Black Iron Era, 1886, August 1st—Earl was a common dockworker in the Gonia district. His parents were also workers at the Gonia docks; his father passed away from illness when Earl was in his teens, and his mother raised him alone. Earl started as an apprentice at the docks following his father's colleagues, and by eighteen, he became a full-fledged dockworker. After over a decade of toil, little Earl was becoming old Earl. Lately, he began feeling severe back pain. His mother had arranged for him to meet a housemaid next week—if they got along, they planned to marry next month. Earl had saved up some money and thought of taking a job at sea after the wedding, to leave the dock's heavy labor behind.
At seven in the evening, the day-shift dockworkers clocked out, and Earl concluded his day's toil. Last month, a heinous murder occurred in the most remote warehouse on the docks. Rumor had it seven or eight security guards and dockworkers had died, with the sole survivor driven to madness and taken away by a group of black-clothed figures. The culprit was shot dead by the old patrolling officer Garrick and a new cop, both of whom also sustained significant injuries. Myriad rumors circulated about the assailant being a vicious criminal, a discharged soldier, or even a werewolf. Workers from Earl's transport company had even taken leave over the weekend, too scared to come in. The foreman cursed about their cowardice until the bespectacled, mousy-looking manager reluctantly agreed to a five-penny increase in wages to calm the workers. This raise was to last only until the end of the week; any unjustified absence or truancy would lead to termination without the pay raise. Under the threat of lost wages and potential firing, everyone turned up for work that day.
"Hey, old Earl, fancy a drink tonight?"
"We're short one for cards, Earl. You coming?"
After washing off the day's sweat in the break room, Earl declined his colleagues' invitations to wind down together.
"No, I'm good. Mom made chicken soup; she wants me home early."
"You're nearly thirty and still so obedient to your mom? Alright, we're off then." His friends mockingly walked away as he made his excuses.
"There isn't any chicken soup; I just didn't want to waste money carousing," Earl muttered to himself. Even the so-called carousing was just a pint of local barley beer at the dockside tavern for a penny without snacks. Earl was saving up for a two-bedroom place; it wouldn't do to still be sharing a room with his mother after getting married. But with more people pouring into Aegisburg, jobs were harder to come by, and the rent had risen. Earl pinched every penny he could, saving to pay half a year's rent.
At 7:30 p.m., even in the summer, Aegisburg was engulfed in darkness. Earl's walk home from the docks took half an hour. Though there were night coaches, they were infrequent and expensive. Earl saw his walk as a form of exercise.
The nighttime streets were dark and silent. Most gas lamps were damaged by a heavy hailstorm in June, and the city had promised repairs, but after two months, none had come. The affluent Royal District had replaced their lamps with brass poles—everyone joked that the thieves must be taking a break there. Earl used the light spilling from windows to guide his way, humming to distract from his growling stomach.
A mile from home, Earl began to feel exhausted.
"Clop-clop-clop." The sound of hoofbeats approached from behind. Earl stepped aside to let the rider pass, but the sound came closer without overtaking him, and no lantern lit the vicinity.
"Hey, buddy, lost without a lantern?" Earl turned to ask the approaching horseman.
A pitch-black horse hovered in the air, ridden by a man in a crimson robe wearing a strange white mask, adorned with a triangular emblem. In his left hand, he wielded an exaggeratedly large scythe, silently observing Earl.
"What's with the get-up, pal?" Earl's legs felt weak; the figure before him was no good Samaritan.
The man ignored Earl, dropping a paper before him. Earl picked it up, seeing only the letter 'E.' The man looked at his wristwatch as if waiting, continuing to gaze at Earl.
"Big guy, I don't have much money on me. Take this little bit and buy yourself a drink. I need to get home; my old mother is waiting for me." Earl was increasingly convinced of the man's malicious intent, ready to drop his day's earnings and run, hoping the man wouldn't give chase if he shouted loudly in this semi-deserted area.
"It's almost 8 o'clock," the man said, his voice cold and emotionless.
Huh? Earl couldn't fathom what that meant. Was this man unhinged?
