Chapter 2 – Kingston (Part 1)

The ship’s horn blared long and loud, signaling its docking. The massive steamship dropped anchor and completely shut down its engine. Passengers who had traveled for two nights and three days by sea were eager to disembark as soon as possible. The experienced crew hurriedly prepared for the disembarkation.

Bryant Clifton was the first to step onto the pier. He led the way as first-class passengers gradually disembarked onto land. As expected for mid-January, Kingston’s weather was cloudy and chilly. Having boarded the ship from a city with the opposite climate, the scenery at the destination felt even more bleak.

“Sir, if you give me your ticket, I’ll retrieve your items from the cargo hold.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t check any items.”

Replying, Bryant walked past the unloading staff. All he had brought for disembarkation was a winter coat, leather gloves, and a square briefcase. He didn’t carry a silk hat to complete his gentlemanly attire, nor did he have a cane that a gentleman should carry. He disliked cumbersome things. Being the first to disembark from a steamship carrying over 800 people was thanks to this trait. He had no luggage to pack or lady companions to accompany him.

With such a light appearance, the man exhaled a long breath towards the gray city. A faint breath escaped from between his lips. It was land he was stepping on for the first time in three days. Bryant firmly planted his foot on the solid ground, as if to feel it. The sound of his footsteps was brisk and lively.

The harbor was crowded with people and carriages. Due to the overcast weather, the smell of the sea was even stronger. A gloomy gray sky. Drizzly weather. How he had missed this dreary city.

Bryant often visited Issen. The capital of the neighboring country across the sea was famous for its sunny weather all year round. People envied it, saying it was ‘the most beautiful place next to heaven,’ but for Bryant, it was a bit too bright and warm for his taste.

True sentiment is born in dark and damp places. In that sense, Kingston was close to heaven for him. Beautiful poetry, decadent dance, conversations with charming people. Everything Bryant desired was here, in Kingston, the capital of the Kingdom of Ritten.

“Mr. Clifton!”

At the familiar voice, Bryant stopped walking. He was already smiling as he turned his head towards the sound. The automobile, without a tethered horse, stood out easily. So did the man’s ginger-colored hair standing beside it.

The chauffeur, Derby Ellen, was waving his arms in the air with a broad smile.

“I think we need to be apart sometimes, Derby.”

“What do you mean by that, sir?”

“It’s been a while, and I feel a bit glad to see you.”

“Ah, you’ve missed me over the ten days?”

“I wouldn’t say I missed you.”

You missed me. 

Ellen grinned as he opened the car door. He seated the man in the back seat first and then followed him into the driver’s seat. The bustling crowd at the harbor glanced over at them.

Though automobiles had been around for three years, they still drew attention wherever they went. Being custom-made by only a few people, they were certainly a rare sight. Ellen knew the approximate price because his older brother was an engine technician. That’s why he learned to drive and made a living from it. If someone paid a hefty price for a car, they would naturally give generous wages to the driver too.

Bryant Clifton, who employed him, was even modest in character. It wasn’t easy for a wealthy man in his thirties to be like that. Moreover, since he was single, there was no family to transport separately. He was an excellent employer for a driver.

The rain that had briefly stopped started to fall again. Raindrops pattered on the freshly cleaned windshield. While slowly weaving through the bustling carriages, Ellen asked,

“Was the journey comfortable?”

“If you’re talking about the steamship journey, it wasn’t bad.”

“You took the new ship, right? The Merry Stern? They say it’s huge.”

“They say it has a passenger capacity of 1,000. The bigger it is, the more stable it is on the water. Bigger is always better for ships.”

“Isn’t bigger better for more than just ships?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know.”

“I have no idea.”

At the man’s earnest jest, Ellen chuckled. The distance between the back seat and the front seat of the automobile was very close. Unlike a carriage, the passenger and driver could converse, which was an advantage of the automobile. Ellen suddenly remembered something he had forgotten while chatting. 

Oh, I almost forgot something I prepared on purpose.

Clicking his tongue, he picked up the newspaper on the seat next to him. It was just as the car was leaving the harbor and entering a wide road.

“Mr. Clifton. Here’s the newspaper.”

Though it was close to noon, the morning paper still smelled of ink. Bryant took it and scanned the front page with his eyes. The headline of today’s newspaper was about the New Year’s opening of parliament.

“There’s another article about you.”

On the third page. The young man’s voice added cheerfully.

“Congratulations, Mr. Clifton.”

Ellen said as he drove straight. 

There’s another article. 

Bryant murmured to himself, smiling faintly, and turned to the third page of the crisp new newspaper.

