"Hey, what's with that expression? That's my 2,000 pounds, not yours."
Dominic couldn't help but remind Angel.
"Oh, is it?"
She pulled the document bag worth 2,000 pounds to her chest, clutching it tightly.
"Fine, it's everyone's 2,000 pounds. We can split it fifty-fifty. Sonia and I will take half together. After all, you need me to take you to the Beyonder gathering to sell this manuscript."
After weighing their respective combat capabilities, Dominic compromised.
If it's half and half, I'd only get 1,000 pounds?
Angel shook her head. "I think 500 pounds is enough to buy your intelligence and labor. The manuscript is in my hands. I can slowly find buyers myself, but where will you find another manuscript?"
After a brief standoff, they finally decided on a seventy-thirty split. After selling the Difference Engine manuscript, Angel would receive 1,400 pounds, while Dominic and Sonia would take 600.
Dominic's face showed some anger at his sharply reduced income, which then turned to resignation. He personally escorted Angel and the Difference Engine manuscript to the door, his eyes never leaving the document bag.
This made Angel somewhat worried he might impulsively launch an attack, but fortunately, though this "Provoker" had a sharp tongue, he ultimately didn't do anything foolish.
"Remember, three days from now, Friday evening at six o'clock. Don't die in some gutter and lose our 2,000 pounds."
As Angel descended the stairs, the fellow was still dutifully staying in character.
He knows about the "acting method," or is he just unconsciously behaving in accordance with his role, in line with his potion's name?
Angel speculated silently while replying offhandedly, "It's my 2,000 pounds. You only get 600, no—300 pounds. The other half is Sonia's."
Even having descended to the second floor, she could still hear the sound of the door upstairs being slammed shut forcefully.
In the Sonia Sea, a three-masted sailing ship was traversing through an endless storm.
The captain of the "Blue Avenger," Alger Wilson, clad in storm robes, stood in the captain's cabin looking at the sea chart on the table, but his gaze was unfocused, lost in thought.
After a long while, he stood up and looked toward the small porthole opening outward on the cabin wall. Outside, rain lashed violently, and lightning occasionally streaked across, illuminating the deep blue, nearly black seawater.
"I am, after all, an original member of the Tarot Club. I should give it more thought," Alger murmured, his tone hesitant, as if convincing himself. "Mr. Fool doesn't care about these worldly trifles, but we must guard the Tarot Club for Him."
He still wanted to determine "Queen's" whereabouts and whether she posed a threat to the Tarot Club's existence.
If she had already died in some battle or perished while being hunted by official Beyonders, though regrettable, it would be the best outcome for the Tarot Club.
But if she had been captured and interrogated, or voluntarily leaked the Tarot Club's existence to others, Mr. Fool would surely be fine, but what about us mortals?
Having thought it through, Alger walked around the chart table, pushed open the captain's cabin door, and stepped into the storm.
The uncontrolled sails flapped loudly. A few crew members on deck were busy working against the wind and rain. Though this ghost ship didn't need sailors, the other tasks Alger carried required them.
Seeing their captain emerge onto the deck, they stopped their work and looked toward this Sequence 7 "Navigator."
"We'll head to Oravi Island in the Rorsted Archipelago. We'll stay there for a day to resupply and receive new orders."
Alger shouted loudly—only this way could his words reach everyone on deck through the storm.
After a brief moment of stunned silence, the crew members shouted in response to their captain's words, cheers rising one after another.
They had only been at sea from Pritz Port for a week, and unlike ordinary ships that needed hundreds of people to maintain operations and conserve supplies, the ghost ship allowed them to eat fresh food daily and sleep in spacious single rooms.
But docking meant physical and mental relaxation, meant...
"I can't wait! The women in Pritz Port aren't nearly as exciting as those at sea!"
One crew member gyrated his lower body exaggeratedly, drawing knowing laughter from his companions.
Alger didn't bother with these crew members showing their true colors. He only needed obedient subordinates, not saints so disciplined they'd eventually snap from the strain.
And only by docking could he have the opportunity to contact his colleagues within the Church through telegraph and have them help investigate information about Miss Queen and what exactly happened in Tingen.
