24 – East End’s Junkies (7)
Fu Manchu.
Of course, neither was it his real name nor a proper Chinese name. It was just a word and a name created out of the prejudices of Westerners.
But anyone in East End and London who knew even a little about the underworld knew that this name was not at all humorous.
He was known to have come to England just after the Opium War, but neither the Londoners nor even the Chinese of East End knew anything about Fu Manchu’s origins.
In fact, it would be more appropriate to say no one knew except Fu Manchu himself. It was a means of extracting mystery from people, and Moriarty himself would have done the same.
Naturally, bizarre rumors followed about an unknown opponent, especially the head of a large organization that practically unified and led a massive criminal area.
Those were necessary things to stand above people. Moriarty himself was always careful, but once a leader lost his charisma, that was the end.
The moment the opponent realizes that he is not a different, alien being, that he can be pulled down with their own power and effort, rebels seeking to kill the king appear from all directions with knives at the ready.
Even when having jests with a few reliable dependents like Furlock, they never cross the set line because they are aware that the professor could cut them off like a rope at any moment.
Even before Moriarty was born, Fu Manchu had started an organization in East End, complete with the illusion of being an enigmatic being from the East.
Idiots who knew nothing often prattled about Fu Manchu building a fortress in the East End, studying the Oriental magic and preparing to bring down London and the West, from the middle of a grand palace like those of Chinese Emperors.
Such nonsense. Those idiots often forgot that Fu Manchu was nothing but a foreigner from outside Britain, a target that could be eliminated by the law at any time.
No, their feeble minds would never fathom such a thought. Moriarty snickered to herself.
One sad fact was that among those idiots who believed such rumors was Porlock, one she valued for his capabilities.
Because of his dim-wittedness, poor Porlock visibly disappointed upon discovering that Fu Manchu resided not in the illusionary castle of grand China but an ordinary British mansion.
Of course, noticing Moriarty’s gaze, he quickly shrugged and straightened himself, but he couldn’t fool Moriarty.
Knowing this, Porlock urged the wolf-girl, who walked behind, her wrists bound like a prisoner, to walk faster. In return, the girl responded with a wolf’s howl.
However, Moriarty noticed a sudden change in the girl’s demeanor. The moment they entered Fu Manchu’s mansion, the girl, who until now was restless like a wild beast trapped in a cage, abruptly calmed down.
Moriarty could tell that the girl was a little scared. Although she wasn’t too happy about it, she knew it was an issue she could solve herself once tamed.
The escorts guiding Moriarty’s group to Fu Manchu were of diverse backgrounds, symbolizing the East End with its large immigrant population. In addition to the Brits, there were Chinese and Indians, among other races.
The mansion was, of course, lavish, a mixture of Chinese and British styles that could be seen as rootless, but everyone agreed it was luxurious.
You could argue that it was an exaggeration but the place could easily be described as a residence fit for a Chinese Emperor. After all, Moriarty recalled reading a newspaper article last year about the suppression of the Taiping Rebellion, or some bizarre pseudo-Christian uprising in China.
Compared to the poor Chinese emperor, there would be no significant cringe in wealth.
What Moriarty sensed first was the smell of opium. The opium dens that once plagued the Qing Dynasty had migrated to Europe’s entertainment districts, including Britain, with Chinese immigrants, bringing considerable wealth to these immigrants.
The East End’s king was no different.
There were various kinds of people seeking the opium dens. There were squalid dens that attracted penniless peasants, half-transformed into crime hubs, but also high-class social clubs where stylish London gentlemen sought a momentary pleasure and exotic ambiance of the East.
In fact, in this respect, although there was no formal cooperation between Moriarty and Fu Manchu, they had already been silently in cahoots.
As Moriarty mentioned to Porlock, just because one smoked opium did not mean one couldn’t drink Mariani wine or other beverages that bring dreams and fantasies. Therefore, in her company’s client list, there were quite a few opium dens from East End.
Of course, Crime Consultant M has also received appropriate help from Fu Manchu. Fu Manchu was notorious as a sorcerer, but he was equally famous as a poison handler from the East.
Most poisons could easily be obtained or synthesized in Europe, but sometimes it was useful to obtain a suitable poison.
In that sense, East End was a place to acquire. Of course, even a month ago, when the eldest son of Fu Manchu came to consult with her as a client, the plan had been to proceed slowly.
Yet, the idea had to change a bit after confronting the old Chinese king of East End.
“Dr. Moriarty, thank you for accepting the invitation. Please, call me Dr. Fu Manchu.”
“It’s an honor, Dr. Fu Manchu. Ah, and I’m not a doctor. I was appointed without a degree. You can simply call me Professor.”
