Black Iron Era, August 1, 1886—Earl was an ordinary dockworker at the wharves of Gonia district. His parents were also dock laborers in Gonia, and after his father passed away from illness when Earl was a teenager, his mother raised him alone. Earl began as an apprentice on the docks following his father's former colleagues, and by the age of eighteen, he officially became a stevedore. After more than a decade, young Earl was on the cusp of becoming old Earl. Lately, he had been experiencing severe back pain. A housemaid his mother knew through connections suggested that they should meet next week, and if there were no objections, they would get married the following month. Earl had managed to save some money and planned to find work as a seaman and quit the dock after his marriage.
At seven in the evening, the daytime workers at the dock clocked out, and Earl ended his day's labor. Last month, a gruesome murder had occurred in a remote warehouse. Reports said that seven or eight guards and workers were dead, and the sole survivor had gone mad and was taken away by men in black. The assailant was reportedly killed by old officer Garrick and a new cop, both of whom were injured in the incident. There were myriad rumors about the killer's identity—a criminal, a veteran, even a werewolf. Some workers at Earl's transport company asked for leave during the weekend, too scared to show up, and the foreman grumbled about their cowardice. It was only after the bespectacled, seemingly gentle manager reluctantly approved a five-penny increase in wages that the workers' morale stabilized. This raise was to last only until the end of the week, and any unexcused absences or no-shows would lead to dismissal without the pay raise. With this threat hanging over them, everyone reported for work that day.
"Hey, Old Earl, fancy a drink tonight?"
"Short one for cards, Earl, you in?"
After washing off the day's grime in the break room, Earl's coworkers invited him to relax with them.
"No, I'd better head home early. Mom's made chicken soup," Earl declined.
"You're nearly thirty and still so obedient to your mom? Alright then, we're off." The coworkers teased him as they left.
"There isn't any chicken soup; I just needed an excuse not to waste money on drinks," Earl confided to himself. The so-called night out only meant a pint of local barley beer at the dockside tavern for a penny, no need for snacks. Now saving for a two-bedroom place to move into after marriage, he couldn't justify spending money on such indulgences. He had to scrimp every penny to afford the rent, which had been increasing due to the influx of newcomers to Aegisburg and the scarcity of work. Earl saved painstakingly, hoarding his pennies to cover half a year's rent.
At 7:30 p.m. in the summer, darkness had fallen on Aegisburg. The walk home from the docks took Earl half an hour. While there were night coaches, they were infrequent and costly. Earl saw his walk as a healthful routine.
The quiet, dark streets were barely lit. Most gas lamps were damaged by a severe hailstorm in June, and despite the city's promise to fix them, two months had passed with no repairs. Only the lamps in the Royal District had been replaced with brass poles, prompting workers to joke about the absence of thieves there. Earl navigated by the light seeping through house windows, humming to keep his mind off his growling stomach.
A mile from home, Earl felt he could barely go on.
"Clop-clop-clop." The sound of hoofbeats followed him. Earl stepped aside to let the rider pass, but the beat grew closer without overtaking him. There was no lantern light to illuminate the surroundings.
"Buddy, you lost without a lantern?" Earl turned to address the approaching horseman.
A pitch-black horse floated in the air, carrying a man in a crimson robe with a strange white mask. A triangular emblem decorated the robe. He held an enormous scythe in his left hand and silently observed Earl.
"What's with the get-up, pal?" Earl's legs felt weak. The figure surely meant no good.
The man said nothing, instead dropping a paper before Earl. Picking it up, Earl saw it was just a single capital 'E.' The man checked his wristwatch and continued to stare.
"I don't have much money, sir. Take what little I have and buy yourself a drink. I need to get home to my waiting mother," Earl stammered, increasingly uneasy about this ominous figure. Preparing to drop his day's earnings of two shillings and five pence, he planned to shout and run, hoping the man wouldn't follow.
"It's nearly 8 o'clock," the man's voice was cold and devoid of emotion.
What? Earl's mind scrambled for meaning. Was the man mentally disturbed?
