Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 161. Home (1)

Liam descended from the platform and returned to my side.

People slowly rose and began laying flowers, one by one, on Owen’s coffin. Throughout this, Liam’s head remained bowed, buried in my shoulder. He wasn’t crying—I could tell from how dry my shoulder remained. He simply needed something to lean on…

As people gradually moved towards the cemetery, we too rose from our seats.

Liam’s grey eyes had settled into a quiet calm. Though slightly bloodshot, he seemed to have properly contained his emotions.

We took our final look at Owen. There were no farewell words—we’d already said those earlier—and no wishes for a peaceful rest.

Owen appeared as if he were merely sleeping. Perhaps he might just wake up. Maybe this was all a prank coordinated with Greenwich. His burnt and melted robe had been replaced with a new one, and white gloves covered his blackened hands.

Liam reached into his coat and placed a cigar in Owen’s breast pocket.

‘Camouflage.’

Lawrence stood on tiptoe and reached out to gently rub Owen’s forehead.

“Goodbye, Uncle.”

After Lawrence’s small farewell, we stepped back completely.

Usually, porters would carry the coffin, but in the aftermath of the catastrophe, there hadn’t been time to gather them. Truthfully, finding a priest had been miraculous enough. Without one, it would have been just us conducting the funeral.

In any case, with the flowers added, the coffin was quite heavy and needed bearers. This led to Greenwich’s Chairman stepping in to help.

With one use of his magic, the coffin lid closed, and the white casket floated up and out through the cathedral entrance. The gathered crowd made way for the Chairman and the coffin to pass.

The Chairman looked carefully at each person’s face before speaking in a gentle, warm voice.

“We’ll be heading to where the Cassfires are buried. You may all disperse now. Thank you all for coming here despite the hardships.”

The Greenwich people began leaving one by one after bowing. I wondered if this was British funeral culture, but Herschel explained to me.

“It’s a place that only opens for Cassfire members and Greenwich’s Chairman. Even we can’t go there.”

I see. Lawrence could go, but I didn’t want the child to experience too much in one day.

After sending the coffin somewhere, the Chairman turned to us. He offered his thanks to me first.

“We are indebted to you in many ways, Miss Osmond.”

“…Not at all, Chairman.”

“Greenwich bears some responsibility for crossing the boundary… Thank you for finding the last Cassfire.”

It was Owen who had found him. I wasn’t sure I deserved these thanks. But this was… an opportunity to convey Owen’s final wishes.

“Please protect Lawrence Cassfire at Greenwich. Owen asked for this.”

The Chairman nodded.

“…Greenwich will take full responsibility until he comes of age.”

After that, Liam would protect Lawrence. The child would also grow capable of protecting himself. By the time he learns not to fear the monsters in the mist, he’ll be able to leave the nest and live on his own.

The sky was beginning to turn yellow. And the fog that covered London remained.

Everything was over.

* * *

Life flowed through the streets once again. The sound of people chattering and sweeping could be heard. We were greeting an ordinary morning like any other. Seeing such scenery made me wonder if everything we’d experienced might have been untrue.

The four of us—myself, Liam, Herschel, and Lawrence—stood gazing at the smoky fog and dim gaslights before moving on. There was no need to speak of where Liam and I were headed.

Lawrence, walking beside us, muttered.

“What should I do now?”

After a moment’s thought, Liam answered.

“You have several choices. You could live with me at 13 Bailonz Street,”

Given Liam’s notorious reputation, that seemed dangerous. Even with good security, Liam’s work wouldn’t be good for a child’s emotional development.

“Or you could stay at Greenwich. Nothing there can harm you.”

“The Greenwich you’re talking about isn’t just a regular district name, is it?”

“No.”

Lawrence frowned, rubbing his chin. Herschel added his thoughts.

“If you’d like, you could also come to grandfather’s house.”

Liam dismissed it outright.

“You’re not suitable.”

“Why?”

“Too old to protect a child.”

