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“I don’t know how you do it.” Kazuma sat cross-legged, cramped in the attic of 221B Baker Street. Naruhodo had begun halfway packing for his return journey to Japan, but his attention wandered like a cloud in the sky. Legal documents interfiled with socks, his old student handbook lodged into a duster. The kettle had been placed on the stove, Susato in the corner both cleaning and preparing the tea faster than Naruhodo was even sitting down.
“How I do what?”
“Survive.”
“Hey,” Naruhodo said while Susato said, “I agree.”
“They feed you so much here. It feels like I need three stomachs.”
“You mean like Iris’s dinners? She doesn’t make big meals every night, just special occasions.” Naruhodo held up a bowler hat, nose wrinkling in confusion.
“No, not meals. Snacks, sweets, everything in between. I can’t even pass a day without some food showing up on my desk. I know I should be used to it,” Kazuma said, “but I don’t understand it.”
“I don’t think I follow.” Naruhodo tried on the bowler hat, looked at himself in the mirror, then carefully disposed of the hat in the garbage pile.
“The constant barrage of food.” At the confused looks from both Naruhodo and Susato, Kazuma tried again. “Doesn’t Sholmes always take you out for lunch? Leave snacks at your desk? Watch you eat?”
“Not in particular.” Susato placed a hand on her cheek, worriedly looking at Naruhodo. “Does he do that to you?”
“I did have lunch with him a few weeks ago.” Naruhodo looked sadly downward. “He left halfway because he thought he saw a cat, so I had to foot the bill. You can add this to your notebook, but Sholmes has a big appetite.”
“I already have that noted,” Susato said. “But thank you for your sacrifice.”
“He really doesn’t keep feeding you?” Kazuma leaned against the table on his elbows.
“No, he doesn’t.” Naruhodo blinked at him. “Why? Is someone bullying you?”
“Don’t be silly,” Kazuma said. “What would you even do if that was happening?”
“I’d prosecute them,” Naruhodo said, leaning forward with bewilderment, while Susato put her hands up and said, “I’d give them a Susato Takedown.” Naruhodo hastily slammed his hands onto the desk and added, “I’d give them the - the Ryunosuke Stare. Down. Staredown.”
“Aren’t you a defence attorney?” Susato asked Naruhodo, concerned.
“Don’t worry, I’m not being bullied.” Kazuma laughed, but only when they began squabbling over the ownership of the anemones that he murmured, “Maybe.”
An elaborate fancy box, Marman’s Confectory emblazoned on the small gold placard. He had ignored this for most of the day, working instead to refer to his law books about witnesses, drafting a summary for the report, answering a few correspondences, but when the sun beat down and nearly hit the foot of the casks, Lord van Zieks said, “Are you not hungry.”
He was a man of stature, his presence like a tower even when seated. With his back to the sunlight, he appeared to be even more menacing, hand to his temple like he was judging Kazuma.
“There is some business I must attend,” Kazuma murmured, which any gentlemen at home would understand as a polite deferment. Lord van Zieks stared at him, forehead a snarl of knots. Kazuma amended this with, “but I am certain it can wait,” and opened the box.
“Toffee,” Lord van Zieks said. “Handmade.”
“By you?”
“No.” Now Lord van Zieks looked even angrier.
Kazuma hesitantly took a brittle toffee, biting into the edge. The hard butterscotch broke off into his mouth, but eventually melted into a mellow sweetness. Lord van Zieks, in a way that Kazuma could only describe as intense, watched him.
“It’s good,” Kazuma said after a polite swallow. Lord van Zieks seemed neither pleased nor displeased, but touched his mouth and returned to work.
Kazuma was getting bullied. He was definitely getting bullied.
The next day, Kazuma had thought about sneaking out to lunch before Lord van Zieks returned from his trial. He was caught, almost unawares, at the steps.
“You’re early,” Kazuma said.
Lord van Zieks looked at him silently.
“I had some errands,” Kazuma said.
“I was supposed to meet with Scotland Yard,” Kazuma said.
“And file these reports,” Kazuma said.
Lord van Zieks stared at him with a rigid sternness. He was an immobile statue, a stony villain, but Kazuma could fight any ogre with his sword. But he was hungry and Lord van Zieks always did pay for their meals, and even Momotaro must have needed to eat his millet dumplings.
“I could eat,” Kazuma admitted.
“We’ll take lunch, then.” Lord van Zieks motioned down the street. Kazuma never had complaints about any of the meals, from the thick steaks to the neat sandwiches, but he never had been down this street before. Lord van Zieks apparently hadn’t navigated this, either, given that he would stand in front of a street sign with a growing frown.
