Mr. Death in the Steam World

On the eve of their departure, the four members of the group gathered for the last time in the lobby of the Swallow Hotel.

The proprietress personally cooked a table full of dishes: stewed chicken, grilled fish, braised beef, and vegetable soup. The chef even peeked out from the kitchen several times to take a look.

"Eat it all up."

The proprietress brought the last soup to the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down next to Phils. "With you all gone, my shop is going to be deserted again."

"Auntie, we'll come back to see you," Phil said.

"Hmph, you young people, you talk a good game, but you forget about me as soon as you get back."

The proprietress picked up her wine glass and took a sip, but her eyes were a little red.

Melina sat next to Phils, head down, poking at the rice in her bowl with her spoon.

Phils put her arm around her shoulder and whispered a few words in her ear.

Melina looked up, her light brown eyes reflecting the candlelight, and nodded vigorously.

Arthur sat at the other end of the table, his glass of wine untouched.

His hair had turned a few more white than a few days ago, gleaming with a silvery-gray sheen in the candlelight, but his sword-like eyebrows remained thick and black, making his gray-green eyes appear exceptionally deep.

After dinner, the four of them went back to their rooms to pack their luggage.

Moen didn't have much—a few changes of clothes, a few magic books, a revolver, and a protective sachet given to him by Clara.

He took the sachet out of his coat pocket and examined it in his palm, turning it over and over.

He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but he felt that the sachet didn't look as shiny as it had when it arrived.

Lying in bed with his eyes closed, he suddenly felt a sense of inexplicable melancholy.

When they arrived, there were four people, a life-or-death clue, and a gamble with an uncertain outcome.

When they left, there were still four people, but they met a girl who had nowhere to go, a woman who had gone missing and whose whereabouts were unknown, and gained a significant proxy.

At 9:00 AM, at the Tieguancheng Steam Railway Station.

Moen, carrying a worn-out leather suitcase, stood next to a pillar on the platform, looking up at the steam clock overhead.

The hands on the clock pointed to 8:55, five minutes before departure.

Emily stood next to him, holding a bag of roasted chestnuts she had just bought on the platform; the paper bag was still steaming.

"Buying this again?" Moen glanced at her.

"Is it delicious?" Emily mumbled, peeling another one and handing it to him. "Here, while it's hot."

Moen took the chestnut, his fingertips touching the scalding hot shell, the warmth spreading through his palm.

Phils and Arthur walked side by side from the other end of the platform, carrying a few magazines and a stack of newspapers they had bought at the station bookstore.

"Three minutes left." Arthur glanced up at the steam clock, folded the newspaper in his hand, and stuffed it into his handbag.

Phils walked over to Moen and handed him a magazine.

"Look at it on the way, otherwise sitting there will be boring."

Moen glanced down at the cover—"Northern Literature Monthly," latest issue.

"You're still watching this?"

"Just looking occasionally, what's wrong?" Phils turned her head, her silver ponytail swaying over her shoulder. "Is that not allowed?"

Moen smiled and suddenly remembered that when he went to Phils's house before, he had glimpsed the literary works on her bookshelf.

Maybe this girl is a bit of an artsy type.

Just as he was enjoying a rare moment of relaxation and daydreaming, a long, drawn-out whistle sounded in the distance.

"Waaah—"

A steam locomotive, trailing long plumes of white smoke, slowly pulled into the station from the horizon. The wheels clattered rhythmically over the rails as the carriage doors opened and passengers filed out.

Moen picked up his suitcase and looked back one last time in the direction of Ironcrown City.

Gray sky, gray streets, gray chimneys.

In the distance, the blast furnaces in the mine were still emitting white smoke, like giant candles burning in the sky above this industrial city.

"Let's go." Arthur patted him on the shoulder.

The four boarded the train with the flow of people, and with another whistle, the train slowly started moving.

Phils turned her head and looked back through the car window.

Moen knew she was looking at the Swallow Inn.

He leaned back in his seat and followed Phils's gaze out the window.

Ironcrown City is shrinking little by little, from a city into a cluster of buildings, and from a cluster of buildings into a gray-black horizon.

In the distance, towards the mine, above the land they had fought so hard to defend, a faint ray of sunlight peeked through the gaps in the clouds.

Moen looked away and glanced down at his right arm.

The bandage was still wrapped around the cuff, but I could no longer feel the pain.

His recovery ability is indeed far beyond that of ordinary people; he should be able to have it removed in a few more days.

"Mr. Marcus," Fils' voice came from the side.

"Um?"

"Do you think... Melina will be able to settle into a hotel?"

Moen thought for a moment: "The landlady is sharp-tongued, but she's soft-hearted. Melina won't be mistreated while she's with her."

"By the time we come next time, she should have grown taller."

"Maybe."

......

At 3 p.m., the train slowly pulled into Kansas City Central Station.

Moen carried his suitcase down the steps and took a deep breath.

Compared to the coal ash smell of Ironcrown City, the earthy aroma of Kansas was more to his liking.

"Ugh, I'm finally back!" Emily stretched out a big yawn.

Phil stood next to Moen, looking somewhat nervous.

"I'll go back to the college to register first," she said. "The principal is urging me to hurry up."

"Okay." Moen nodded. "Contact me anytime if needed."

The four walked out of the station and parted ways at the entrance.

Moen stood at the station entrance, watching their backs disappear one by one around the street corner, then turned around and walked towards Second Avenue.

When the door to Marcus Detective Agency was pushed open, Clara was doing her homework, hunched over her desk.

She looked up and saw the familiar figure at the door. The quill pen in her hand fell to the table with a clatter.

"elder brother--!"

She jumped off the chair, ran barefoot over, and buried her face in Moen's arms.

Moen opened the suitcase, caught her with both hands, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Clara was still so small and thin, as light as a kitten when held in one's arms.

"Yes, I'm back."

Clara didn't respond, but buried her face in his chest, her hands gripping his clothes tightly.

Moen could feel her shoulders trembling slightly.

He didn't say anything, he just patted her back gently, again and again.

After a long while, Clara finally raised her head.

She sniffed, took a step back, and looked Moen up and down.

"Brother." Her voice suddenly dropped a half-degree.

"Um?"

What happened to your arm?

"It was just a bump, it's nothing." Moen patted her head with his left hand.

Clara nodded silently, understandingly refraining from asking further questions.

But it was precisely this sensible appearance that made Mo En suddenly feel a lump in his throat.

He crouched down and looked intently into Clara's eyes.

"Clara, I'm really okay," he said. "I'll teach you magic tomorrow, and this time I'll keep my word."

Clara stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into laughter through her tears.

"good!"