"Sizzle—"
Angel cracked an egg into the frying pan, using the spatula to push the bacon to the side, making room for the fried egg in the middle where the heat was most concentrated.
The aroma of protein meeting hot oil filled the air, giving the open kitchen that unique morning atmosphere.
"I'll fry an extra one today."
Angel inhaled the fragrance and spontaneously decided to add another egg to her breakfast.
Just then, someone knocked on the living room door from outside.
"Who's that, knocking at this hour..."
Looking at the egg already golden brown on one side, Angel had no choice but to remove the frying pan from the stove and set it aside, hoping the residual heat wouldn't ruin her breakfast. She wiped her hands and went to the door.
Through the peephole, she saw two middle-aged men in police uniforms standing outside. Familiar with the Loen Kingdom's police system, she immediately recognized one as a Chief Inspector and the other as a Sergeant.
Had the manuscript matter been exposed? Or had the thief Goli and his boss ultimately decided to file a report, willing to send themselves to prison just to recover the manuscript?
After thinking for a moment, Angel decided to open the door first.
"Hello, may I help you?"
She pulled the door open, putting on an expression of surprise and slight wariness at seeing police, her tone hesitant.
"Irene Watson?" The Sergeant with a full beard and two V-shaped badges on his shoulders asked in a serious tone. The moment he saw Angel clearly, surprise flickered across his face. He paused briefly before continuing, though his attitude had noticeably softened. "I'm Sergeant Duller from Red Rose Street. This is Chief Inspector Hopper. He has some questions for you. Please answer truthfully."
That attitude shift was way too fast... No wonder Mrs. Varis doesn't like "Sivellaus Field." I bet no one in all of Backlund would like you people.
Grumbling internally about the capital's police system, Angel showed confusion and nervousness on her face, her voice stammering as she asked:
"What, what do you need to ask me? I just moved here from Tingen. I don't know anything..."
"Ahem, please don't be nervous, miss," the Chief Inspector called Hopper, whose shoulder insignia bore three hexagonal stars, coughed lightly and took over. "We just came from Mrs. Varis's. She mentioned you've been renting this suite since last Sunday. Have you encountered any Feysac people? Um, he looks like this..."
As he spoke, the Chief Inspector pulled a folded thin paper from his uniform's inner pocket, unfolded it, and displayed the front to Angel.
It was a wanted poster, still carrying the scent of fresh ink as if just printed. It depicted a middle-aged man around forty with long sideburns nearly covering his ears, and together with his beard, they completely framed his broad face. Below were some text descriptions: brownish hair, blue eyes, Loen language with a Feysac accent.
At first glance, Angel recognized this as the man she'd seen in the magic mirror divination—the one who'd hidden the "Difference Engine" manuscript in this house's study: Quek, the previous tenant.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I've seen him."
After appearing to recall for a moment, Angel answered.
This was the truth—she hadn't actually encountered this Feysac man in reality.
"All right, remember his appearance. If you see him, don't alert him. Secretly contact the nearest patrol officer or go to the police station to report."
As if having expected this answer, Chief Inspector Hopper's brown eyes showed a knowing look. He rubbed his temple with one hand while continuing to display the wanted poster with the other, instructing her.
"Yes, Officer. But who exactly is he? Will I be in danger if I encounter him?"
"He's a Feysac spy. Of course it would be dangerous!"
Sergeant Duller interjected from the side.
"A spy!"
Angel showed appropriate shock and fear, successfully earning verbal reassurances from both officers.
"Miss, don't worry. The police will apprehend him soon. If you encounter him, don't show any emotion or action indicating you recognize him. Find an opportunity to leave and report to the police."
After repeated warnings, they put away the wanted poster and walked along the street toward Mrs. Varis's residence.
Maintaining a worried expression until both officers left her sight, Angel finally closed the door and returned to her living room.
"The Sergeant and that Chief Inspector probably aren't from the same system. His respect for his superior is limited—more like he's cooperating with his work... Chief Inspector, heh, very likely a Sequence 7 Beyonder. They automatically receive this rank in the police system."
Rubbing her stiff face, Angel analyzed their identities.
Then she recalled Captain Dunn's deep eyes and his habit of occasionally rubbing his temples.
Could this Chief Inspector Hopper also be a "Nightmare"?