Myths Reawakened

Mrs. Reiner wore a black coat, an expensive pair of dress shoes, and a dress hat with a plume from god-knows-which bird. She was in her forties, with a plump figure and a wider-than-average frame that made her look stocky. Her makeup did its best to conceal her age, but alas, time was too cruel a sculptor.

Wayne prided himself on looking beyond appearances, but if a woman like her winked at him... well, then he supposed judging a book by its cover would be his only sin.

“Good to see you, Mrs. Reiner.”

“The feeling is mutual, Wayne.”

Mrs. Reiner took off her leather gloves and spread her arms to give him a hug. It was clear from her glinting eyes that she wouldn’t let go once she had him in her embrace.

Wayne politely rejected the passionate greeting and invited her to have a seat in the office. He apologized for not fulfilling her request, explaining that despite his time and effort, he’d failed to find evidence for Dr. Reiner’s affair. He suggested she seek out another detective agency.

Mrs. Reiner didn’t seem to mind, and she didn’t accept the down payment he offered to return. She reaffirmed her belief in his competence and expressed her willingness to give him more time.

That would be unwise. Time waits for no one. Dr. Reiner has evidence of your affair. You’ll be at a disadvantage if you wait any longer.

Wayne kept the thoughts to himself. He offered her a few more words of advice and engaged in awkward small talk before walking her out.

“Wayne, is she a client of yours?” Veronica walked downstairs. Despite her typically immaculate appearance, she had overlooked the dust on her nose and cheeks.

Wayne noticed, but didn’t comment on her appearance. Scars were badges of honor, as they said, and the dust was proof of her valiant fight against a messy house. “She was,” he said with a nod. “Some time ago, she made a request concerning family feuds, but due to unexpected developments, she didn’t get what she wanted. I advised her to seek out a more competent detective.”

“It’s just family feuds. We can easily complete the task. There’s no reason not to take it on.”

“You’re right, but things are complicated. I can’t explain it easily...” Wayne grumbled under his breath, trying to make her drop the issue.

“What did you find?” Veronica asked with narrowed eyes, unwilling to let any clues slip.

“Um, why don’t we go back to cleaning? Wait until...”

Interpreting his hesitance as a purposeful ploy for payment, Veronica decisively handed him two more bills for an answer.

He silently accepted the payment. What a wonderful misunderstanding. He would welcome a repeat.

“The thing is, Dr. Reiner sought me out some time ago... Then in the afternoon, Mrs. Reiner came... I accepted both their requests, and since Dr. Reiner came back to me sooner, I handed him both reports. As a show of gratitude, he volunteered to pay me...”

Wayne summarized what happened. “My work ethic stops me from selling the reports to both parties. I’m a man of principle and will not take another request from Mrs. Reiner. That was why I turned her away.”

Veronica was at a loss for words. She didn’t think Wayne understood what ‘work ethic’ meant.

She rolled her eyes at him delicately. Earlier in the morning, she had flipped through the diary placed on his desk. Since it was unethical to read someone else’s diary without their permission, she had asked Wayne first.

He gave her a silent response since he was asleep, and that was as good as a silent permission!

In the diary, the clients lauded him as a handsome, competent young man with an excellent work ethic. The everyday happenings and trivial moments detailed in the diary highlighted his optimism and virtues. He was a law-abiding denizen who was always eager to lend a helping hand, and he served as a role model to the young by injecting positive energy into the cynical society.

Veronica was stunned when she read the diary. It gave her a newfound respect for Wayne and made her feel guilty for misjudging his character. She’d told William to make a real feast as an apology for reading his diary without his consent.

But now she understood why something so private would be left on his desk rather than locked away. What a terrible tragedy! The scum had fooled her and toyed with her!

“Go on. What did you find out about Mrs. Reiner?”

Veronica impassively handed him another banknote. Mrs. Reiner smelled like death. She had definitely come into closer contact with the Deathwalker than Wayne had. She would lead them to their target sooner rather than later.

“According to my investigation, Mrs. Reiner is a philanthropist well-known in the circle of harbor workers and failed artists. She’s... well-connected.”

Wayne blabbed to her without reservation. She had paid for his honesty, after all. As a detective, it was only right for him to tell his assistant his findings; as a businessman, he had adhered to his work ethic by not selling the information to Mrs. Reiner.

“Be specific. Who are the artist and the harbor worker?”

“Why would you like to know?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t make it difficult for me, Assistant V. The agency will not provide service to Mrs. Reiner after receiving payment from Dr. Reiner.”

“This has nothing to do with her.” Veronica waved the wad of money in her hand. “I’m requesting an investigation.”

“Have a seat, please.”

...Can’t you at least pretend to be conflicted?

***

Londan could be divided into five districts from an economic and political standpoint: the Central District, also known as Inner Londan and Downtown Londan, was Kingdom of Windsor’s political, economic, and cultural center, housing the finest universities, the best hospitals, and the largest securities markets, museums, and theaters. Former nobles turned capitalists were the ones running the scene.

The Western and Northern Districts housed the majority of the middle-class denizens, while the Eastern and Southern Districts occupied the most land area but the fewest resources. The ports, industrial facilities, and warehouses were concentrated in those two districts, and most of the residents were working class.

At the port area, sailors untied ropes and began their voyage amid the chorus of ship horns, curses, and crashing waves under the blazing sun. The scene appeared differently to each observer.