The fifty-something middle-aged Herschel Hopkins kicked his impudent godson’s bottom. Lawrence watched wide-eyed as his godfather was struck. A godfather hitting his godson, and a godson watching his godfather being hit…. No, what nonsensical wordplay was this?n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Lawrence finally began to smile. The child’s clear laughter cut through London’s morning air. Only then did I feel somewhat relieved.

Towards Liam, who was shamelessly rubbing his bottom, Lawrence answered.

“I want to stay at your house, uncle.”

I… honestly opposed this.

Liam Moore wasn’t someone suitable to live with ordinary people. The danger he attracted went far beyond putting poison on mail, which would be considered mild in comparison. It would be a mistake to think the boundary’s monsters would be the only ones trying to kill Liam. He’d be targeted from both sides—humans and the boundary. Moreover, with a young child like Lawrence there, even more so.

“Are you sure? It might be quite dangerous.”

At my reservation, Liam rolled up his sleeves and responded confidently.

“I have ways to handle everything, madam.”

Right. As long as he doesn’t deliberately set traps like the Black King did, it should be fine.

A hackney carriage passed by us with a clatter. A newspaper boy’s voice rang out from afar. People starting their new morning each had something to say about the misty London.

“The fog is thick today.”

“Indeed it is.”

Bailonz Street, which had been submerged and devastated, had now returned to its former state. Though furniture and small items might be hard to recover, at least the houses remained.

The word ‘madam’ seemed to remind Herschel of something, and he spoke up.

“Speaking of ‘madam’…”

Click. Liam opened the door to Number 13 and started climbing the stairs.

Mrs. Mayer, George, and Mary hadn’t returned yet, it seemed. Perhaps Lucita would send them back once their memories of this incident had faded appropriately.

“When do you think would be good for your wedding?”

“I’m not sure. It feels like we’re just starting to deal with all the backed-up matters.”

“Well, I’m thinking of officiating…”

There wasn’t really anyone else to ask. Now there probably wasn’t anyone in London who knew both me and Liam as well as Herschel did. Just as I was about to ask Herschel to officiate—

Click.

A gun barrel was pointed.

Not at me, but at Liam.

Should I consider this fortunate?

I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to say to Jonathan, who had suddenly aimed a hunting rifle at his brother-in-law-to-be.

Our living room wasn’t the same structure as before, and quite a few items were missing… though some furniture had returned, especially the sofa. Liam’s favourite armchair had survived unscathed. Let’s ignore Plurititas sitting there watching us with gleaming eyes.

“Who.”

It seemed they’d been lighting the fireplace to drive away the dampness. The warm air was heating the house, thawing our bodies that had been wandering outside.

However, in stark contrast to this warm air, Jonathan’s eyes were utterly fierce.

The poker that Jonathan had likely been holding was now in Plurititas’s hands. The eccentric old man merely shrugged once and continued poking at the fireplace fire. His intention to let us sort this out ourselves was crystal clear.

Come on, do something. Your employee is causing trouble.

“Who. Is. Getting. Married. To. Whom?”

He was no different from a child throwing a tantrum about losing his sister. Though it was rather more serious when that child now knew how to shoot.

Liam raised both hands docilely and answered with a shy face.

“I am. With your sister.”

Bang!

“Eek!”

I screamed.

He actually shot. Good grief, Jonathan Osmond actually fired.

A bullet mark appeared in our newly restored ceiling. Jonathan, ejecting the cartridge and reloading, said that was just a ‘blank’. Though the mark on the ceiling seemed rather distinct for a blank, I’m pretending not to know. If Mrs. Mayer complains, I’ll just say it wasn’t my fault.

Jonathan was unnecessarily police-like even in his murder threats. If it had been someone else wanting to kill Liam Moore, they would have simply fired the moment the door opened, not caring who was friend or foe or Liam Moore. However, Jonathan had the courtesy to empty one round and inform us it was a blank. Though I’m not sure if this could really be called courtesy.

Jonathan smiled brightly.

“I’ll make sure you can’t show up at the wedding.”