"Me?" Klein pointed to himself with his index finger. "I'm just a clerical staff member."
"The other side consists of only three ordinary people," Kenley said confidently. "They have two hunting rifles and a pistol. But we're trained Extraordinary team members—two against three. I'd say we have a good chance of winning."
He added, "You're in charge of finding them, I'm in charge of dealing with them. If anything goes wrong, we head straight to the nearest police station."
The first half of that sentence made Klein freeze slightly. Why would two people still only have a "chance" of winning against three ordinary men? But the second half reassured him and bolstered his confidence.
As long as we're just running, I shouldn't be too slow, Klein thought.
"I also brought the 'Sleep Charm' made by Old Neil," he added. "If they're really just ordinary people, it should put them out for a few minutes—enough time for us to escape."
Klein nodded. Kenley had clearly made thorough preparations.
Klein finally felt at ease.
"So, what do you need for divination?" Kenley asked.
"Clothing that's worn close to the body, or personal accessories—anything that can improve the success rate of locating someone." Klein quickly put on his outer coat, picked up his cane, and adjusted his half-high silk top hat before following Kenley out the door. The two of them climbed into Butler Kelly's comfortable carriage.
"Here is a photograph of young master Little Elliott." Butler Kelly pulled a black-and-white photo from his chest pocket and handed it to Kenley. Seeing the two investigators ready to act gave him a bit more hope.
"We also need some of Little Elliott's personal clothing or accessories." Kenley noticed the puzzled look on the butler's face and added, "You know, as a security company, we keep a highly-trained tracking pet. Even in heavy rain, it can still find a person by the traces they left behind."
"Why didn't you bring it with you?" Butler Kelly accepted the explanation, but still asked curiously.
"Its appearance would frighten ordinary people like you," Kenley replied smoothly. "It prefers to work alone, and it gets agitated around strangers. If that happens, its barking would throw everything into chaos."
"After you leave, we'll go and fetch it."
Klein rolled his eyes where the butler couldn't see.
Barking... pet... You really need to come up with a better story next time.
"Of course, that's your internal matter." Butler Kelly nodded. He rapped the small window in front of him. "Take us back."
To avoid alerting the kidnappers, Kelly had the carriage stop one street away from the estate. He hurried off, then returned shortly with a full set of Little Elliott's worn clothing—shirt, vest, child-sized formal jacket and tie—and a Storm Lord talisman. The talisman had a bronze base etched with symbols representing storm winds and ocean waves.
"Vicrol is a believer of the Storm Lord. Why not ask the church for help?" Kenley asked.
"Father Milton Isaac promised he would pray for Little Elliott," Butler Kelly replied, spreading his hands helplessly. "But he said this was a worldly matter, and the church couldn't intervene directly. Maybe it's because we haven't been donating enough lately."
"Then we have no further questions." Kenley casually took the butler's large black umbrella, disembarked with Klein, and quickly found a nearby private carriage.
"A private carriage? Isn't that a bit expensive?" Klein asked, following him nervously.
Kenley handed a one-sule banknote to the coachman. "Bill us by the hour."
"Very well, sir. Where to?" The coachman asked cheerfully, pocketing the money.
Kenley turned to Klein with a raised eyebrow. "Old Neil didn't tell you? All expenses during missions are reimbursable."
"But... this isn't an official mission."
"It's Blackthorn Security Company's responsibility," Kenley replied solemnly.
Reimbursement... Thank that fellow Russell for inventing such a useful word—and applying it so thoroughly to real life.
"Begin, our dear 'hound'." Kenley handed the bag of clothing to Klein. "I told you—I'm just here to beat people up."
Now was the time to test his understanding of mysticism.
Klein laid the clothes out neatly on the floor of the carriage, placed his walking stick on top, and closed his eyes slightly.
Silently, he chanted in his heart: "The owner of these clothes—Elliott's location."
After repeating the chant seven times, he opened his eyes and released the silver-inlaid walking stick. It stood upright in the center of the carriage, as if it had a will of its own. Klein could feel faint, invisible currents swirling around them, and a strange sensation of being watched by indifferent eyes.
He chanted again: "Elliott's location."
The stick tipped forward and fell in a direction. Kenley's eyes lit up with a satisfied smile.
"Go straight," he ordered, knocking heavily on the coachman's partition.
"Turn left." "Turn right." "Go straight..."
Though this was the first time the coachman had ever followed such strange instructions, he obeyed without question—money had its own persuasive power.
After circling a building once, Klein could tell: they had arrived.
"Stop the carriage." Kenley pounded the board again. The two of them got out, Kenley opening the large umbrella above Klein's head as they casually walked toward a three-story building.
The structure resembled a rental apartment complex from Earth—each floor was divided into several small rooms. Based on Klein's divining rod calculations, the kidnappers were in the innermost room on the third floor, to the far right.
"They should be in there." Klein pointed. Following Old Neil's teachings, he opened his "spirit vision" and began to count.
"One, two, three, four..."
Suddenly, he felt as though countless unseen eyes and spirits were gazing at him and Kenley from the darkness—just like that time in the garden when he first met Miss Daly.
Did I attract something... bad?
He pushed down the discomfort and stayed silent.
"I also see four. The one in the middle has a smaller spiritual body—that should be poor Little Elliott," Kenley said.
"But Butler Kelly said they're armed—two hunting rifles and a revolver. What now? Rush in?" Klein gripped his walking stick tightly.
"No need for that." Kenley pulled the "Sleep Charm" from his back waist, infused it with spirituality, and slipped it through the gap under the door.
"Night," he whispered in Hermes.
Klein felt a sudden dizziness. He quickly used his meditation technique to stay conscious. Just then, he felt a pinch on his left forearm.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Three seconds. They should all be out cold." Kenley tried the door. It didn't budge—locked.
Damn, forgot about that part.
Without hesitation, Kenley drew a dagger, wedged it into the door crack, and twisted. With practiced ease, the door opened, revealing four people sleeping like the dead.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Kenley landed solid punches on the three kidnappers' heads, knocking each of them out cold.
"I told you," he grinned at Klein, baring two rows of white teeth. "You're responsible for finding them. I'm responsible for beating them."