*

…Novelist Dennis Howle is a new writer who surprised the bookstore world with his debut work, The Blooming Mansion, released last year. The story of a maid who meticulously plans and murders a nobleman who toyed with her has pioneered a new genre called ‘thriller novels’ with its shocking content and chilling descriptions.

…Howle’s second novel, The Evergreen Forest, is also a thriller. The first edition sold out in the first week of publication, and for a month now, additional prints are also running short. Viewcastle Publishing, which holds the rights, states they are doing their best to supply smoothly, but some analyze it as a deliberate strategy for promotion.

…Howle’s works have been simultaneously published in three countries on the continent, including our kingdom, Trissen, Ricado, and Benhur. The local response is equally enthusiastic.

Kingston Times, January 13, 1889, ‘Dennis Howle’s New Work Shortage Phenomenon’

*

The car soon entered a familiar road. A street lined with large, straight buildings shoulder to shoulder. Slightly off the central square, this area was densely packed with newspapers and publishers, more often called ‘Ink Alley’ than its official name, Wellington Street.

Viewcastle Publishing was also located in Ink Alley, in a five-story building with a green roof.

“Sir? Weren’t you supposed to return home today?”

As soon as the door opened, attention focused on him. Employees sitting at their desks looking at their tasks simultaneously raised their heads. Bryant raised one hand to acknowledge them, then,

“Mr. Higgins.”

He pointed at one employee with his index finger and walked briskly across the office.

In the office divided by department, his office was the innermost, a separate private room. He entered and placed the briefcase on the desk. After removing his leather gloves, he took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack. The small office was dry and warm, thanks to the radiator. It contained one desk, two bookshelves, a set of reception sofas, and a tea table. When guests occasionally visited, the owner personally served tea.

Bryant didn’t have a personal secretary. He wasn’t so busy that he needed one, nor was he so overwhelmed that he couldn’t manage his schedule. He didn’t like the idea of someone else editing his time. He had refused such privileges after his nanny and tutor.

“You arrived early. I thought you’d stop by your house first.”

A man in his mid-forties who followed him in spoke softly. Paul Higgins, the novel editor.

“How did it go?”

Higgins stared blankly at the boss who cut straight to the point. There wasn’t even a New Year’s greeting, though it was the first time seeing him since the year changed. The face looking up at him from the desk chair was serious.

Higgins’ boss was a gentleman kind to everyone and not at all authoritative, but he was also someone who was extremely meticulous and demanded high standards regarding work. Understanding this, Higgins didn’t mind the lack of a New Year’s greeting. This was not a social gathering but a company, and the matter the boss was asking about seemed to be of great importance to him. Why else would he have sent a telegram to the company from a foreign country across the sea? Twice, even.

Higgins was just troubled because he couldn’t give the answer the boss wanted.

“Ah, yes, about that,”

“Is it immovable?”

“…I’m sorry.”

After a brief silence, a low sigh escaped. It seemed closer to a bitter laugh than a sigh. Bryant slightly furrowed his brows and tilted his head. Higgins felt like he had a thorn in his foot.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, sir.”

“Why on earth is it not possible?”

“The content of the telegram was exactly as I reported. It was just a personal reason…”

“Did you meet her in person?”

“Of course. I went to her house twice.”

This is absurd. 

Bryant chuckled again. From the beginning, this issue was something that shouldn’t have caused any trouble at all.

It was merely a publication commemoration. The publishing company was simply asking the author to attend an event they were organizing for her new book. They weren’t asking her to pay for it or make a grand speech. They were offering a pleasant outing for free, yet she stubbornly refused.

“Is this such an unreasonable request, Mr. Higgins?”

“No, not at all. Other authors would actually be pleased to hear this.”

“I think so too. So I can’t understand what the problem is.”

Bryant was well aware that writers are inherently peculiar beings. However, they were also easy to entice with kind words and bait. Even after the editor went to her house to plead, she remained unmoved. 

What on earth was the issue?

“Well, she’s from the continent, after all.”

Higgins cautiously complained. Bryant pursed his lips in thought. He neither nodded nor denied it. It was true that people from the continent, especially those from Trissen, could be quite rigid. Conservative, stubborn, and somewhat arrogant.

In short, sweet words wouldn’t work.

“Let’s go.”

The boss suddenly said, getting up from his seat. 

Let’s go? Where to? 

Higgins asked with a half-doubtful face.

“Are you going to meet her in person?”

“Yes.”

Bryant answered readily, then asked,

“Where does she live? That woman.”

He took the coat he had just hung on the coat rack and put it on.