Chapter 98: A Lost Detective

Chapter 99: A Lost Detective.

As Mo Fei walked toward the train, suddenly he heard the familiar voice of a woman. His heart pounded by the sudden voice, his boots stopping before he could move further.

The voice came from the counter. "Not now, we lost our money back there."

Mo Fei pulled his hat down; his expression wavered for a moment, then with trembling hands, he held his suitcase tightly and turned toward the voice.

Near the counter stood the familiar figures, a woman and a young boy.

Lin... and Zhuo.

He swallowed and watched them from afar. Zhuo scratched his head, looking at her. Lin groaned, her expression annoyed as her purse, which had money, had been lost. Both of her hands clenched her head as she looked at the man inside the counter who waited for the payment.

Lin glanced at the man, then turned toward Zhuo. "Geez, we can’t travel, Zhuo. Let’s just travel by foot. My hand, I can’t use the keys for a while."

Zhuo simply nodded, his expression dropping into a sulking look, his cheeks flowering as he looked down in tiredness.

Mo Fei’s lips pressed together as he watched them again. His lips twitched in a faint smile as he slowly walked toward them as Murphy. Stopping near them, he looked at both of them.

Lin looked at the man standing in front of them and gave him a nod. "Yes, sir?"

Murphy shook his head, pulling his fedora down completely off, then put it over his chest and bowed with one hand on his back. "No, Miss, I listened to the situation you are facing." He put his fedora back and pulled out a few shiny gold sovereigns and a handful of silver shillings from his vest pocket.

He neatly slid one gold sovereign and thirteen silver shillings onto the wooden counter right in front of the ticket agent, the exact statutory fare of one penny per mile for two people to travel the 200 miles (ca. 322 km) to Ciradyl.

The heavy coins clinked softly against the wood and reflected the dim light of the streetlight.

"Allow me to settle the fare, Miss." Murphy said, his accent carefully altered to obscure the cadence of Mo Fei, yet his eyes still lingered on them with a warmth he couldn’t quite mask even with Murphy’s cold persona. "A lady with an injured hand and a tired young man shouldn’t have to face a three-hundred-kilometer journey on foot. Please consider it a gentleman’s small courtesy."

Lin stared at the man in front, her eyes darting from the gold coin on the counter up to the brim of Murphy’s fedora. Beside her, Zhuo’s sulking expression vanished as he stared at the stranger’s sudden appearance and kindness who had just saved them from an exhausting march.

The ticket agent swiftly swept the sovereign and the thirteen shillings into the till, then with a flick of motion, pulled out two printed third-class slips and stamped them with a heavy thud against the wooden surface and slid them across the counter. "Here, the two third-class tickets for Ciradyl."

Lin glanced at the tickets, then looked back at the stranger wearing a long coat, her brow raised with gratitude yet deep suspicion. There was something about the tilt of his head, or perhaps it must have been the faint, twitching smile under his hat, that felt... strangely familiar, yet the face staring back at them was that of a stranger whose name was yet to be announced.

"Sir, we can’t possibly accept this." Lin stammered. "We are strangers to you. A gold sovereign and all this silver... how are we supposed to repay you when all our money has been lost?"

Murphy just offered another sweeping bow, his hand pressing the fedora back onto his head, shadowing his grey, piercing eyes. "No repayment is necessary, Miss. Just ensure you both reach Ciradyl; I pray for your safe journey."

"At least tell us your name?" Lin questioned. Her gaze looked through the dim light as the suitcase in that man’s hand swung slightly.

"I’m a simple detective; I do not have a particular name, but you can call me... Murphy Law." Turning on his heel before they could press him further, Mo Fei walked toward his own carriage, his heart hammering against his ribs, leaving Lin and Zhuo standing at the counter holding the tickets that would take them all to the very same destination he was going to.

Mo Fei walked toward the carriage, his expression unreadable as he entered inside. His boots clicked against the floor, and he whispered softly. "I’ll come someday to tell the truth. It’s a promise; I will."

