Bailonz Street 13

Episode 2: Bloody Mary

Episode 18. Blue, Old, New (1)

Typically, weddings are long affairs. The day before, there’s a bachelor party, and the next day, the ceremony usually starts around 10 AM in a church, ending at varying times depending on the length of the speeches. Afterward, there’s often an extended celebration. British wedding customs turn these events into two or three-day festivals, celebrating one of life’s biggest events. Perhaps it’s because they want to make the most of a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.

Liam Moore, as a friend of the groom, was invited and, naturally, had to attend the bachelor party. This meant he had to stay at his friend’s house the night before. Upon realizing this, Liam groaned and clutched his head.

I suspected his headache was more due to the fumes from the test tubes and flasks he was constantly inspecting. The strange, bubbling liquids right under his nose would give anyone a headache. I generously opened a crack in the window.

Even this argument over the invitation we were having was enough to cause a headache. We had delayed and delayed, and now, on the eve of the wedding, we were still debating whether or not to go.

“You’re coming with me, right?” I asked again.

“I’m not going.” He grumbled like a petulant child.

“Absolutely not.”

“But he’s your friend,” I soothed him like a child.

“…I don’t remember having such a friend.”

“It’s his first marriage!”

“If it were his second, it would be bigamy.”

True. I stopped myself from trying to rationalize with him.

“You should go and congratulate him.”

“There’ll be plenty of people to congratulate him, even without me. He’s a nobleman.”

This time, I almost lost the argument. His stubbornness was immense. Surely, there had to be some semblance of normal social behavior in him, but he was incredibly obstinate about this.

But I was used to handling him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I spoke.

“Sorry, but I need you to come with me for the next episode.”

He could refuse outright, but I had learned from past incidents that my survival rate drastically increased with Liam Moore around. I didn’t need to know why. Staying alive and seeing the end was my sole purpose.

“If you don’t want me to go alone, you’ll come with me.”

Bingo. His grey eyes wavered with emotion before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

He looked at me for a while as if measuring my sincerity, then his round eyes softened into a reluctant smile.

“You really know how to handle me.”

Of course, I do. I’m Jane Osmond, after all.

He put down his flask, and I sipped my now-cold tea in triumph.

＊ ＊ ＊

At dawn, we packed our bags.

I packed a few clothes, my revolver for self-defence, gloves, and an umbrella. I hoped it wouldn’t rain too much. I didn’t bother much about my notebook, as it always seemed to find its way back to me even if I lost it.

Liam, for some reason, was sealing various liquids from the flasks on his desk into bottles and packing them. It made me uneasy, as if the bachelor party might turn into a drug party.

“Why are you packing those?” I asked. He stopped and smiled.

“You never know when you might need them.”

I couldn’t guess why these would be necessary, but I didn’t question his motives. Liam Moore handed me a bottle.

“Jane, this is a coagulant. It’s like an antiseptic. If you get cut or bleed, pour this on. It will stop small wounds quickly.”

The liquid was clear like hydrogen peroxide or alcohol. Although I didn’t know why he was anticipating injuries, it seemed he was thoroughly prepared for any mishaps. Even though getting shot at a wedding seemed unlikely, it was good to be prepared.

“And this?” I picked a bottle of light blue liquid. Liam pointed to the tag, which I could only partially read as “protect.”

“Stomach lining protection.”

Goodness. Liam Moore had prepared for injuries and the copious amounts of alcohol likely to be consumed at the bachelor party. I couldn’t imagine him drunk. I just hoped James Stranden, who claimed to be his friend, wouldn’t force Liam to drink.

With a few more items packed, Liam’s bag looked more like a doctor’s medical kit than a gentleman’s luggage.

“You’d make a good pharmacist,” I murmured. Liam laughed.

“Well, I’m quite satisfied with my current job.”

I knew that. In terms of job satisfaction, neither of us could be beaten in London.

Solving murder cases, reading the traces left by death, and deducing the culprits gave me joy. The moment I broke the forced silence left by fate and extracted a confession, I felt truly alive.

We were similar in that way. Therefore, neither Liam nor I ever suggested that the other quit this perilous and death-filled work.

＊ ＊ ＊

After breakfast, we headed to King’s Cross at around 9 AM. Liam looked displeased but didn’t argue further. He simply walked alongside, inspecting the platform. We started looking for our train with our tickets in hand.

In hindsight, Liam Moore looked nothing like a groom’s friend attending a wedding. Anyone seeing him might think he was going to a funeral instead.

I wore a neatly pressed blouse with a thick two-piece suit, a green jacket and skirt, and a small hat. For a wedding gift, Liam decided on a bottle of French wine aged 15 years, from well before the couple had even met.

It was clearly one of Liam’s treasured possessions, yet he brought it along despite claiming he had no such friend. His motives were always enigmatic.

Finally, when the train’s whistle blew, I felt a slight tension. The rumble of the steam locomotive vibrated beneath us.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. Of course not. I was just contemplating the extent of this world.

Outside London? England? The whole world? What would happen next?

Previously, I thought the main map was just where the events unfolded. But seeing the landscape unfold as we took the train made me wonder. Is this an open-world game?

It took about 1 hour and 45 minutes by train to reach the rural outskirts of London.

When we arrived, it was just past noon. A carriage awaited us, thanks to a telegram sent with our arrival time. The coachman, a cheerful young man in neatly pressed clothes, kept us entertained with his chatter.

“London has frequent drizzles, but here the sunshine is warm. It’s a perfect place for a newlywed couple to start their life.”

He handled the reins with ease.

He was right. The countryside, despite being rural, seemed lovely. Fields stretched out, and a distant windmill added to the picturesque scenery.

Crossing a cold November stream via an arched bridge, we headed to James Stranden’s mansion. We gazed at the scenery outside. Despite winter approaching, the sunshine was still beautiful. I felt a pang of envy for the bride who would spend her honeymoon here.

“We’ve arrived.”

The voice introducing the mansion was filled with excitement, as if the coachman himself owned the place. He seemed proud of his work and living in this area.

He helped me down with a sense of pride, but Liam Moore gently ignored him and assisted me down himself. This ambiguous attitude was baffling. Despite the sudden quiet, we managed to stand at the mansion’s entrance without any mishap.

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