The mounted figure gently raised his scythe and swung it towards Earl from a distance. A red crescent-shaped wave of energy burst from the blade, slicing through Earl. Visions of mountains of corpses and severed limbs filled his mind. The sky bore twin blood-red moons; a giant-like figure sat on a throne of bones on a nearby hillock, wielding an immense sword. Fear of death flooded through Earl. "Sorry, Mother, I should've stayed home from work today." That was Earl's final coherent thought as a tear welled in the corner of the nearly thirty-year-old man's eye.
"You should be honored to be chosen as one of the sacrifices for my lord's arrival," the man said, approaching Earl's breathless body and decapitating it with one clean stroke.
"Today sure is hot." The midsummer sun continued to bake the land, and Elyon felt the pain in the bandaged arm had lessened. However, the bandage was so tightly wrapped, it began to itch. After a simple wash, Elyon got ready for work. Before leaving, he put on the sunglasses given by the vampire; he had grown so accustomed to glasses on Earth that his nose felt bare without them.
Elyon arrived at the precinct via public coach and pushed open the office door. His desk had been moved to the back, by the window. The young man at his former desk looked up, "I almost forgot Mr. Garrick retired. Good morning, Bell," Elyon greeted, settling into the chair with the backrest.
Bell stood up quickly, "Good morning, Mr. Elyon. The captain said I'm here to help while your arm heals."
"Appreciate it, Bell. Any incidents today?" Elyon browsed recent files, hoping for a quiet day to justify his five-pound weekly salary.
"In fact, there is an incident. A dockworker was murdered on his way home yesterday. It happened right on the street, discovered by the night patrol. The crime scene just had the body and a note with an 'E' on it. The body's been brought back to the station, waiting for family to claim. Here's the preliminary file, and evidence is in the filing cabinet on your left, all properly labeled and bagged. The captain would like you to visit the morgue later," Bell handed a paper to Elyon and continued his own work.
"Why do I get a homicide on my first day back, and the captain even wants me to handle it?" Elyon grumbled, though he couldn't complain about his weekly five-pound salary. He read through the paper, neatly penned, in stark contrast to Garrick's scrawl.
"Let's see what they found at the scene."
Victim's Name: Earl (Eorl)
Location: Birchwood Street
Occupation: Stevedore at Quick Star Shipping
Estimated Time of Death: Between 7:30 PM and 9:00 PM
Notes: Coworkers interviewed. The victim left work alone around 7:10 PM. Others went to a pub or played cards. Officer Green found the body during his 9:10 PM patrol on Birchwood Street. No suspicious individuals in the area, and all personal belongings were in his pockets.
Cause of Death: Suspected excessive blood loss, but almost no blood at the scene. Clean amputation at the thigh. Consult forensic doctor Kraisinger for details.
Speculation: Victim had simple social relations, no known enemies or antagonists. Premeditated revenge killing unlikely.
Victim wasn't wealthy, and all belongings were on him, so robbery followed by murder unlikely.
Potential psychopathic thrill-killing, supported by the mutilated corpse.
After quickly reviewing the file, Elyon smiled at Bell, "Not a bad guess. Did you come up with this?"
Bell scratched his head, "Just a guess. Mr. Elyon, the captain wants you to visit the morgue."
"Let's go, might as well do it together."
"No, I haven't finished the weekend log," Bell looked uncomfortable.
"The log's just a little work; come see if your guess is right. You're not afraid of dead bodies, are you?"
The morgue was behind the office building, opposite the cafeteria. Elyon had no real impression of the precinct's lone medical examiner, Kraisinger; he usually only saw him during lunch in the cafeteria. Tall and around fifty, Kraisinger stood even taller than Elyon, who was already conspicuous on this planet filled with malnourished people. With messy hair and an equally unkempt beard, if not for his white lab coat, Elyon would have mistaken him for a beggar.
"Is Dr. Kraisinger married?" Elyon casually asked as they walked.
"Rumors say he's divorced. Dr. Kraisinger never discusses his family matters. He practically lives at the station, except on holidays," Bell responded.
"Another character," Elyon shook his head and pushed open the morgue door.