Bailonz Street 13

Episode 13. Invader (5)

“…It seems that Liam Moore has apprehended the suspect behind the recent murders. He’s requesting police assistance.”

Brixon cast a reproachful glance at the officer blocking my way at the entrance.

I was, of course, equally frustrated. The game system that required the help of acquaintances (usually male) to accomplish anything was indeed inconvenient. To be honest, it was irritating that I couldn’t move according to my own will within the game, despite controlling my own actions in reality. I felt powerless. More than anything, it was unpleasant that I could only act through such assistance, choices, combinations, and quests.

Despite this reality becoming mine, there were countless restrictions….

“I don’t have the authority to decide. Inspector Jefferson is on duty today. I’m sure he’ll listen to Miss Osmond’s story.”

He led me inside as he spoke.

“Aren’t you on duty, Inspector?”

As I asked, I noticed he was holding a small bag. Noticing my gaze, he mumbled an explanation, saying it contained a change of clothes.

“Mrs. Jefferson requested it. I’ve been worried, too, as the inspector has been determined to catch those guys for days now….”

I see. It seems he’s been conducting a personal investigation since the autopsy we attended. Of course, Liam and I used our connections to get quick and concise results, but not everyone in London has such networks.

As I nodded in understanding, Brixon gave a shy smile. I looked away from him and continued up the stairs. Some people’s gazes briefly touched my cheeks as they passed, but it didn’t last long. Most of them seemed indifferent, perhaps assuming I was an important lady.

We finally arrived at the duty room on the third floor.

“Inspector Jefferson.”

There was a knock, and shortly after, Jefferson opened the door. His face was gaunt, and his beard had grown wildly, making his wife’s concerns seem justified. Nonetheless, I was glad to be here and able to assist Jefferson. His face, worn with fatigue, brightened up.

“Oh, Miss Jane! What brings you here at this late hour? Didn’t anyone trouble you downstairs?”

“They did, quite a bit. Thanks to Inspector Brixon, I’m fine. Oh, and this is from Liam. It contains answers you’ll appreciate.”

He hadn’t forgotten the words Liam Moore muttered as he left the autopsy: to look into religious aspects.

Tearing open the wax seal and reading the letter, Jefferson hastily grabbed his coat from inside and woke up a few more people.

“Get up, you lot! We’ve got information!”

There were grumbles and complaints from all around, and Brixon and I shared a brief chuckle at the commotion. Soon, three or four disheveled people emerged. Their hair was messy, and their faces were red with sleep marks. Poor souls. No doubt, they had been roused by Jefferson’s relentless persistence.

Jefferson asked again.

“Is Old Paradise Gardens confirmed?”

“It’s confirmed. We’ve received solid information. Liam has said he’ll be there first, so we need to block the escape routes and wait for his signal.”

“Hey, Rick. How many men can we mobilize right now?”

Rick, the man addressed, replied.

“If we redirect all patrols to this, blocking one block won’t be a problem.”

Jefferson stroked his chin briefly and spoke.

“East London, especially Whitechapel, is a slum, so patrols are necessary. Let’s deploy forces from elsewhere, except for Buckingham. The wealthy areas can spare some men. Bermondsey in the south of the Thames remains as is.”

“What about Spitalfields?”

“Same there. Leave the slums untouched.”

Listing tasks one by one on his fingers, the inspector’s previous exhaustion and weariness were gone, replaced by the hunger of a hunting dog. A strange fervor and excitement surrounded them.

“Bring everyone off duty and on standby. Quietly. We must move silently. If the rats living in London’s sewers get scared and flee, it will be troublesome.”

＊ ＊ ＊

[Old Paradise Gardens, PM 23:20]

From Scotland Yard to Old Paradise Gardens, it was about an eight-minute carriage ride across Westminster Bridge. Walking would take a bit longer. To avoid detection, they split into carriages and some went on foot.

Hurrying might be faster, but they had to cross the Thames, so there was no need to rush. Some took the Strand Bridge route, while Jefferson, Brixon, and I shared a carriage.

It was easy to get a carriage here, allowing us to arrive on time. Black carriages frequently headed to a certain building, a four-story structure. The exterior was cream-colored with a burgundy roof. Numerous windows allowed the interior lights to glow softly.

The constant stream of people disembarking wore dark, high-quality clothes. Women wore black veils and carried parasols, looking like ladies heading to a salon if seen during the day. However, women carrying parasols at night drew attention, yet the people here seemed to accept it naturally.

I then realized that even the passersby were part of the group.

Among those disembarking were high-ranking figures. Men in dark cloaks, holding canes, entered the building cheerfully guided by footmen.

I spotted Liam Moore among them.

He was with a man in his fifties, and his polite smile was something to behold! You wouldn’t know the shock I felt seeing him lift his black top hat with white gloves. It was like seeing a neighbor suddenly dressed in formal attire. It was a completely different look from his usual suits.

Was he a member of this social club? Despite saying he’d wait, he quickly found a companion and went inside. I had a bad feeling about the potential trouble.

I eventually got out of the carriage, leaving Jefferson and Brixon to handle things.

Before I got out, I asked.

“What time is it now?”

“About 11:20 PM.”

“I’ll send a signal at midnight. Make sure to block the entrance.”

I covered my face with a veil, straightened my shoulders, and headed towards the entrance. The footman noticed I was alone and greeted me.

“Welcome, madam.”

“It’s been a while. There are more people today than usual.”

This greeting lowered his guard. It was half a gamble. He spoke of blessings and asked me:

“What do we call those who burn incessantly, transmitting destiny and lineage to our sight?”

“Stars.”

“Confirmed, madam. Shall I escort you to the banquet hall?”

“Please do.”

Upon entering the banquet hall, I was almost overwhelmed by the scene.

A large painting was carved into the marble floor, leading to a central altar. Ominous and blasphemous sculptures supported the altar. It was like seeing the words of Dante Alighieri’s ‘Inferno’ brought to life:

‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’

If those words were carved in stone, they would look like this.

The altar was surrounded by tiered seats, resembling a colosseum or an amphitheater. A platform was set up on the stage at the back, with people in black-hooded cloaks bustling about. Though it appeared to be a four-story building, it was a single space, disguised as a mansion by separating it with entrance corridors.

Despite this, the place undeniably had a strong religious aura. From the ground to the roof, the ceiling was open and visible, adorned with grotesque paintings akin to cathedral frescoes. Black stains were visible on the walls and various spots.

“Madam. Please take a seat here.”

Following the footman’s kind guidance, I climbed the steps and sat, slightly tilting my head to look below the railing.

The place appeared decadent, even resembling an illegal auction house. It was far from the mansion I had imagined.

As more people took their seats, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.

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