Lin and Zhuo entered the second carriage, connected to the carriage he had entered. Both of them settled themselves and sat on the seat. Lin looked outside as the night began to rise further.

Zhuo noticed the man again. He was standing by the door, watching a pickpocket who had just tried to steal from an old woman. The man had bound the thief on a chair and gave the stolen assets to the old lady and bowed gently.

The old woman thanked him. The man just nodded and sat on his seat, pulling the thief near the seat, who begged him to let go.

Zhuo blinked once and yawned, then moved closer to Lin, who held him in her embrace while ruffling his hair. His eyes closed, forgetting the scenes that had happened; his exhaustion had taken over. Lin also yawned slightly, moving her hand over her mouth and looking outside again as the train started. In a few minutes, Zhuo’s breathing slowed, his body shaking as the train moved.

Mo Fei sat quietly; his mind raced from the sudden meetup. He wanted to tell them that he was alive, but now it wasn’t a perfect moment.

There was a thin veil, which he couldn’t uncover yet. He couldn’t think of how he would tell them.

In the next hour, the train stopped at a station. The platform outside blurred with gaslight, steam, and noises of shouting. Through the open window of the third-class carriage, the loud cries of platform hawkers echoed: "Hot pies! Penny buns! Fresh ginger beer!"

Lin woke slightly to the noise, her stomach tightening with an ache of hunger, a reminder that their money was gone, so they couldn’t buy anything. Beside her, Zhuo stirred but was too exhausted to open his eyes fully and only leaned closer to Lin for comfort.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over their window. A fingerless, gloved hand reached through and placed a greaseproof paper parcel and two stone bottles of ginger beer onto the narrow wooden ledge beneath the window. The rich, savory scent of baked pastry and seasoned meat instantly drifted into the cramped carriage.

Inside the paper were two warm pork pasties and a pair of sweet, glazed Chelsea buns. Lin blinked in surprise and looked up quickly.

Standing on the platform was the same tall figure in the long, dark green coat. Murphy Law stood there under the hiss of the train’s steam engine. He gently tipped the brim of his fedora to her one more time with an unreadable expression, catching the amber glow of the station lamps, before turning back into the crowd toward his own carriage.

Zhuo’s eyes snapped open at the smell of food as he stared at the warm pasties.

Lin stared out at the retreating back of the detective, who quietly entered the carriage and sat on his seat again.

The food was superb, as if bought just for them to not have any inconvenience. It was warm enough to thaw the chill that had settled into her mind since she had lost her purse. Yet, the kindness was unusual from a stranger. A gold sovereign, thirteen silver shillings for two tickets, and now dinner? In her experience, strangers who gave that much either wanted your life or were hiding a massive guilt that they tried to lower by helping people in need. And then there was that smile. That specific warm, fleeting twitch of the lips before he bowed.

Though, both of them ate it quietly.

Murphy simply looked out at the station through the window. He should keep his act for now; at least he was assured now that both of them were safe.

He quietly pulled his fedora slightly over his eyes and smiled softly before going to sleep.

Forty minutes had passed since the train had stopped at the station... but it didn’t move at all from its place. No train had ever stopped at a station this long for just 200 miles (ca. 322 km).

Outside, the lights in the station dimmed slowly. The place had no people anymore; the shops were closed. The shopkeepers had already walked away, leaving behind empty tables and a silent station.

Now, there was sudden stillness in the station. The bustling platform that had just been alive with the cries of hawkers was completely swallowed by an eerie silence.

In the connected carriage ahead, Mo Fei opened his eyes beneath the brim of his fedora. The thief he had bound to the chair earlier was no longer thrashing around. The man stared wide-eyed at the window.

The air in the carriage turned cold, turning their breath into white mist. A low hum vibrated through the ground, but that sound didn’t match the rhythmic thrum of a steam engine.

Mo Fei stood up, the persona of Murphy Law settling over him again. He glanced at the terrified thief and muttered. "Stay quiet if you value your life."