Eventually, they reached their destination, a rounded little brick shop that advertised Fish Suppers and had a short line of people who had the same idea of lunch. Nobody was dressed as finely as Lord van Zieks with his rich air of nobility. This drew more than one curious gaze at his fine sash, rich sewing of his coat, and the way he seemed befuddled at how to hold two orders at once while paying for their meal.
“Eat,” Lord van Zieks said, when they had escaped the crowd.
“Thank you.” Kazuma bit into the warm fish. The fried batter crumbled into the softer fish interior, the chips a hearty warmth when they crumbled in his mouth. The newspaper wrappings, which had the unfortunate proclamations of ‘Harlene’s Hair Growth for Hapless Hares,’ still had a sturdy stability. The grease barely smudged onto his gloves.
“I was told, by a well-researched inspector, that this was the third-rated fish and chips shop in the city.” Lord van Zieks stared at the sign, where the ‘S’ had gotten smeared enough that from a distance, it read Fish Uppers.
“Third?”
“In overall taste. First in fish.” Lord van Zieks gazed down at his own fish and chips, still uneaten. “Given the fish acts as the main component, I assumed that was the most compelling appeal.”
“You haven’t been here yourself?”
“No.”
“You should try it.” Kazuma motioned him forward. Lord van Zieks did not seem against the idea, but he also seemed bewildered at where to start. He angled the fish and chips, the newspaper advertising for the ‘King of Cures for Sore Throat, Muscular Rheumatism, Lumbago, Bronchitis, Sciatica, and Poverty.’ Finally, Lord van Zieks opened his mouth, but too small and shallow to bite off more than a thin edge of potato crust.
“How is it?” Kazuma asked.
“I do not know,” Lord van Zieks said, after a long pause. “Does this shop provide forks?”
Kazuma considered himself a student of everything. A student of law, especially British law. A student of the right courtesies and the proper style, a learner of the advances in forensic science, a scholar of how to contain the unbridled demon that slithered inside him and whispered in his ear about the anger that ate him alive. He was also apparently a pupil of ice cream.
“Do you have a preference for parmesan cream ice, filbert cream ice, or cucumbers,” Lord van Zieks growled at him, even as he frowned at the cart. The man in the weathered apron only offered a few select flavours, but all seemed only to confuse Lord van Zieks further. The children behind them wiggled recklessly, hands shoved in their pockets as they waited for the two strangers to finish purchasing the ice cream from the pushcart.
“Let’s just choose the most popular flavour,” Kazuma said, to the relief of the boy behind him.
More than the Reaper persona or his overwhelming height, Lord van Zieks carried with him an almost aggressive solitude that parted the crowds until they arrived at a shaded park. Kazuma had eaten ice cream before, but the cold always did surprise him. He licked at the creamy sweetness, chasing the melting droplets down his fingers with a quick tongue.
“Yours is melting,” Kazuma said. He was quickly learning that Lord van Zieks was either an expert at food, moving methodically down the line of forks and knives without hesitation, or completely baffled that food existed. Now, Lord van Zieks glared down at the ice cream as if willing this not to melt through sheer concerted force of will, then bit the top. His forehead knotted even tighter into a clench.
“If you eat it too fast, your head will hurt,” Kazuma said.
“I am well aware.” Lord van Zieks seemed unhappy. The pain must have won out, since he gripped his head with his forefinger and thumb. Kazuma snorted, trying to hold back his laughter.
Lord van Zieks’s eyes flickered towards him. Kazuma stopped mid-chuckle, but Lord van Zieks said nothing, passing a hand over his mouth and gazing at where the families walked beneath the dappled light of the trees.
“It’s not bullying,” Kazuma lied. “I just don’t understand it. Maybe I’m missing context.”
“He’s never done that to me,” Naruhodo said. The office only seemed to have gotten messier, like a whirlwind had taken a feather duster only to smash all the papers to the ground. Susato side-stepped a cascade of important documents, kneeling down to pour the tea. She had a graceful aura, hands expert as she cleaned the tea bowl and whisk, serving the cups. Since Naruhodo disliked the bitterness, the tea had been carefully tempered. Kazuma was overcome with nostalgia. Meanwhile, Naruhodo’s elbow had knocked the shovel over in a large clash. Kazuma was also overcome with nostalgia.
“We should think of this clearly,” Susato said, head lowered. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with fire. “Perhaps Lord van Zieks is learning how to eat, since he has only consumed human blood before.”
“Susato-san,” Naruhodo said seriously. “You are one of the smartest people I know.”
“He can eat. He does eat,” Kazuma corrected himself. “When he takes me to dinner, the waitstaff will sometimes greet him by name. He must have been there before.”
“Kazuma,” Naruhodo said seriously. “You are one of the smartest people I know.”
