230 Scapegoat
At the stroke of 8 a.m., a pair of law enforcement officers ambled up to the third floor of Auberge du Coq Doré. One meticulously examined the lifeless body, the suicide note, and the surroundings, while the other commenced interrogating the neighboring tenants.
Lumian, already disguised using the Mystery Prying Glasses, had taken his position at the entrance of Room 310.
The officer, donning a uniform and clutching a pen and paper, cast a fleeting glance in his direction.
“You must be Ciel Dubois. Enlighten me on the matter.”
Lumian proceeded to recount how Flameng’s sanity was gone prior to his arrival. The man incessantly raved about encountering the Montsouris ghost and the demise of his own kin. Soon, it seemed, his turn was imminent. Lumian continued, revealing how Flameng had abruptly regained consciousness the previous night and indulged in a bout of heavy drinking.
“What about the wound on his shoulder?” interjected the officer attending to the deceased in the room.
“Before he regained consciousness last night, he inflicted the injury upon himself. I was the one who bound it up,” Lumian responded with composure.
After interrogating the other tenants and the proprietor of the basement bar, the two officers cautiously deduced that the deceased had long been plagued by mental instability. He possessed a motive for suicide and displayed corresponding behavioral tendencies.
As they maneuvered Flameng’s body into the mortuary bag, they addressed Lumian, saying, “We shall transport him to the catacombs, but it’s a rather intricate procedure. It entails ascertaining the precise cause of death, summoning a clergyman for purification rites, finding a suitable heir for his estate, and liaising with the catacomb administrators. This will take roughly a week or two.”
Lumian fell silent momentarily before resuming, “I’ve shared a few drinks with him. Remember to inform me when you lay him to rest.”
Affirming their agreement, the two officers departed Auberge du Coq Doré, taking Flameng’s body and the belongings from the room along with them.
Lumian removed his disguise and returned to Room 207.
Seated in a chair, his back to the window casting sunlight, he faced the dimly lit corridor, grappling with a swirl of emotions.
Flameng’s suicide had presented Lumian with an alternative fate.
Lumian had aided Flameng in evading the Montsouris ghost, not driven by a desire for personal gain or reward. It was simply because he saw a reflection of his own predicament in the man who had lost his family. One had succumbed completely, descending into lunacy, while the other persevered, clinging to a glimmer of hope and desperately struggling to maintain his grasp on reason.
But in the end, Flameng, no longer tormented by the Montsouris ghost and driven to madness by fear, had opted to terminate his own existence.
In the corridor, Elodie, her tresses concealed beneath a blonde wig and her eyes accentuated with eyeshadow, alongside the other cleaning lady, had already commenced their bustling day. They worked ceaselessly, mopping the floors and battling bedbugs without respite.
Lumian observed silently, his gaze appearing distant and unfocused.
After the passage of nearly fifteen minutes, light yet hurried footfalls reverberated along the staircase, eventually reaching Room 207.
Jenna’s silhouette came into Lumian’s view. Today, she donned a more understated attire compared to her usual flamboyance. Her blouse clung slightly, complementing the gentle brown shade of her top and a fluffy, beige, short skirt. She sported knee-high black boots, and her makeup exuded both decadence and allure.
She glanced at Lumian, entered Room 207, and gently shut the wooden door behind her.
Lumian snapped out of his reverie and observed her silently, refraining from questioning her intentions.
Jenna repressed her curiosity and excitement before speaking up.
“Have you heard? The boss and two leaders of the Poison Spur Gang have been murdered!”
“I’m aware,” Lumian acknowledged with a nod.
Jenna scrutinized his expression and deliberately probed further.
“You weren’t involved, were you?”
“Do you think I possess the capability to eliminate ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger, ‘Baldy’ Harman, and ‘Short-legged Candlestick’ Castina all at once?” Lumian retorted.
Jenna, having already gleaned an estimation of Ciel’s strength from Franca, understood that “Black Scorpion” Roger was no less formidable than Franca herself. She shook her head and uttered, “No.”
She then drawled in a leisurely tone, “But you can still seek assistance.”
For instance, Franca.
“The authorities don’t even suspect me,” Lumian stated, shrugging his shoulders.
In truth, he found this matter rather perplexing.
Ordinarily, as one of the few individuals who had recently engaged in a direct confrontation with the Poison Spur Gang, he would undoubtedly be subjected to questioning following such an incident. Yet, Lumian had remained on standby since last night, prepared to don a disguise at a moment’s notice, yet no investigators had arrived.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the staircase.
Knock, knock, knock. Knocks resounded against the door of Room 207.
Charlie? Lumian’s gaze fixated on the door as he beckoned, “Come in. It’s not locked.”
The visitor who stood before them was none other than Charlie. Clad in a crisp white shirt, a light-colored vest, and a formal black suit, he exuded an air of dignity. Atop his head rested a half top hat, while a dark bow tie completed his ensemble.
His attire seemed even more refined than when he served as an attendant at H?tel du Cygne Blanc.
After sizing up Charlie, Lumian couldn’t help but smile.
“Well, well, where did this civilized individual come from?”
