Adeline used the silver fork to put the last piece of fish fillet into her mouth.
She took two sips of the warm milk, then set the utensils on the tray.
Lina quickly cleaned up and carried the tray out.
The room fell silent again, leaving only the occasional crackle of the remaining coals in the fireplace.
She picked up the card box by her pillow and habitually glanced at Lane’s Card.
Several lines of cursive writing appeared on the map, a recent conversation record.
Adeline leaned closer, identifying the fleeting words through the faint light filtering in through the gap in the curtains.
Lane had been talking to someone; the content was brief, but mentioned two unfamiliar words: Gray Rat and Coleman.
It seemed the leader of a gang called the Gray Rats, a guy named Coleman, needed Lane for something.
Adeline picked up Lane’s Card from the map, but a thought suddenly rose in her mind.
In the past two days, she had controlled Lane to explore many places in Ash Lane, but every time she was the one giving the commands.
Lane was like a chess piece, moving wherever she directed, doing whatever she said.
She had never really seen what kind of life this boy lived when she wasn’t controlling him.
With that thought, Adeline put the card back on the table and quietly watched Lane’s actions.
The map kept changing, indicating that Lane was moving on his own.
Then quickly, the map underwent a dramatic transformation.
Centered on Lane, the originally dense streets and building patterns began to fade, replaced by something completely different: ink-black lines crisscrossed to form an extremely complex, labyrinthine structure.
Channels, forks, dead ends, shafts—layered downward one after another, as if the entire underground beneath the city had been hollowed out.
Adeline frowned.
This didn’t look like the floor plan of any building.
The arrangement of lines was rough and irregular, with larger open spaces appearing at intervals, like nodes or distribution hubs.
Vertical lines connected the passages, indicating connections between upper and lower levels.
Sewers?
Adeline’s brow relaxed, and she let out a soft snort.
Gray Rats?
Sewers?
That name really fits.
Under the entire city of Wester lay a massive drainage system.
According to A General History of the Kingdom of New Claire, some parts of it could even be traced back to the Old Clay Kingdom era.
Lane moved through the sewers.
The light here was faint, dark moss and some nameless fungi covered the walls.
Rats occasionally scurried past his feet, moving in groups through the pipes, completely indifferent to human presence.
A few even ran over the toe of his boots, their fur brushing against the rough leather with a faint rustle.
Here and there on the walls were charcoal markings—arrows, crosses, crooked letters—all signs used by Gray Rat members to navigate.
After walking for an unknown amount of time, Lane stopped in front of a seemingly ordinary brick wall.
He crouched down, moved a few loose bricks at the base, revealing an opening barely large enough for one person.
He sidled through, then carefully replaced the bricks.
On the other side of the opening was a narrower passage, at the end of which was a rusty iron ladder leading upward.
Lane climbed the ladder, pushed open a loose wooden panel overhead, and emerged from a narrow opening.
He found himself in a room no more than ten square feet, empty except for a door.
Lane dusted himself off and opened the only door.
The scene outside the door formed a stark contrast with the cramped space behind him.
A massive underground space spread out before him.
The ceiling was supported by thick stone pillars, at least two stories high.
Several large kerosene chandeliers hung from the dome, flames dancing within the lampshades, casting the entire space in a dim yellow glow.
Smoke swirled and rolled under the light—the product of dozens of cigars, pipes, and cheap cigarettes burning simultaneously.
This was an underground casino.
Long gambling tables were lined up one after another, covered with faded green velvet.
Dice rolled in wooden bowls, cards were flipped over by rough or greasy hands.
The tables were crowded with people: some wore dockworkers’ coarse clothes, others wore secondhand coats of unknown origin, and a few middle-class types mingled among them, probably sneaking down for excitement.
Curses, cheers, and shouts mingled into a chaotic drone that made the kerosene lamp flames tremble slightly.
Lane walked straight through the casino without looking left or right.
At the deepest part of the casino was a corridor, at the end of which stood a heavy oak door.
Two men guarded the door, large in stature and grim-faced.
But when they saw who it was, they didn’t block him and even cleared the space in front of the door.
Lane pushed the door open directly.
The light inside the room was much softer than in the casino.
A floor lamp stood in the corner, a dark leather sofa occupied most of the space.
On the low table in front of the sofa were a few empty glasses and a half-full ashtray.
A man sat in the center of the sofa.
He looked to be in his forties, tall.
A gray newsboy cap was tilted on his head, revealing a few strands of graying hair at the temples.
A clay pipe was clenched between his teeth, the blue smoke forming a vague mist in front of his face.
His features were hard, with high cheekbones, a strong, square jawline, and deep-set eyes that held the quiet, sharp calm of a predator.
This man was Coleman Vane, the leader of the Gray Rats.
In his right hand, he held a small folding knife, which he used to meticulously carve a piece of wood the size of his palm.
Wood shavings fell onto his lap.
The rough shape was already visible, seemed to be the form of a bird.
Lane steadied himself and walked in as if nothing was wrong.
Coleman looked up, recognized the visitor, and a smile spread across his hard face.
He set down the wood carving and the knife on the low table, stood up from the sofa, opened his arms, and made as if to embrace Lane.
“Isn’t it my dear Lane Colin?”
His voice was low and deep.
“I’ve been waiting for your grand arrival.”
Lane took a step back to avoid him.
“Just say what you need to say.”
Coleman smiled nonchalantly.
He sat back down on the sofa, crossed his legs, took a puff from his pipe, and slowly exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
“There is indeed a troublesome matter I need to entrust to you.”
Coleman’s tone was slow and deliberate.
“And on this matter, I only trust you.”
Lane stared at him expressionlessly, not responding.
That kind of talk didn’t work on him.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dirty.”
Coleman said.
“We had a batch of bootleg liquor that got switched on us.
If that batch sold smoothly, it would bring the Gray Rats a pure profit of three hundred gold pounds.
From the way it was done, it might be the work of rivals, so it’s not good for the Gray Rats to get involved directly.
“I need you to help me find the goods.
If you can follow the trail and find out who did it, even better.”
Lane didn’t want to get involved in gang conflicts.
“I—”
Just as he was about to refuse, Coleman interrupted him.
“Fifteen gold pounds,”
Coleman said.
“Find the goods, fifteen gold.
Find out who did it, add another five.”
After a moment of silence, Lane asked,
“When do you need the result?”
“The sooner the better.”
Coleman grinned.
“If you can find the goods within five days, I’ll add another three.”
Lane did the math in his head.
Eighteen gold pounds, enough to support the orphanage for a long time.
He could even save some for himself…
“Deal.”