“What does that say about you?” Susato asked Naruhodo sympathetically.
“Maybe he’s concerned about your student stipend,” Naruhodo said. “In a way that Sholmes doesn’t care about mine. You said he pays, right?”
“He does, but he doesn’t know what I earn. He never interacts with the foreign affairs office, or anybody, if he isn’t obligated.”
“Well, those were two ideas, so I’m all out of ideas.” Naruhodo frowned. “Maybe you should ask Sholmes? He was acquainted with Lord van Zieks, maybe, and might know more, maybe.”
“I’d rather solve this by myself,” Kazuma said. “I feel like I’m close to cracking the case.”
He was not close to cracking the case.
The gentleman’s club had a quiet domestic air. Those who sat at the bar murmured in understanding voices, the rich red of the carpeting only bringing out the auburn wooden walls, walnut leather chairs accompanied by rugged ottomans. When Kazuma exited the washroom, Lord van Zieks had already found a seat beneath a painting of snarling hunting dogs on the prowl at a poker game.
“Chocolate,” Lord van Zieks said shortly, as if that answered any questions. The mugs of hot chocolate before them steamed. Kazuma blew on it to avoid cat tongue, which Lord van Zieks apparently didn’t do, since his brow only grew more concerted when he touched his mouth.
“You should let it cool,” Kazuma said.
“I am well aware,” Lord van Zieks said, every word dripping in irritation.
Any investigation should be conducted with care, so Kazuma sipped at the rich, velvety chocolate drink, and said, “This has an interesting texture. Do you enjoy this, Lord van Zieks?”
“This may be a drink best enjoyed in the winter,” Lord van Zieks said.
“Perhaps you are right,” Kazuma said gently. “Hot chocolate on a snowy day. That truly is something to be enjoyed with other people, wouldn’t you say? Any person, right?”
“Why would you say that.” Lord van Zieks only looked unhappier.
“Just a passing thought.” Kazuma flashed his winning smile. “Sipping hot chocolate, eating a hearty Christmas meal with good company. Ryunosuke has spoken highly about the event. I think he even believed Santa would be coming, which is ridiculous.”
He realised his mistake a moment too late at the subtle flickering of Lord van Zieks’s gaze.
“-ly realistic,” Kazuma said smoothly. “Since there is no evidence against the existence of Santa Claus.”
“When you have finished, we should leave.”
That was the original plan, but Kazuma’s steps stalled by a room where he heard clacking, the door half-open to reveal a small sliver. The green billiards tables had been arranged as the centerpieces of the room, the cues arranged like cuts while the colourful balls had been tightened to a triangle. He realised he was keeping Lord van Zieks waiting and quickened his step to pass the doorway, but Lord van Zieks did not move onward. He looked for a while at the game room, then held the door open for Kazuma to enter.
It was no surprise that Lord van Zieks was a good player. His hits struck true, the white cue ball cannoning off the reds and the blues alike. Where Kazuma first struggled, he made up quickly after a few mistrials. They attracted some attention, the other guests lingering around the table, until Kazuma found himself surrounded by strangers and playing against a gentleman with a mustache that looked like it had been waxed solid. While he waited for his opponent’s turn, who was going through some apparent ritual where he stroked his immobile mustache, Kazuma found Lord van Zieks sitting at the siding of the room and watching him. When their eyes met, Lord van Zieks returned to the book on his lap.
The night had descended upon the city. Kazuma had rarely stayed out so late with Lord van Zieks. If London was a lady, then the bright electric shine of the attractive storefronts would be the string of pearls upon her necklace, the rising smoke plumes of factories would be the arched feather upon her hat, and Lord van Zieks would be her neighbour whom she would only see when he emerged to pick up the newspaper, nod at her curtly, then close the door solidly behind him. Even if Kazuma had wanted to linger, Lord van Zieks already seemed to have made his mind about returning to the office as quickly and Kazuma-lessly as possible.
“Go rest,” Lord van Zieks said.
“Wait.” Kazuma was relieved that Lord van Zieks slowed his step, turning partially to glare at him over his shoulder. “I just wanted to say.” He stopped, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He had too many questions to form a question and the night was slipping through his fingers like a gossamer handkerchief, so he just said, “I’m sure Santa is real, Lord van Zieks.”
He could withstand the plum pudding, the hot green peas, the cream custard, the penny pies, the meringues, the pickled whelks, the madeleines, the iced oranges, the ham sandwiches, the rout cakes, the chocolate cream, the jellied eels, and even the whole monstrosity of the white whipped trifle, where each sponge cake layer only brought more sugar and fruit and custard and flowers and Lord van Zieks apparently had become immune to all alcohol since the port had not wafted off at all and once Kazuma hit the mid-layer, he was promptly drunk on trifle.
