Lorenzo said it all confidently, and he enjoyed it, not saying it outright, but feeling as if he was humiliating Burrow's intelligence.
For his part, Burrow was silent, as he was every time, just as he was about to pull the trigger and shoot the damn detective, he would always prove his worth and subsequently piss himself off enough.
"Is that your plan, to borrow those forensics?"
Lorenzo nodded.
"Burrow you have to admit, there are specialties in the arts, I've been to the King's Medical School for a class before." Lorenzo's face took on more of a twisted look that seemed to recall a nightmare.
"Truly for the first time I feel lost in knowledge."
"Of course you have your uses, or I wouldn't have come to this hellhole in the lower city to meet you."
Lorenzo was ever so confident, not caring that Burrow had just pointed a gun at him.
"Burrow I'm here mainly to ask you some questions."
"What questions?"
Burrow put the gun on the table, he fell into Lorenzo's rhythm again, obviously he was his employer, the head of the whole downtown area, but he would always unconsciously lower himself to Lorenzo when he started to talk at length.
Like a teacher and his pupil, Lorenzo was the bad teacher who would teach his pupils nothing but play with their minds to highlight his own excesses, as if he could feel satisfaction from it.
"Burrow, I need to know the full picture of this case."
Lorenzo stared intently at Burrow, his blurred figure reflected in the unique blue-green pupils of the Invergar's eyes.
"A sailor harboring secrets you want to know ... Burrow, I'm a detective, not a writer, and I need to know the full story to get to the bottom of everything, or I'll just go home and try to make up a plausible story for you."
Grabbing the edge of the table, Lorenzo just pulled himself over as he moved closer to Burrow, the two looking like close friends.
"So, interested in talking about it?"
Lorenzo asked with a smile.
...
The story began half a month ago.
According to the laws of Ingvig, the period between mid-June and mid-September was a closed season, and all fishing boats were moored in the harbor and prohibited from sailing to catch fish, but one day, half a month ago, a fishing boat arrived at the port of Reyndona in a foggy haze.
"My men have been tracking that ship for a long time, they sailed from the Viking Kingdom of Nobido, in the meantime they changed their route passing through the Ice Sea, and finally arrived at the port of Reyndona half a month ago."
"It doesn't sound suspicious, every year during the closed season there are a lot of fishing boats that catch from other seas and end up here in Old Turin."
Lorenzo said while listening.
"The problem is that their fishing boats didn't unload their cargo after mooring and no one came out, they just parked at the pier, and it was only after a few days of exposure that all those fish and shrimp started to stink that they drew attention to themselves."
"So ... is this fishing boat worth anything?"
It was an essential question, everything had a value, even now this fishing boat, a fishing boat that hadn't been unloaded, Lorenzo couldn't figure out how he'd alerted the big man, Burrow.
"It is not so innocent as a fishing boat."
Burrow told that hidden story, the alcohol setting the mood and making him feel much better.
"I do business with more than just here in Old Turin, I deal with the surrounding areas ... That ship was carrying something he shouldn't have taken, and my men have been tracking it, using a newer steamer that is more than twice as fast as they are.
Originally they would have cut them off in the North Sea, and subsequently sent the unlucky fishing vessel to the bottom of the ocean for eternity, sending those Vikings back to their Inferno."
Taking a swig of the remaining wine in his glass, he continued.
"But accidents happen, and as if the god Odin had favored them, that fishing boat sailed into the icy sea, and my men lost track of them in the storm, and then it was as I said, they arrived at the port of Reyndona, and all that fish and shrimp was just a cover-up, and the real cargo had long since been shipped out."
"So it's that mysterious cargo I'm looking into right?"
Lorenzo lowered his head and smoked his pipe, nodding his head as he did so.
"Yes, according to the list, that Val was a sailor on that Silverfish, the group has generally evaporated since their arrival, and Val I'm the only one who has been able to find a trace of."
"Counting the captain's first mate, seventeen in all, excluding the dead Wall, the remaining sixteen are still missing."
"But now the only Val has been killed by you."
Burrow said without good humor.
Lorenzo looked at him, his confusion not diminishing.
"Why don't you do it yourself, it's just a matter of arresting someone."
"This cargo is connected to a certain duke, and my men can't be present at the scene." Burrow was the king of the darkness, but he still grimaced when confronted by that noble duke.
"And the cargo?"
"I don't know, all I know is that it's sealed up in an iron chest."
Lorenzo laughed.
"Look at that, another vague request, can I go to the blacksmith's and bring over a random iron chest for my reward?"
Burrow wasn't offended by Lorenzo's provocation this time; he was calm, uncharacteristically so.
"Do you believe in a sixth sense or something like that?"
"You mean intuition?"
"Probably."
Burrow's eyes were downcast as he looked at the revolver on the table, the paintings of ghosts and gods carved into the cartridge nests.
"You'll know it the first time you see it ... It's like intuition; you'll recognize that iron box when you see it."
The words were cryptic, a look Lorenzo had never seen before, and he felt a little bad about it.
"Burrow, there's still a lot you haven't gotten through to me."
It was a fractured story that even Lorenzo was a little overwhelmed by, with shadows behind it that he couldn't see.
"You're just a detective I hired, not my accountant, and it's best you don't know that much about my business."
Burrow refused to reveal more, his eyes resolute.
"It's for your own good."
"The rest of the information is here, the carriage is waiting for you outside so you can read it on the way to the hospital."
With that said Burrow pulled out a file and flipped through a few pages, tearing out the parts that Lorenzo wasn't supposed to know about subsequently tossing it to him.
"You know how much I trust you, I am the abominable butcher bird and you are the iron thorns that I stick in my prey."
Burrow looked at him.