Charlie couldn’t conceal his own grin. His tone brimmed with warmth and enthusiasm as he replied, “Right? I am now a true gentleman. I’m still in the process of mastering classical grammar. Madame, Monsieur, please allow me to extend my civilized greetings.”
With those words, he removed his half top hat, pressed it against his chest, and offered a slight bow.
Jenna chuckled but didn’t discourage Charlie. Lumian clicked his tongue and remarked, “To be frank, you’re more like a monkey playing dress-up in civilized clothing.”
Charlie remained unaffected, his joy unwavering.
“I’ve only just begun my studies. In a month’s time, you’ll witness an entirely different version of me. Oh, by the way, this is Monsieur Charlie Collent. He is currently enjoying a sumptuous dinner worth 8 verl d’or!”
At this point, Charlie glanced at Jenna, who stood beside the bed. He opened his mouth as if he had something to say, yet hesitated to do so in her presence.
Nonchalantly, Lumian inquired, “What’s the matter? Just speak your mind.”
Charlie lowered his voice.
“Did you hear? Last night, ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger, ‘Baldy’ Harman, and ‘Short-legged Candlestick’ Castina were all killed.”
“I’m aware. And?” Lumian believed Charlie wouldn’t seek him out for something that would soon become public knowledge.
Charlie glanced at Jenna and continued, “What has been confirmed is that the murderer belongs to a terrorist organization known as the Aurora Order. They have a penchant for gruesome displays of carnage and primarily target individuals who worship evil gods. In this case, ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger and his cohorts followed an evil god named the Great Mother.”
Aurora Order? Lumian was taken aback.
Where did this scapegoat come from?
Why were the official Beyonders suddenly pointing fingers at the Aurora Order?
Shouldn’t they first investigate those who had conflicts with “Black Scorpion” Roger and the Poison Spur Gang? That’s how detective novels were written!
“Are you saying that the Aurora Order truly carried out these murders?” Jenna inquired curiously.
Charlie nodded emphatically.
“That’s correct. The Aurora Order appears to have claimed responsibility for these acts in some capacity. Tomorrow, there should be reports about the case in certain newspapers.”
The latter half of Charlie’s statement suggested that the information he had just shared was meant to be disclosed and held no confidentiality clauses.
The Aurora Order claiming responsibility? They weren’t even involved. Why would they assume responsibility? Lumian found himself momentarily perplexed yet slightly amused.
If he hadn’t personally slain “Black Scorpion” Roger, he might have suspected the Aurora Order as the culprits.
Charlie glanced at Lumian and added in a hushed tone, “This afternoon, once the election concludes, a crackdown on the mobs in the entire market district shall commence in response to the public’s concerns about the district’s security.”
Are you reading from a document? Your words sound so official. Lumian realized why Charlie had rushed to inform him.
It was best for those with dirt on them to leave the market district this afternoon and hide for the time being!
Lumian nodded subtly and replied, “I have a mysticism gathering to attend this afternoon.”
Although Mr. K’s gathering was scheduled for 9 p.m., Lumian intended to arrive early.
Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and gestured toward the door.
“I’ll make a move first.”
After a moment of contemplation, Lumian responded, “In the future, there’s no need to inform me about such trivial matters.”
He added mockingly, “Do you doubt my abilities?”
Charlie sheepishly smiled.
“It’s my first time, so I couldn’t help but feel a bit emotional. Don’t worry, unless it truly concerns you, I won’t drop any more hints.”
As Lumian watched Charlie depart, Jenna clicked her tongue and sighed.
“He’s turned into your spy among the official Beyonders.”
“I’d prefer it if he wasn’t,” Lumian mumbled, pursing his lips. “He’s just an imbecile, bound to mess things up.”
Jenna scoffed and waved her hand.
“I’m going to find Franca. Are you planning to share the information Charlie gave us with the others?”
Lumian shook his head.
“If everyone flees, the official Beyonders will undoubtedly investigate any leaks. That imbecile won’t be able to escape.
“Besides, some people deserve to end up in jail.”
And you don’t? Jenna criticized as she left Room 207 and stepped into the corridor.
At that moment, the two cleaning ladies had already reached the staircase.
Jenna hurried over, her gaze sweeping across the cleaning lady named Elodie, who wore a blond wig.
Suddenly, Jenna’s expression froze, and she swiftly turned around, heading back to Room 207. Lumian, who was about to leave, found it peculiar.
Elodie, a woman of almost 50 years with a blond wig and eye shadow, also noticed Jenna. She stared at the apprentice actress’s retreating figure for a few seconds before calling out in confusion and concern, “Celia…”
Jenna’s body went rigid.
She slowly turned back, forcing a smile, and greeted Elodie with a loud voice, “Mother.”
Mother? Lumian almost couldn’t believe his ears.
Then he recalled Elodie mentioning that she used to be a theater actress and now enjoyed watching performances at the Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. Her husband had passed away a few years ago in a factory accident, leaving behind two nearly adult children who helped support the family.
Jenna, on the other hand, was an apprentice actress at the same theater. Her father had also passed away a few years ago, leaving only her mother and brother. Her plan was to earn enough money for her tuition fees and other expenses for the coming year.
It all adds up… Lumian nodded thoughtfully.
Elodie approached Jenna with a broom, assessing her appearance.
“Why are you here? And what kind of makeup is that?”