The mounted man lifted his scythe and, from several yards away, swung at Earl. A red crescent-shaped energy wave shot out, slicing through Earl's body. Gruesome images of mountains of corpses and limbs flooded Earl's mind. The twin moons in the sky turned blood-red; a giant sat on a throne of human bones on a nearby hill, holding a massive sword. Death and terror filled Earl's soul. "Forgive me, Mother. I should've stayed home today," Earl thought in his last moment of clarity, as a tear formed in the corner of the nearly thirty-year-old man's eye.
"You should feel honored to become one of the sacrifices for my lord's descent," the man said as he approached the lifeless Earl and decapitated him with a single stroke.
"Sure is hot today." The midsummer sun beat down, and Elyon felt the pain in his bandaged left arm had subsided considerably. The bandage itched, sealed off from any air. After a quick wash, Elyon prepared for work. Before he left, he donned the sunglasses given by the vampire, feeling odd without something perched on his nose, despite no longer being nearsighted on this planet.
Elyon rode the public coach to the precinct and pushed open the office door. His desk had been moved behind the two others, near the window. A young man occupied his former spot, "I nearly forgot Garrick retired. Good morning, Bell," Elyon greeted before settling into the cushioned chair.
Bell stood quickly, "Good morning, Mr. Elyon. The captain said I'm here to assist you while your arm heals."
"Thanks, Bell. Any incidents today?" Elyon flipped through recent files, hoping for no trouble so he could enjoy getting paid to do nothing.
"Actually, there's an incident. A dockworker was killed on his way home yesterday. It happened right on the street, found by the night patrol. No witnesses heard anything nearby. The crime scene had just the body and a white paper with an 'E' on it. Also, the body was missing its left leg. It's been brought back to the station, waiting for the family to claim. Here's the preliminary file, and the evidence is in that filing cabinet on your left, all properly labeled and bagged. The captain wants you to visit the morgue later," Bell handed a paper to Elyon and continued working.
"Why do I get a homicide on my first day back, and the captain wants me to handle it?" Elyon complained, though he couldn't argue with his weekly five-pound salary. He looked at the paper, which was in neat handwriting, a stark contrast to Garrick's scrawl.
"Let's see what they found at the scene."
Victim's Name: Earl (Eorl)
Location: Birchwood Street
Occupation: Dockworker for Quick Star Shipping
Time of Death: Between 7:30 PM and 9:00 PM
Notes: Coworkers interrogated. Victim left work alone around 7:10 PM. Others went to a tavern or played cards. At 9:10 PM, officer Green found the body while patrolling Birchwood Street. No suspicious individuals around, and all personal items were in his pockets.
Cause of Death: Suspected excessive blood loss, but almost no blood at the scene. Clean amputation of the thigh. Consult forensic doctor Kraisinger for details.
Speculation: Victim had simple social relations and no known enemies or antagonists. Premeditated revenge killing unlikely.
Victim wasn't wealthy, and all his belongings were on him, so murder during a robbery unlikely.
Possible psychopathic killing for pleasure, corroborated by the mutilated corpse.
After a quick read, Elyon smiled at Bell, "Not bad, your idea?"
Bell scratched his head, "Just a guess. Mr. Elyon, the captain wants you to visit the morgue."
"Let's go, we might as well do it together."
"No, I haven't finished the weekend log," Bell looked uncomfortable.
"The log's just a bit of work; come see for yourself if your guess holds up. You're not afraid of dead bodies, are you?"
The morgue was behind the office building, opposite the canteen. Elyon had little impression of the precinct's sole medical examiner, Kraisinger, usually just seeing him at lunch in the canteen. Tall and around fifty, Kraisinger stood half a head taller than Elyon, who was already conspicuous among the undernourished masses of this planet. With messy hair and an equally disheveled beard, he'd be mistaken for a beggar without his white coat.
"Is Dr. Kraisinger married?" Elyon casually asked as they walked.
"Rumor has it he's divorced. Dr. Kraisinger never talks about his family. He spends holidays at the station," Bell replied.
"Another oddball," Elyon shook his head, pushing open the morgue door.