Fu Manchu was there in the receiving room to welcome the guests, along with several other individuals. There were familiar faces. Fu Manchu’s eldest son, who sought out Moriarty, was standing with a slightly dissatisfied expression, and next to him were a mixed-race looking woman and younger men. Moriarty recognized them as the old king’s children.
Fu Manchu was the exact image of the evil Chinese sorcerer people imagined. In fact, the correct expression would be that he deliberately portrayed this image to maintain it.
Long thin beard, traditional Chinese robes, and excessively long fingernails.
But upon closer look, you could see bits and stains from various chemical substances on the old man’s nails.
His build was smaller than expected. It felt even more so because Moriarty was taller than most. The most striking thing, however, was his face.
His eyes still sparkled with the will towards life, but the skin under his eyes was dark and his complexion did not seem healthy.
‘The rumor of his impending death must be true.’
Of course, it wasn’t imminent. Nevertheless, showing signs of weakness was a good omen. There would likely be others harboring impure thoughts in response to this vulnerable king. Especially if the information provided by her client was accurate, she had even more reason to be pleased.
From noble mtl dot com
“Pardon me, Professor Moriarty. First, let us have a meal together. By the way…I heard my wolf pup here was rude to you.”
“It’s fine, it was quite entertaining. Anyway, would it be okay if this girl participates too?”
There was a moment of silence.
Fu Manchu raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the suggestion.
“If you wish, I could punish her immediately. If it would upset your stomach before eating, I could order my underlings to drag her out and behead her. Is that necessary?”
“Can’t we decide on her discipline after finishing our important business first?”
“Very well then.”
For a moment, the conversation between Moriarty and Fu Manchu made the young girl’s ears tingle. Of course, Moriarty didn’t let this pass unnoticed.
Fortunately, Fu Manchu quickly seemed to lose interest in the child and ordered the meal to be served, and a simple meal with the Chinese began.
Various conversations began to mingle. Most were formal, daily, and meaningless attempts to impress each other.
“I hope the meal suits your taste.”
“Most of it is British-style, isn’t it? Look at this girl, Porlock, she seems to be enjoying her meal immensely.”
Upon the professor’s remark, Porlock subtly put her fork down. Luckily, no one paid her any attention.
Unlike the rest, Fu Manchu hardly ate anything. Seemingly aware that his ailment was evident, he excused himself and reclined to smoke his opium pipe.
Fortunately, not completely immersed in opium, the conversation with the ruler of East End could continue.
“Honestly, meeting you, professor, is quite shocking. You’re much younger than I thought, and to have unified the West End at such a young age, quite remarkable indeed.”
“I still have a long way to go.”
“In that regard, if we were to join hands, we could progress even further, don’t you think?”
“We are already cooperating implicitly, are we not, Dr. Fu Manchu? For trade, for business.”
“You’re smart enough to know that’s not what I mean.”
“Isn’t cooperation about equal footing? If not, I’m sorry. Perhaps in Chinese it has a different implication.”
A moment of silence.
“……I don’t expect an immediate answer, we should behave like gentlemen, considering we are in Britain. Unlike the past British who sold opium in my country and waged wars, we should conduct ourselves in a gentlemanly manner.”
“Fortunately. And for your information, I originate from Ireland, Dr. Fu Manchu.”
Of course, he had neither the consciousness of being an Irishman nor any fond memory of his homeland, but he could use that anytime he wished.
Porlock looked for signs, preparing for any unpredictable situation, intending to snap her fingers. However, she soon sensed the professor’s eyes on her and subtly grabbed her fork, nibbling the remaining grains on her plate.
“I apologize. I would like to re-emphasize that I consider a positive response.”
“Your proposal is sudden; give me some time. And another thing… Excuse me for asking, but I’m still quite young, am I not?”
“…Go on, what do you want to say?”
“If we were to collaborate, Dr. Fu Manchu, we would have to continue with your successor as well, so it’s something to consider. Hence, among those present here, who would be your successor?”
The old Chinese man paused for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, leading to an uncomfortable silence.
Seeming to realize his mistake, the Chinese man dispensed a cold reply.
“That’s something you don’t need to know yet.”
“I apologize, so it’s not decided yet? Then how about a proposition in the form of a bet to make amends?”
“A bet?”
“A simple card game, let’s resolve it through a card game because we’re in Britain. If Dr. Fu Manchu wins, I’ll accept any proposal or cooperation right here.”
“……And if I lose, what do you intend to take?”
“Give me this little girl.”
Moriarty, placing her hand on the silent young girl’s head beside her, laughed.
