When Jorgen came to Tortoro's house according to the innkeeper's instructions, he thought he was being cheated at first. It was dilapidated and quite spacious, like a rotten tree stump that abruptly occupied a clean and tidy corner of the city street; it was also like a black tombstone erected for no reason in a garden where pedestrians lingered.
"Is this it?" Bossia looked around, "Didn't you get it wrong?"
"If it's wrong, I'll go back and settle accounts with that innkeeper. But we still need to confirm before we can say that."
Jorgen pushed the door. It was locked. He knocked tentatively, but there was no response.
"Look up there." Bossia said.
Jorgen raised his head and saw a cracked lacquered wooden board hanging at the top with some illegible words on it.
"E...Mo Wa..." Bossia read those words, "tattoo shop?"
"That's right. Tortoro's full name is Tortoro Emowa. It looks like this guy was originally good at poking and poking people with sharp things, but using a rusty iron pipe to pull out intestines is another matter..."
"Can you not mention those things again?"
"Sorry. Forget what I said."
"Now what? Shall we go in? It looks like no one lives inside."
"There are, you can see that the lock hole is very smooth. This shows that people come in and out often. Bossia, can you see any guards nearby? Don't be too obvious, just stand behind me and look."
"I don't see any."
"Well then."
"Do you plan to..." Bossia turned around and found that Jorgen had already opened the door and walked in.
"What are you waiting for, come in quickly."
"You...how did you open the door?"
"This is the basic skill of an investigator. Simple locks like this are easy to open, you just need some little tools. Letting you stand behind me to observe not only acts as a lookout, but also conceals my actions. This is the benefit of two people working together. Remember this, you may need it later."
"Show me what tools you used."
"No, these are for members of MI7 only. Besides, even if you saw it, you wouldn't understand how it's used. Come in quickly and close the door."
The room was filled with a nauseating smell. Dim light filtered in through the dusty windows, allowing them to barely see the furnishings around them. This did not look like a living room, but a room for receiving guests. On both sides of the walls were pictures showing different tattoo styles. Two beds were placed in the corner, covered with sheets that were almost unrecognizable in their original color. The beds were one meter apart with a small cabinet in between. There was an unused candlestick on the cabinet.
Bossia examined the pictures. "These patterns...are beautiful. But is it okay to prick them in such places? To endure so many needles just to make oneself different from others..."
"You holy light believers whip your own backs to show piety until you can't sleep on your back, which I think is less worthwhile. Speak softly and don't touch anything. We have to go inside to see more."
Leaving the guest receiving room, the two came to a corridor. The corridor connected several open rooms, including bedrooms, kitchens, and stairs leading to the second floor. There was no one in the rooms.
Jorgen remembered what the innkeeper had said: Tortoro had a wife and a daughter. But this did not look like the home of a wife and daughter, but rather an abandoned house where vagrants gathered.
"Do you want to go upstairs and have a look?" Bossia said.
"Follow me."
As soon as she stepped on the stairs, Bossia habitually wanted to put her hand on the railing, but saw a strange black insect crawling over it. She withdrew her hand.
"How can people live in such a place?"
"They can. There is no place that cannot be inhabited."
"I was just joking. Why do you always seem to be against me?"
Jorgen thought for a moment. "This is the result of unequal intelligence. I know the life of you paladin of the Holy Light Cathedral, but you don't know how we who can spend the night in places like gutters live."
"Can you stop saying 'you paladin'? I told you last time, I no longer consider myself a devout follower of the Holy Light."
"You're right, you did say that. But you still need to wear a suit of paladin's armor to protect yourself."
"I now deeply regret telling you so much. Unequal intelligence? Does this mean that you can betray me, but you don't have to fear retaliation?"
"Don't make a fuss."
"It was you who said our cooperation was established. If that's the case, shouldn't you treat me as a companion?"
Don't throw a little temper. Jorgen thought, but when he turned around to warn Bossia to be quiet, he saw in her gray-green eyes a kind of unbearable persistence and dignity that could not tolerate joking. This little girl was not joking around. Only those with unshakable determination would have such eyes.
At that moment, Jorgen thought of the two men who had died before him. To find out what had happened to her former lover and to learn about her own fate, Bossia had the same determination.
"Well, now I'm telling you why I can adapt to places like this. I was born in a stable. The woman who gave birth to me covered me with straw to keep those scurrying rats from biting off my ears. Now we're equal."