To the upper class, ports were romantic backdrops for trilling seagulls and sailors’ shanties of courage. Brave souls overcame wind and waves to reach unfamiliar lands, pursuing the true purpose of life and exploring the uncharted naval routes. In exchange for the riches they collected, they brought culture and development to their destinations. Everything seemed like the living manifestations of dramatic oil paintings.

To the lower class, ports were filthy places with screeching seagulls and icy seawater, where workers had no time to wash away the grease, grime, and sweat as they hustled about for their livelihood. Were it an oil painting, it would be a canvas smeared with the foulest sludge using the dirtiest feet.

The Kingdom of Windsor, given its early dominance as a capitalist nation, lagged behind other nations in industrial facilities and supporting infrastructure. Its decline in productivity was inevitable, and the economic depression and wars further accelerated its fall. The ports were a pale imitation of her former glory.

Near afternoon, Veronica took Monica to a restaurant for black tea, while Wayne and William split up and looked for Pluto, the harbor worker Mrs. Reiner had enjoyed the service of. He was known for his strong build and impressive hip strength.

Wayne searched the usual places without success. According to Pluto’s colleagues, he hadn’t come in for work today. He was either loitering in the warehouse area or sleeping at home. Unfortunately for Wayne, he ran into William during his search, who brightened up immediately and hovered around him like a fly, grumbling nonstop as they walked.

“I met a young bankrupt nobleman, Wayne. He’s drowning in debt and had no choice but to look for work at the port...”

“I told him that since he had a butt load of debt, he might as well pay the debt with his butt. He turned me down. What a shame. I wonder who he would sell out to eventually.”

“I spotted a few more pretty faces after that, but none of them looked as young and handsome as the first one.”

Wayne couldn’t believe his ears.

What are you, a king of the sea with a harem of twinks? The wharf where every gallant ship docks? Have you done nothing productive the whole day?!

He refused to engage in the conversation, so he sought out Veronica and told her their progress—or the lack thereof. Now they could either look for Pluto at his home or visit the failed artist at his apartment.

“Let’s visit the artist,” Veronica decided.

The artist, Albert, was a cultured young man who stayed true to his artistic pursuits despite failing to get into an art school after numerous tries. Years of receiving patronage from rich mistresses had milked his youth dry, and without his youth, he attracted no patrons; without an income, he couldn’t afford rent in the Northern District and had relocated to the Eastern District.

Mrs. Reiner wasn’t his first patron, and she was far from the best-looking or the fittest. After being whipped into shape by many of his previous mistresses, though, Albert considered Mrs. Reiner quite a lot gentler and kinder. This was essentially a recovery period for him.

“Albert plans to pursue art and save money in the Eastern District until he’s recovered enough to return to the Northern District. He’s a man who can’t take on hard work, but can be worked hard...”

In the taxi, Wayne explained Albert’s history to Veronica as tactfully as he could manage. He took the passenger seat while Veronica, Monica, and William sat in the back. As he spoke, he sneaked glances at Veronica and wondered about the bored look on her face. Why would she insist on getting to the bottom of the case if she wasn’t interested?

The taxi stopped outside an alley. Wayne navigated to the third floor of the apartment building as if he lived here. The wooden floors creaked as he walked past the heaps of trash cluttering the corridor. He caught sight of a rat dashing and vanishing into a corner. The environment was a perfect metaphor for the decline of Albert’s life and health.

The last time Wayne was here, he had taken the balcony. This time, he took the stairs. Before he could knock on the door, William pushed him aside and hammered the wooden door with his massive fist.

The door opened. Albert, with a blanket draped over his threadbare clothes, looked at Veronica and her radiant face in confusion before gaping at William’s dancing pectorals. He quickly tried to shut the door, but it was already too late.

William barged in, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Mr. Artist, the lady wishes to talk to you about a long-term patronage.”

Heaven be praised! Albert was beside himself with joy. He would be willing to let Veronica have him without paying him. Their melding would certainly spark many inspirations. The mere thought rejuvenated him—he felt eighteen again!

Before he realized it, though, he was already tied to a chair, gagged with a cloth.

(눈_눈)

Such a sophisticated display of the art of interrogation, Wayne marveled. Would this have happened to me if I had rejected Veronica?

“Don’t worry. We aren’t good people. Answer our questions, and not only will you remain unharmed, but we’ll also reward you handsomely.” William flexed his pecs with a wolfish grin. “You’re free to say no, of course, but be ready to have your little daisy stretched into a sunflower.”

Albert shook his head vehemently. He knew nothing.

Wayne rolled his eyes. He was somewhat of a professional in this matter, so he knew a threat like that wouldn’t intimidate Albert. He went up to Veronica and whispered, “What is this? You told me you won’t stir up any trouble.”

Instead of answering him, she took a glass bottle out of the purse she carried everywhere. Wayne eyed the colorful mushrooms inside with curiosity. The appearance alone told him that they would be quite a joy to consume.

He was right. The mushrooms were tasty enough to induce hallucinations. With the mouthful William shoved down Albert’s throat, the artist became dazed and confused, his eyes losing focus and his face arranged into a stupefied smile.

“Who marked you?” William asked, clutching Albert’s right wrist. After a flash of light emitted from his hand, a black, upside-down triangle surfaced on the back of Albert’s hand. The symbol represented death and marked the followers of the Goddess of Death.

Wayne’s jaw dropped. He felt a warmth rising in his chest as the Book of Greed, which had previously been visible but wholly unresponsive, made its desire loud and clear.

Give it here!