38 – Jane Watson, 15-year-old, Witch (2)
It was not easy to find a shop that was open from early morning. Having a simple breakfast and intending to visit the watchmaker’s shop, Moriarty couldn’t help but feel a little mothered.
Indeed, he had to be. Even the tired ones who began their mornings and stepped into the workplace by walking the streets seemed to mix fear with curiosity about the world when one would look at their expressions.
Normally, they would ignore the person next to them stabbing someone with a knife and walked on to their workplace. Now, they were buying a newspaper from the newsboy shouting headlines in the street, unknowingly throwing a coin at him.
Even areas several blocks away were engulfed in this chaos. Naturally, the prison and its surroundings, where attacks and explosions had taken place, didn’t need to be imagined.
Of course, Moriarty ignored the newsboys shouting headlines. After all, it was just a few hours ago, and there was no need to make friends with reporters who were trying to make a quick buck by covering the latest news.
The boys were exaggerating the number of deaths. Even if a machine gun had fired into a crowded street, there would have been fewer deaths than they reported.
The question was, how long could the high-ranking officials at Downing Street hide the exact occurrence?
The success of this commission, or more accurately, the escape after the prison attack he had supported and planned in exchange for money, was a good question for Moriarty.
However, he was able to confirm that his Irish friends had successfully escaped by observing the gloomy faces of police officers and soldiers who continued to receive support from other places in the midst of the chaotic atmosphere.
Thankfully Moran managed to spot a restaurant that had just opened, and the two of them started eating breakfast in a quiet corner of the empty restaurant.
Even though he was still in his mid-twenties and physically young, he was not used to staying awake all night. Having a simple meal of bread and tea, and coffee, Moriarty quietly observed Moran who was eating meat for breakfast.
Could it be because wolves are nocturnal animals? Despite having stayed alert by his side all night, Moran looked more vibrant without showing any signs of fatigue.
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She was terrifyingly devouring the meat, but the way she held the knife and fork was so elegant, like a well-educated youngest daughter of a wealthy family, that it was slightly surreal.
But it was all good. It was pleasing to his taste that his assistant, who serves him, was elegantly and well-educated.
Even while having a simple breakfast, they did not avoid discussing business. Of course, there was nobody to listen. Thanks to the chaotic incident last night, there were no patrons other than Moriarty’s group, and the owner was focused on cooking deep in the kitchen.
“What do you think will happen to the Smith-Stanley cabinet, Moran?”
Moriarty subtly opened his mouth as he put down the glass of coffee. It was like a professor throwing a question to a student in the middle of a lecture.
Of course, it might have been an occupational disease developed due to his job that he has been maintaining for years. But Moriarty himself was enjoying it to some extent.
Asking someone a question and teaching them was more to his taste than he thought. And Moran, the student sitting in front of Moriarty, heeded her master’s call while cheerfully chewing on the meat she had just stuffed a mouthful with.
Moriarty thought that looked quite like a squirrel trying to store as much food as possible.
Unfortunately, as Moran quickly swallowed and cleared her throat, he was no longer able to admire that. However, Moriarty calmly awaited the student’s response.
Moran was indeed a diligent secretary and often gave satisfactory answers. He always had to admit that she was better than expected when he first took her in.
“Smith-Stanley, that’s Earl Derby, right, Master? He might not step down immediately but he’ll be severely affected. Considering his age, he might even retire taking this as an opportunity.”
“But it’s hard for him to step down immediately from just this incident. The Tory party still occupies the majority of the parliament.”
The current head of the parliament, Earl Derby Smith-Stanley, was also the leader leading the Tory party.
To this, Moran quickly added, as if it were the most obvious thing.
“As you’re bound to do so, this won’t be the end, will it?”
It was a sentence filled with fervent confidence toward her master. Moriarty neither answered nor shrugged her shoulders lightly.
Moran continued her speech, not caring about this, to meet the expectations of her master.
“After retirement… Well, as far as I remember, the next likely candidate is… current Secretary of Treasure, Disraeli? He also finally wants to try his hand in the prime minister’s office.”
“But he won’t last long this time around.”
