Chapter 8: Gwent Cards

“If this business goes smoothly, perhaps I can truly try to stay here as a detective. Once life settles down, I might then approach the supernatural and see if there’s any hope of finding my way home.”

During a lull while watching the detective club’s entrance, the stranger found his thoughts drifting to his distant homeland. Shade couldn’t help but sigh.

Glancing at the time again, he realized that since Mr. Lawrence had also entered the club, it would be impossible for either of them to come out within the hour.

“They have matters to attend to. Should I find a place to rest for a while?”

He pondered this as his eyes scanned the surroundings, soon spotting a tavern called the “Screaming Hound” just around the corner.

Taverns like this, situated on main roads and open from daytime, were usually not too rowdy, especially at just two in the afternoon. Shade clutched the ten-pence note in his pocket, licked his slightly cracked lips, confirmed the time once more, hesitated briefly, then strode inside.

Pushing open the tavern door, his eyes immediately caught a row of gas lamps mounted on the wall, casting a dim glow throughout the interior. The air was thick with a mingling scent of alcohol and fermenting food, which unsettled his still-hungry senses.

Shade now understood that gas lamps were the common lighting fixtures of this era. Climbing the walls alongside the gas pipes were usually steam pipes as well—the gas pipes were thinner, while the steam pipes were wrapped in insulation.

The round wooden tables inside the tavern were all empty. Only three patrons sat around a table tucked away near the bar, playing cards. Above their table hung an oil painting depicting snowy mountains.

The three men appeared modestly dressed; though their clothes bore no patches, the dark fabrics were faded from many washes. Their hats, placed on the table, were clearly worn and crumpled from long use.

Perhaps they merely sought a quiet respite on this leisurely summer afternoon. Shade did not disturb them but approached the bartender at the counter, intending to order only a glass of ice water. Suddenly, one of the card players shouted in triumph:

“I win again!”

A middle-aged man with a messy beard stood up proudly, throwing his cards onto the table.

“Look, exactly twenty-one points.”

He glanced around smugly, though only his friends were present. Noticing Shade just entering, his eyes brightened:

“This gentleman’s on me—a glass of rye beer!”

Though the man had just won, he was not wealthy. Shade turned in surprise and hesitated, then nodded slightly in thanks.

“Thanks for the kindness, but I think a glass of ice water will suffice.”

He was not skilled in drinking, uncertain of the rye beer’s strength, and still engaged in detective work—there was no need to indulge in alcohol.

Obviously, a glass of water cost much less than a glass of beer. The three men, thinking Shade was trying to save money for them, instantly took a liking to him. Noticing he was alone, they invited him to join their card game.

Shade didn’t know how to play, so he could only watch as the men cheerfully taught him the tricks of “Rode Cards.”

The playing cards in this world resembled the poker cards of his previous life: four suits, fifty-four cards in total. However, the suits here were Sun, Moon, Stars, and Flowers.

The main game was similar to “Twenty-One,” called “Rode Cards.” Other games like Solitaire, Old Maid, and comparing card sizes also existed, but “Rode Cards” was the most popular worldwide. Legend said the inventor of this game was named Rode.

Cards generally featured illustrations on the front, with the suit and number marked in the upper left and right corners. Thus, certain special editions issued during unique eras were especially valuable.

The latest special edition of Rode Cards, limited to just a thousand sets, was called the “Fairy Tale Series.”

The three card players were not wealthy and knew little about these special series, only able to speak in general terms.

They knew that some nobles were obsessed with collecting rare cards. Especially, some cards were not only illustrated with unique artwork but even contained special game rules.

Those cards were priceless. Rumor had it that last year, at the Biford Auction House, one such special card was sold for twelve thousand pounds.

Shade quietly converted the price according to current living costs and thought about the “Sun 3” card tucked inside his diary. He refrained from laughing, instead deeply doubting whether the card he had inherited was genuine.

But if the card featuring a woman seated sideways, holding the Silver Moon face, was authentic, then his last worry about his future livelihood would vanish.

After chatting with the three card players for an hour, Shade took his leave. Upon returning to the newspaper office’s entrance, the spot beside the mailbox was now occupied by a young man wearing a brown vest and glasses.

This was likely a real reporter, so the young detective moved to stand beside a black iron lamppost.

The lamppost was cylindrical and also powered by gas. Shade had been standing leisurely nearby when his eyes caught the plaque on the post. It clearly warned against smoking beneath the lamppost, stating that any consequences would be borne by the smoker.

Imagining what might happen, Shade instinctively stepped away from the hazardous spot.

As the sun began to dip westward, Shade remained patient in his vigil. After hunger had reached its peak and then subsided by the afternoon, he felt noticeably better. He planned to wait until around five o’clock; if Mrs. Lasoya did not appear by then, he would go to the Church of War and Peace to collect relief rations.

He could also take the opportunity to observe how religion functioned in this world and verify whether the church wielded any supernatural power.

“Yet, with that voice in my head, I wonder if I’ll be caught as soon as I enter. And the secret of outsiders…”

He felt some worry, but without any knowledge of the situation, Shade had few choices.

Perhaps sensing Shade’s thoughts returning to her, the woman’s voice echoed again in his mind:

“Observe his ring.”

This phrase had appeared at noon but then used a female pronoun; now it was male.

Shade immediately looked up toward the club’s entrance and indeed saw a young man carrying a suitcase step out. On his right hand’s middle finger was the very white cobblestone ring he had seen on Mrs. Lasoya’s finger earlier that day.

The design was so distinctive that Shade was certain there was no mistake.

Both men wore their rings on the right middle finger, yet the voice in his mind gave no further guidance.

“How intriguing. Why would the owner of the ring have changed?”

Shade wondered as he watched the man leave the club. Instead of seeking an empty carriage, the man disappeared into the evening crowd, trailing behind a portly man clutching a briefcase as they walked eastward along the street.

The fog of the steam city blurred his figure. Without pursuit, Shade would soon lose track of him.

“Should I follow? The voice in my head surely isn’t idle chatter.”

He thought this as he turned away from the club entrance, unfolding the map tucked in his notebook to one-eighth of its size, searching for the Church of War and Peace.

The church distributing relief rations lay to the east of his current location, and it was now nearly five o’clock.