Chương 13: Chapter 12: The Red Haired Lady

"Marco, my boy. Have you got the beer?!" Micheal yelled.

"I've got your beer, you old bastard." Marco stepped into his office, planting two large bottles of Hadwell's Beer on the table.

"And the change?" Micheal raised a brow and opened his right hand. Marco clicked his tongue.

"Here." He chucked a few copper coins into Micheal's palm.

"One… two… three… looks to be right." Micheal pocketed the change and hid the two bottles underneath his office table.

"Hey, Micheal. What generation was that man?"

"I couldn't tell. Hells, I don't even know his bloodline. Something's off with him. It felt eerie just talking to him."

"You think he's telling the truth?" Micheal leaned into his cushioned seat.

"Yeah, at least partly. He gave me his name. It's quite easy for me to check if his story checks out. I doubt that's the whole story. But someone's gotta pay the bills, and it sure as hell ain't you."

"So, what now? We're going to West Wall?"

"Maybe. But let's go over what we've got first. Our family lives in West Wall, they've got red hair, and they've got a kid in St. Helen."

"Nordens don't typically have red hair. They could be immigrants."

"Hm, Baruch. Baruch, what does that sound like, Marco?"

"Sounds Themorian to me."

"That's right. Ghost demihumans are rare in that part of the world, so I'm guessing the mother is from here. And the father would be a Themorian. But whatever the combination, a family like that is bound to stand out anywhere." Micheal sprang to his feet.

"Let's pay the urchins a visit. Shame that Beria doesn't operate in West Wall. Could have made this much easier."

"Alright then. West Wall it is." Marco rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"It's still early morning, boy. We've got a lot to deal with." Micheal donned his black greatcoat and left his office with Marco in tow. Marco locked the door with a copper key and quickly followed after Micheal. They hailed a small single-horse-drawn cabriolet from down the block. They said West Wall, Gauz Road to the old coach, and quickly climbed into the front cabin, just barely large enough to fit two people.

The ride was nothing to speak of, and they arrived in the industrial district of West Wall in thirty minutes. They paid the fare of four pence and clambered out of the cabin. Huge pillars of smog rose from the mouths of a dozen factory chimneys in the distance. The air smelled acrid, and soot and ash mixed with the white snow, turning it a solemn gray. Marco coughed into his hand.

"Bloody hell, that smells horrid."

"You should be used to it by now."

"My nose is more sensitive than yours."

"Bah, I'm still right." Micheal strode into a nearby alleyway, keeping both his hands inside his pockets. A group of urchin children were gathered about a small fire, crackling from an open metal trash bin deeper in the alley. Six, seven, eight of them there were, with the youngest looking no older than eight and the oldest no younger than thirteen.

"It's Sir Micheal!" one of the urchins yelled out. Micheal smiled, and Marco stepped back as the urchins sprinted toward them like a group of hungry rats. They wore filthy and oversized coats, and some tattered shirts and long jeans underneath. And they reeked just like the rest of West Wall.

"Sir Micheal! What do you need, sir? My boys have seen everything these past few weeks." The oldest one, Patrick, said.

"Have you seen any red-haired men in West Wall recently?"

"Red-haired men?" Patrick looked at the other urchins.

"Come on, you must have seen one."

"I've seen plenty of brown-haired men, Mr. But no red-haired men," another urchin said.

"Stupid, he's not looking for brown-haired men," another urchin scoffed. The other urchins slowly shook their heads. Patrick let out a soft sigh.

"Alright, maybe we haven't seen everything. But come on, Mr. Surely you need something else?" The youngest urchin raised his hand.

"I… I've seen someone with red hair yesterday."

"That was a woman, Earl," another urchin butted in.

"Yeah… but she had red hair… and she didn't look Norden." Earl murmured softly. A woman? Was I wrong?

"Tell me more about this woman." Micheal reached into his pockets and tossed ten pence over to the boy. The boy caught the silver coin with his hands, and his eyes widened in excitement.

"I… I saw her in the market yesterday, sir. She—she was buying fish from Simon. She was very pretty. She had long red hair."

