Chapter 58

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Pawnshop

In the daylight of Igewent, the lower district, White Pearl Street.

White Pearl Street, although it sounds like a place specifically for selling jewelry and luxury items, its location in the lower district tells a different story.

White Pearl Street is filled with a sense of age, featuring numerous antique shops, pawn shops, appraisal shops, and junk shops. Citizens of Igewent typically bring items they no longer need but are slightly valuable to pawn for a bit of cash. Some consider themselves discerning treasure hunters, hoping to find something worthwhile to get rich overnight.

The reputation of White Pearl Street in Igewent is not particularly good. It is not only that lazy street hustlers drift around, dreaming of getting rich quick, but due to the nature of the place, it often has close connections with gangs.

Many desperate people pawn their entire possessions for immediate cash, and to prevent pawners from defaulting, many shops are backed by gangs.

Gang affiliations, gatherings of collectivists, convergence of prospectors, and the prevalence of the pawn industry have given rise to rampant usury on White Pearl Street, leading to countless family bankruptcies, while underlying unspoken violence stirs beneath the seemingly calm street.

Dorothy stood at the edge of this street, dressed in a simple white dress, with her long white hair tied up, wearing a large hat, and carrying a small bag, silently observing the street scene before her.

Only a few pedestrians meandered down the dimly lit street, with shop windows and signs covered in a layer of dust. Many storefronts displayed various old crafts, vases, ceramic pots, gold and silver jewelry, along with an array of unidentifiable objects. Some shops had no signs at all, their doors tightly shut, with access only through small side entrances. Others set up stalls right on the sidewalk, selling quirky little items. Passersby wore somber expressions or had shifty eyes, and the number of homeless individuals was double that of other streets in the lower district.

After scanning the street a few times, Dorothy frowned, thinking to herself, “The atmosphere here is a bit strange… it seems like everyone is acting suspiciously, hiding some sort of secret… How am I supposed to find the trace of the Holy Communion?”

Feeling a bit helpless, Dorothy recalled the information gathered earlier at 22 Yewwood Alley, indicating that there should be a Holy Communion hideout in this street. She wanted to locate it but wasn’t quite sure how to start.

After spending half a day catching up on a week’s worth of lessons, Dorothy immediately asked Audric for another week off. She would bid farewell to Gregor each morning, claiming she was heading to school, and then take a carriage to this place, immersing herself in the anti-cult efforts.

After running out of money from Audric, Dorothy felt deeply impoverished. After much contemplation, she decided that it would be quicker to earn money by hunting down members of the Holy Communion, so she resolved to find the hideout on this street.

However, that proved to be no easy task, as Dorothy didn’t lack potential suspects on this street; instead, everyone seemed suspicious to her!

For three days, Dorothy had employed various small animal puppets to search the area. During this time, she had followed several shady characters with her puppets, but they either turned out to be gamblers planning to borrow money for their debts or lenders engaging in usury. Dorothy found no clues regarding the Holy Communion throughout those three days.

“Ugh… I don’t have a single lead…”

Standing on the street, Dorothy let out a deep sigh. Feeling a bit dispirited, she chose to leave White Pearl Street and popped into a nearby café to drink some sugary coffee.

Seated at a table, Dorothy pondered how to search for the Holy Communion, and when she ran out of ideas, she picked up a newspaper on the table to read and lighten her mood.

As soon as Dorothy unfolded the newspaper, a headline caught her attention.

“The Burton-Veil case still has no leads; the Igewent police are being questioned. Social commentator Mr. Stanley fears that the ongoing unresolved case may lead to public panic.”

‘Wow… This case is still hot… Even after several days, they’re still reporting on it. Don’t they have any other news?’ Dorothy grumbled internally while looking at the newspaper.

Just then, it seemed like Dorothy had an idea, her eyes brightening suddenly.

‘Hmm… Maybe I can use this to my advantage…’

While thinking, Dorothy opened her bag and rummaged through it before pulling out a worn pocket watch.

Dorothy opened the watch, revealing an inscription on the inner cover.

“Burton-Veil.”

This was something Dorothy had taken when she rummaged through the Burton residence. Aside from cash and secret transmissions, she had also collected some small valuables, including this pocket watch she found in the desk drawer. Dorothy had planned to pawn them for a bit of money when the opportunity arose but felt it might draw too much attention, so she had hesitated to act.

‘Looks like now… I can be a bit conspicuous…’

Looking at the pocket watch in her hand, Dorothy thought to herself.

…

Noon in Igewent, lower district, White Pearl Street.

The opportunistic White Pearl Street is filled with numerous pawnshops. To satisfy the monetary cravings of the people, these pawnshops often double as usurers. Supported by gangs, they exploit the lower-class individuals whose desires they cannot control, engaging in a shadowy trade.

Cory was one such usurer. His pawnshop, Cory’s Pawnshop, held considerable sway on White Pearl Street. With ample funding and quick cash transactions, many desperate individuals came to him to pawn items or borrow money.

Unlike some of his competitors, Cory’s main business was usury, with the pawn operation merely a facade.

Inside Cory’s Pawnshop, the middle-aged man, of average height, balding, and dressed in a shirt and trousers sat behind the counter, smoking a cigarette while examining the bills in his hands, scrutinizing the amounts owed by his customers. Beside him stood a burly assistant.

“Ha… Has that bum Dunn already racked up 12 pounds? No news from him? He must have lost it gambling. Time to push him a bit; hopefully, he’ll willingly dig himself into the hole. I don’t want to collect a few fingers.”

“Brooke… Find out about Dunn’s current situation. If nothing changes, we’ll organize a team to collect from him in a couple of days.”

“Yes, boss.”

Watching the unfortunate debtor designated in the bills, Cory snorted disdainfully, while his assistant pushed open the door to exit. Cory continued to focus on the bills without paying much attention.

Not long after the assistant left, the sound of the door opening echoed through the room. Cory glanced up from his bills toward the door, watching as a man in a trench coat, wearing a hat and wrapped in a thick scarf covering the lower part of his face, slowly entered.

Once inside, the man in the trench coat scanned the various displays around the shop and stepped toward Cory’s counter. He retrieved an object from his pocket, placing it on the counter and speaking in a cold tone.

“I want to pawn this. Name your price.”

“Heh… So it’s a customer. Please wait a moment…”

Seeing the scene before him, Cory squinted and donned his glasses. He picked up the item from the counter for inspection and realized it was a pocket watch.

Then, Cory held the watch in his hand to observe it, thinking to himself, ‘At first glance, the workmanship is quite detailed, it keeps time, runs smoothly; though it shows some age, it’s overall well-maintained… It should be worth around 3 pounds…’

Though he thought so, the words that came out of his mouth were quite different.

“Um… Sir, your watch has some serious wear, and the face is scratched. It’s not easy to sell; I’d say it might be worth about 1 pound, but that’s pushing it… Wait, there are also engravings here, which could reduce its value further… No… this is…”

As he spoke, Cory finally noted the engraving on the cover and began to inspect it closely, discovering that it was, in fact, a name inscribed.

“Burton-Veil… Burton-Veil!?”

Suddenly, Cory recalled the name he had seen in the newspapers over the past few days—the name of the gentleman who was murdered in his home along with all his servants. Cory’s heart jolted, and he quickly looked up at the customer.

What he saw was a black hole pointing back at him from a g*n and a pair of cold eyes.