"So get outta here, this if you don't do a good job I'll fill it with my last bullet." He pointed to the one-in-six probability revolver.
"Okay okay."
Lorenzo got up and picked up the file and turned to leave, but stopped again.
"Still doing things my way right?"
"I only care about the outcome of this."
That was probably an answer, and Lorenzo pushed the iron door open and left without looking back.
...
Walking out of this rocky castle, the cold air rushed into Lorenzo's nostrils in an instant, the air was so humid and cold and depressing.
It's so cold ...
Old Turin was like this, with the thousands of tons of water vapor filling the city day and night, it was perpetually overcast and rainy, they converged over the city as if a dome of clouds hid everything, and the sunlight would illuminate the cloudy sky to a golden hue, as if the sky was on fire as well.
The coachman was already waiting for Lorenzo outside, and this time Lorenzo stepped right into the carriage and flipped through the papers.
The scenery outside the window of the carriage slowly changed, after passing through several inspections they entered the outer city, unlike the lower city which was in a state of disrepair and desolation, here you could see towering gothic and baroque buildings everywhere, tall steam towers were erected between every block, rolling smoke rose from the chimneys, turning everything gray.
This was the birthplace of steam technology, the most advanced city in the world, where all lived with hope as the technology revolutionized and developed.
The documents were held in place by delicate iron frames, with mottled brass around the edges as decoration. It was a common decorative technique in this day and age, gears and pipes, as if everything was that steam machine, for which there was a group of people who worshipped those rolling machines, believing them to be a great power given to man by the gods.
Opening the document, Lorenzo read it carefully in the rocking carriage.
What was written here was much more detailed than what Burrow had said, most of it was from the personal dictation of the people being investigated, the words were jumbled, but without exception they were all recorded.
See here Lorenzo feel more comfortable, in the past those who handle the case only retain those important streamlined part, resulting in some of the account looks incomparably cold.
Taking down every word in detail was an opinion Lorenzo made, only then could Lorenzo feel like he was dealing with a person, a real flesh and blood person, when he faced this piece of paper as he rambled on and eased everything out.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an ostentatiously carved tin box neatly filled with cigarettes.
Picking up one of the cigarettes that had been drawn in red, Lorenzo took it in his mouth and looked at everything on the document.
Smoke rose slowly in the carriage.
Time seemed to slow down, something contained in the tobacco spreading to his nerves as blood was exchanged, a shimmer in his gray-blue eyes.
It was as if the carriage stepped into another world as the windows darkened and finally became pitch black, and in that darkness there was only the slightest hint of fire from Lorenzo's cigarettes.
"Let me see you ..."
Lorenzo whispered softly, accompanied by the shimmering light on his cigarette, his fingers rubbing against the rough surface of the paper as he mentally mumbled the words on the document.
The so-called spirit of speech is simply understood, is the words out of the spirit, as the classic "God said that there should be light, so there is light" in general.
It is a narrative that comes from the heart, so the "spirit" festers in the darkness.
Lorenzo looked at the documents in the light of the fire, and in the darkness there was a sudden rush of wind that swept over him with the fishy smell of the sea.
Something seemed to be approaching Lorenzo, it crawled slowly across the ground, making slimy sickening noises, the pupils of its eyes silent as it watched the brooding man, and it stopped a short distance away.
There was a startling thunderclap that streaked through, lighting up this darkness for so brief a moment as the ground shook under the hostage of this storm.
It was only for a moment, but still, Lorenzo could be seen, sitting in his chair with his head bowed in contemplation, and as the view was drawn out, it would be seen that he was on that Silverfish at the moment.
The sea pounded the sinking ship, an eerie cold wind caressed him, and the cracked and damp deck in front of him was full of people at the moment.
As if none of this existed, Lorenzo looked up coldly at the silhouette, white with thunder, seaweed-like hair swaying in the wind on it, the sea dripping like blood.
Lorenzo showed no fear at all, it was as if everything was perfectly normal.
"Where the hell have you been?"
He questioned into the eerie pitch blackness.
The crew that had vanished into thin air, the mysterious cargo. He was looking for it, the weirdness that was hidden between the lines, the thing that really drove it all.
The instantaneous thunder was about to depart, and just at the end of this light, Lorenzo's detected a hint of stale blood.
The creature that stared at him from the darkness.
Turning his head sharply, Lorenzo found it, that crucial point.
The sight swept sharply to the hideous corner, but then that corner overlapped with a familiar visage, and a voice rang out.
"Mr. Holmes?"
The coachman opened the door and looked at Lorenzo in the smoke surround, his eyes dull and empty as if he were looking at himself.
It wasn't until the ashes burned Lorenzo's fingers that he reacted with a wide-eyed start and dropped the butt.
As the coachman opened the door, the eerie, dreamlike scene ended.
The sky was still overcast, and there were a few moments of disappointment on the coachman's face.
"Sir, I thought you wouldn't touch hallucinogens and such."
It had been a long time since Victoria Central Hospital had arrived, and he had called out to Lorenzo many times with no response, even saying that when he opened the door of the car, Lorenzo remained in that same stupor of being in a hallucinatory state.
Despite working for the boss of all the gangs, the coachman instinctively resisted such things as hallucinogens, which the young man thought of as a key to heaven, but to him instead seemed like an invitation to hell.
"Mind you, in my line of work sometimes you need some inspiration."
Lorenzo smiled, not answering directly.
The coachman sidestepped out of the way and muttered as Lorenzo got out.
"If you need it, I know a few good quitters ... that are just a little rough around the edges."
Out of politeness, Lorenzo smiled and thanked the coachman for his concern, striding forward towards the hospital that was as grand as an ancient castle.