"Is that the first time you've seen this woman?" Micheal raised his brows. Earl frowned for a second, and he looked at the urchins while he was thinking.

"She's been here a long time, Sir Micheal," Patrick said.

"We've seen her in the markets for as long as I remember."

"Looks like the man you were looking for is actually a woman," Marco said.

"Earl, was it? Take me to Simon's, and I'll buy you and your friends some fish," Micheal said.

"Me… Me?" Earl gulped and took a step back.

"Go on, Earl. Do what he says," Patrick said. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"O… okay. The market's very near, sir. I'll take you there." Earl They followed the boy Earl further into the alleyway. Marco looked back at the other urchins before they emerged on the other end, a pitiful look plastered over his face. Earl led them down three and four blocks, and they arrived at a local market tucked away in the middle of the district. Dozens of wooden stalls and shops selling God knows what littered the avenue, and men and women were bargaining, buying, and yelling.

The smell of fish, meat, and even spices mingled with the stench of smog.

"What time did you see the woman?" Micheal said.

"Ti… time? It was mornin', the sun had just went up the walls," Earl said. So that should be around seven to eight in the morning.

"We're here. That's Simon's." Earl stopped and pointed at a wooden shop. All kinds of fish and meat hung from metal hooks, and a bald man with a large cleaver stood by the counter, waiting for customers. Earl gave Marco his wallet, and said, "Boy, get them a kilo of cod or something."

"Alright." Marco walked up to the bald man and began pointing at the various fishes dangling from the hooks. All the while, Micheal clicked his tongue and poured spirituality into his eyes. A blurry vision of the market stall manifested in front of him, overlapping with reality. It was his natural ability, Witnessing. He could peer into the past within a small area, and rewind and pause events according to his will. He thought deeply and began turning back time.

A second bald man appeared, chopping up fish and talking to his customers all in reverse. All sorts of people came to his shop, but none caught his eye. Nearly there. And at last, a red-haired lady appeared, wearing a simple blouse and a long linen skirt that went to her knees. Her long hair cascaded all the way down to her waist, and her hands were pale and dainty. She bought some cod and salmon from Simon, placed it in a wooden basket, and turned right around to face Micheal.

Her eyes were a beautiful green, and faint freckles spattered her pretty face. She was younger than he imagined, likely in her mid to late twenties. Although her features were a light blur, he could tell she was a beauty through and through. The woman walked straight through him and continued toward the market exit.

"Hoi." Marco suddenly appeared in front of him, shoving a small basket filled with foul-smelling fish into his face.

"Fuck off." Micheal cursed and squinted, dispelling his Witnessing.

"The hell are you doing, boy?" Marco grinned.

"You look like you've seen the love of your life."

"Ain't often you see a pretty woman like that," Micheal said.

"I thought you could only see blurred faces. How could you tell?" Marco said.

"I can tell because I can tell. Now give that thing to Earl, for the Lady's sake," Micheal said.

"Okay." Marco chuckled and handed the bag of fish over to Earl.

"Here you go, friend." Earl grabbed the bag, and he lowered his hand toward them.

"Th… thank you. If you… if you need anything else, you know where to find us."

"Eat well, lad. We'll take it from here," Micheal said. Earl cast a bright smile and ran back out of the markets, to rejoin his fellow urchins in that godforsaken alleyway. Marco sighed.

"Poor kids. They'd probably be long dead if it weren't for you."

"They're smart lads. They'd have figured out something. Now, where's my wallet, boy?"

"Here you go. I didn't take anything, if you're going to ask." Marco handed back the wallet.

"I'll count them later." Micheal tucked the wallet back into his pocket.

"For now, we've got some beauty to follow." Micheal clicked his tongue again and activated his Witnessing. The red-haired lady appeared in his vision once more, alongside crowds of men from the past, overlapping with those of the present. Even so, her bright red hair stood out wherever she went.

"Hopefully she doesn't live too far." Micheal's lips curled into a smile as he began following the old vision.

"You're a creepy old man." Marco shook his head.