As soon as Jorgen finished speaking, he turned around. He had never said these words to anyone before.
They searched all the rooms on the second floor in silence, but still found nothing.
"There's one more place," Jorgen said, "the attic."
"I didn't see it?"
"The entrance is in the ceiling near the stairs. Maybe climbed in with a rope ladder or something, then pulled the ladder up. "
They found the entrance to the attic, about three meters from the ground. "I'll go up first," Jorgen said, then jumped up and grabbed the edge, pulling himself up. It was pitch black all around, but he could see faint light shining through a wooden wall not far away. He leaned over, reached out his hand to Bossia and said, "Come up."
Bossia's armor was too heavy, so this was more difficult than Jorgen imagined. "I must find an opportunity to get rid of the extra things on you," he saw Bossia make a strange expression. "Sorry, don't misunderstand."
"Is that candlelight over there?"
"Maybe there are people behind the wall - definitely. I saw shadows. Put your hand on your sword hilt, but don't strike unless I order. Follow me over there now, and be very light."
Jorgen drew out his dagger. Close enough to the wall, he saw that the right side of the wall was a thick curtain. In addition to the dim yellow light, there was a familiar sound coming from inside. This was not good, he thought. That was the sound a person made when their mouth was tightly closed, struggling or begging for their life. More tense was the pungent smell of unknown potions mixed together. He could identify the smell of some disinfectant in it, but there were more chaotic things confusing his sense of smell.
"Draw your sword," he said, "and come in with me, don't go beyond my position. No matter what you see, don't make a sound."
Bossia nodded. Perhaps because he had brought an amateur, Jorgen was more nervous than usual. His nervousness clearly infected Bossia.
Jorgen placed his left hand on the curtain. That rough surface was irritating his palm. His palm slowly exerted force, pushing aside the curtain, and more and more dim yellow light poured out, like miasma gushing out of an ancient tomb. Then they rushed in and saw the candles placed around the small partition, illuminating the twisted scene from the abyss.
A young woman was tied in the corner of the room, the ropes were so tight that bloodstains soaked through her thin clothes. There was a gag in her mouth, her right skirt was torn open, revealing a thigh tattooed with intricate patterns. Another middle-aged woman squatted in front of her, holding a sharp knife, cutting an incision about four inches long above the tattoo, and was about to continue cutting down at a right angle. Blood dripped from the blade onto the middle-aged woman's knees, but she seemed unconcerned, only staring at the path of the blade, revealing focus and madness in her eyes.
"Stop!" Although warned in advance, Bossia could not help crying out. The middle-aged woman turned around, at first seeming completely unconcerned about their intrusion.
"You're here. Do you feel this location is not good? I carefully prepared it according to the instructions of that important person..." Her words sounded like a diligent craftsman conscientiously answering the customer's questions.
"Put the knife down," Jorgen said.
The middle-aged woman seemed very confused about the current situation: "You...are not sent by that important person?" At this time, the injured woman began to struggle, twisting her head toward Jorgen and Bossia. "Don't make noise, Ena," the middle-aged woman said, "Mommy has serious business to discuss."
"What did you say?" Bossia could barely grasp the hilt of her sword.
"Put the knife down," Jorgen said, "now."
"Okay, okay."
The sound of the blade falling to the ground again trembled the young woman's whole body.
"Stand up and back away to where I'm pointing. Quick!"
The woman retreated to the corner of the room according to Jorgen's instructions. She did not seem frightened at all, just confused about the current situation. Jorgen understood that this was the true manifestation of madness.
"Don't stand there, go save her. I'll keep an eye on this woman."
Bossia came to her senses, sheathed her sword and came to the woman called Ena. At first she dared not look into the other's eyes, just untied the ropes and slowly lowered her, then took out the gag. Ena's face was smeared all over, her eyes were haggard, and incomprehensible sounds came from deep in her throat, as if her plea just now was her only show of humanity.
"There are styptics over there for her to use. I have it all prepared." The woman said casually, making Bossia feel nauseous.
"Who are you two? I haven't done anything wrong." She continued.
"Are you the wife of Tortoro Emowa, and she your daughter?"
"Yes."
"What were you doing to your own daughter just now?"
"It was all at the behest of that important person," she said. "Today is the day to pick up the goods. If you two don't mind, can you leave first? There are other things, come back tomorrow. Time is running out."