Opening her mouth like a teacher scoring a student’s answer was Moriarty. Like a foolish act of questioning the professor’s words, Moran quietly listened to her conversation.
“Disraeli is… well, unique. He genuinely believed in the necessity of expanding suffrage and finally achieved it recently, and soon more people will be voting. However, idealistic as he may be, he doesn’t realize that it can be his downfall.”
“So they will all vote for the Liberal Party?”
“A significant number, yes. No matter who takes the reign, we must bet on both sides; for elections, even an idealist desires money. I’ve already taught you the basic principle of investment, haven’t I Moran?”
“Of course, Master! Would there be any tasks for me?”
“No, not for now. Continue as you have been, and let me know immediately if there’s a problem. By the way, is there any work that needs to be addressed within this week for our ‘company’?”
Casually standing to pay the bill, Moriarty asked as she stepped out of the café. Moran raised her ears as if she wanted to eat more but soon put away such instinct due to the loyalty for her master and followed the Professor with pattering steps.
Moriarty walked toward the mechanic’s workshop, with Moran following like a chick following its mother, as she answered.
“There isn’t an urgent matter, Master. Ah, it’s not crucial, but recently the Forty Elephants, those thieving women, are on the rise. They’re causing an uproar because you told them not to rob the department store, should I handle them?”
For a moment, Moran was growling quietly like a hunting hound waiting for her master’s command.
Of course, Moriarty knew that Moran’s goal was to receive her praise so she didn’t take Moran’s suggestion.
“Let them be for now, they’re paying the fee regularly. The leader will figure it out, if it continues… we might need to introduce a new leader, Moran.”
The Forty Elephants or the forty thieves.
This was a unique existence among the numerous street gangs under Moriarty’s control.
Although they were London’s long-standing pure-blooded gang existing for over a hundred years, it was an interesting place wherein every member was female. Their main revenue came from pickpocketing and stealing from shops, but recently they’ve started targeting upper-class mansions.
Moriarty, of course, hasn’t allowed this yet. Sensitive Moran expressed her concern due to this.
While the dedicated little wolf prioritized her master’s desires, Moriarty wasn’t planning to control the petty complaints of those under her jurisdiction. To ease Moran, she patted her head, and thankfully Moran did not mention the issue again.
“By the way, the monkeys have been quiet lately, haven’t they, Moran? I don’t think a report came in recently.”
“They’re just like always. They are obedient to you, master, so don’t worry!”
“Monkey” was referencing the Monkey Parade Gang, which is the only management gang Moriarty had left after the integration of the East End.
With the surviving Chinese gangs under Moriarty and the remnants of East End forces, they became one of the 9 major gangs of London. They were absolute loyalists to Moriarty.
Of course, on the surface, they were seemingly unrelated to Moriarty.
The leader was the youngest son of Poomanchoo who had unfortunately passed away in an accident two years ago.
Of course, he was also the dying son. He was a drug addict, heavily dependent on opium and various drugs, barely functioning as a human being.
Wouldn’t even Poomanchoo of Hell be somewhat comforted by the fact that at least his youngest son had survived?
Moriarty added this thought briefly. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, she was nearing a popular mechanical workshop. Street hustle and police interrogation for those going to prison was still going on.
Of course, there was no police officer who would dare speak to Moriarty or her apprentice, both dressed like proper English gentlemen, therefore their movement wasn’t hindered.
“Ah, Professor Moriarty, it’s been a while.”
“I’ve been a bit clumsy lately, I’ve come to give you a simple repair job. How’s business?”
“Always the same, just that… there was some strange uproar yesterday.”
Luckily the workshop seemed no different than usual. In the early morning, there were hardly any clients, but the elderly clockmaker greeted Moriarty pleasantly.
Aside from giving the clock repair job, Moriarty could then notice that there was a customer in the corner of the store who had come earlier.
She couldn’t help but be slightly surprised as she hadn’t sensed any presence at all. It seemed that Moran too was aware of this, oddly enough; she pretended not to notice and kept a close watch on the other.
She was a lady with a mature aura, of an age that was a little hard to gauge, and one that inevitably drew the attention of anyone who saw her.
Most notably, one’s gaze could not help but be drawn to her chest area.