"I'm not old, you brat. I'm still in my prime."

"Right."

"You know, sometimes I regret not taking the seventh-gen heart. I heard we could actually touch and feel the people from my witnessing."

"Sometimes I feel like you should be in jail. Besides, I doubt a Themorian would want someone like you. You're not only a creep, but you're also an alcoholic. Who the hell drinks so early in the morning?"

"You'll understand when you get older."

"Hopefully I don't." The woman walked out of the market and glanced at a carriage that went right past her. She raised her hand for a moment, but then shook her head and continued walking. Oh? She's just walking. She lives nearby. The woman looked behind her shoulder once and hastened her steps. She hurried down the sidewalk with long and wide strides, almost as if she was in a hurry. They followed her through a few twists and turns of the road, some of which were rather nonsensical.

"Where the hell is she going?" Marco said.

"I have no idea," Micheal said. The woman then crossed the street and walked into an old, downtrodden pub. Micheal stopped in his tracks as his lips curled into an even wider smile.

"What? Why did you stop?"

"Guess what, boy." Micheal turned toward the pub. Marco furrowed his brows as realization swept over his face.

"No, you've got to be kidding."

"Looks like she's one of my kind after all." Micheal crossed the street and leaned against a pole, taking a cigar from his breast pocket and peering through the pub window. The woman was just on the edge of his Witnessing. She placed the basket on the counter and ordered a drink from the unseen bartender. She had not one, not two, but three glasses of a dark, piss-colored liquid. And then she grabbed the basket again and went back out as though nothing of the sort happened. Oh? That was quick.

She didn't even enjoy the alcohol.

"Come on, boy, she's back out." Micheal murmured and began following the woman again.

"Did she even drink?"

"Yeah, three glasses."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't." Micheal shrugged. The woman took a right turn and walked for two more blocks, then she took another right turn, going down a small alleyway.

"Where on earth do you live, woman?" Micheal said. And at last, the woman took another right turn and went toward a tall five-story building on the other side of the street. Micheal frowned and took a few steps toward the next block. He peered down the right turn and saw the pub from earlier at the end of the old road. Why didn't she just walk straight through? Maybe she was avoiding someone.

"Did she go back there?" Marco furrowed his brows.

"No, she went into that apartment. I was just making sure." Micheal walked up toward the open front door.

"Can we just… go inside like that?"

"Of course. What do you think this is? Some manor in White Tower?" Micheal rolled his eyes as they stepped inside. The woman ascended an old wooden stairwell, her steps quick and brisk. Micheal followed the woman up to the very last floor, where his head nearly touched the old cracked ceiling. The woman went past three, four doors, and stopped at the last, the fifth. She fiddled with her keys and vanished into her apartment. Pity, I can't see through walls.

"So what now? Are you just going to knock?" Marco said mockingly.

"Of course." Micheal rapped his palm thrice on the chamber door. Marco widened his eyes in surprise. The voice of a woman echoed from the other side.

"Coming!" Soon enough, the apartment door swung open, and the red-haired lady greeted him with a tired smile. She was pretty, truly, but dark circles hung around her eyes, and her lips were a tad pale compared to what he imagined.

"He… hello. How can I help you… sir?" the woman said.

"Are you Ms. Baruch?" Micheal smiled kindly.

"I… I suppose you could call me that. Who are you? Are you from the Church?" the woman said.

"No. I am a private detective, investigating the recent Awakenings in the city. You see, my client is the father of one of those children. Just like yours," Micheal said. The woman looked back into the room for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I don't think—""Let them in." An elderly female voice rang out from inside.

"But Mother—" Mother? What?

"Let them in, I said." The elder spoke louder. The woman sighed and stepped aside.

"Come on in."

"Apologies for intruding…" Micheal strode into the cramped apartment. It was a modest room with two wooden beds side by side, a table, a few chairs, and a window that peered down into the streets. There were two doors on the right side of the room. A thin elderly woman lay on the left bed. Her hair was a raven black, and her skin was as pale as death. She rose upward, her eyes cold and empty as she said, "You're a detective, did I hear that right?"