable grey, like looking upon the battered walls of some long forgotten ruin. It is misery to behold, and does little for a man’s spirits.”
“I hope you are not soured upon your visit to our fair city on its account,” ventured the patrolman earnestly. “After all, ours is the beating industrial heart of the nation, and what little price we might have paid in the landscape has been done for the greater good of her people as a whole. It really comes with the scenery, if you will permit me to say so. Our perpetually grey skies and crowded aesthetic offer a different sort of atmosphere than the great halls and green gardens of Parliament that you are used to. Tourism has been going up for years, in fact, ever since we became a manufacturing and economics power.”
Bailey offered only a wry smile in reply.
“I have only been here for a short time before nearly losing my life to a ruse; I was, when you met me, just beaten by hooligans and held captive by criminals. So you will forgive me for harboring a biased view of life inside your shattered walls. Though I daresay whatever damage has been done on their account has already been entirely repaired, and then some, by the hospitality and friendship you and Alex have shown me.”
Breakerfast positively glowed from this generous comment. “I’m very glad, my lord, that you have taken to her so kindly.”
“There is not a more deserving woman in the world,” the detective stated regally. “Now if only this business of ours will bear fruit, I hope to stay on for a few more days to properly take in the company of your wonderful household. Or else, sadly, I shall have to move on with my quest.”
The patrolman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ah! Well we will hopefully have some good news for you on that front soon, sir.”
Onwards their cab rattled along the thoroughfare, merging soon onto the highway, taking them over a series o
f stone bridges thrown over some channels. Below, one might catch a fleeting look at streamers from boats loaded down with cargo going to and fro, the droning hum of their horns embellished by the generous din of sailors scurrying about above deck, shouting vulgar greetings to one another over the railings. These sights and noises bespoke of the lives and livelihoods of an immeasurable number of souls sharing a singular cramped habitat. The forces of fate intertwined with one of the greatest labors of men in the civilized world over the years have led to this singular moment of observation, with the handiwork of generations of craftsmen, inventors, and pioneers available at every turn of the head, capturing the picture of a heavy industrial power with every piston and gear merrily grinding along in the name of progress. Outside the carriage window endless stacks of slate tiled roofs whipped swiftly past in the shadow of the grey granite dome of the Old Gom’s Cathedral, its silvered crown offering here and there a brilliant glitter where streaks of sunlight penetrated the heavy, low-hanging clouds. They went past Tarot Square, the belching smokestacks of Games, were assailed by the ringing of smelting iron and steel by Knights-Downs Gallant, where the refineries worked day and night, and finally through Old Quarters in the tattered