So he did not know why, when he saw the small paper bag of liquorice allsorts, that he felt he was going to lose it.
They were cleaning the office, Lord van Zieks shuffling through the case files. Kazuma shook the bag in his hand listlessly. The pinks and the yellows and the oranges mingled together, a kaleidoscope of bright despair.
“You do not enjoy those types of sweets,” Lord van Zieks said, a question in the flat tone of a statement. He had taken to carrying enough documents in his arms that any movement threatened to send papers flying, carefully unloading them at his back cabinet, then retreating back for another heavy load.
“I don’t know,” Kazuma said. “What do they taste like?”
“I have not tried them.”
“Then you should,” Kazuma snapped, and he didn’t know what finally broke through his cultivated sense of propriety and dignity, worn down from endless cakes, pulsating frustration and vague confusion, and he grabbed a liquorice piece with a cheerful pink exterior and a small round innard and thrust it out for Lord van Zieks to finally eat and realise what it felt like to be fed, randomly and often, at no regular basis.
He had forgotten that Lord van Zieks had his hands full of papers. Kazuma did not withdraw, but their eyes met in a frozen standstill.
The arch of Lord van Zieks’s brow suggested severe bafflement, but he nevertheless slowly inclined his head to take the liquorice between his teeth. Like a gentleman, Lord van Zieks was careful not to touch Kazuma’s fingers. The sharpness of his fangs glinted before he took the whole piece into his mouth.
Kazuma did not move, but he had the same feeling as he did when he fed small kittens.
“Soft,” Lord van Zieks said.
“What?” Kazuma bristled, but Lord van Zieks kept his gaze at the papers in his arms.
“The liquorice is softer than I thought.”
Kazuma got his wish. Lord van Zieks had several meetings for the rest of the day, then was conspicuously absent the following day. It wasn’t like they were companions at the hip. Kazuma had plenty of days where he had worked alone in the office or had similar business that meant he would be working the streets instead. But his desk did feel emptier without a gaudy confectionary package or overflowing plate. He passed by his lunch hour without noticing, and when his stomach kicked him with a gurgle, he found himself at a loss to which establishment he should frequent.
He ate his cold sandwich on a bench. The lettuce had a slight wilt, leaving his wheat bread soggy. When the wind whipped a leaf at his face, he no longer felt surprised.
“I am only surprised that you took so long to come to me,” Sholmes said. “My consulting fee is quite mild.”
“Very reasonable,” Iris reassured, placing down the teacup before them. “This is my own special brew. Is it to your taste?”
“Of course, it fits my taste perfectly.”
“Not you, Hurley,” Iris said, hugging the silver tray and turning to Kazuma expectantly.
“Yes, it’s delicious,” Kazuma said. English tea had different subtleties to the taste, folded into the striking sunset colours of the drink and perhaps accompanied by delicacy of the golden handle. Sholmes took his own tea gratefully, leaning back on his armchair.
“I must be off to the market now,” Iris said cheerfully. “See you soon, Hurley.”
As the door closed, Kazuma wondered if he had been too hasty to schedule a consult with the only consulting detective. Naruhodo and Susato had been encouraging when Kazuma admitted there was only one person he could help, wherein Naruhodo said Enoch Drebber and Susato said that wasn’t it and not to guess and Naruhodo said he never guessed for people, just for evidence, and Susato sighed, but brightened when she exalted the great deeds of the great detective, complimenting how Sholmes had deduced that he was running low on tobacco just the other night.
He had good friends.
“To be quite frank, this case is rudimentary. Taking your money is akin to asking Iris to share her earnings. Nevertheless, rent is imminent, so I shall be at your beck and call.” Sholmes nodded to him. “Please elaborate upon your distress. No detail is too small.”
As Kazuma described the colour of each liquorice and the number in the bag, Sholmes held up his hand and said, “I have heard enough.”
“Can you help?” Kazuma steeled himself, hands on his knees and back upright.
“As I said, this is rudimentary. I am only mildly curious about a single aspect.” Sholmes stroked his chin. “When you walk on the streets together, who takes the curbside?”
“Whoever is the closest.” Kazuma frowned, trying to recall. “Usually Lord van Zieks. Is that relevant?”
“To this? No, absolutely not. To something else? Of course.” Sholmes crossed his fingers together, steepling his hands. “If we go further, I shall charge my full price. I warn you now because there is an even easier method of attaining your answers, another that you could ask.”
“Enoch Drebber?”
“Who? No, never mind, I refer to the good Lord van Zieks. He may not fully know the answer himself, but he would stop these strange actions at once if he recognised their unnaturalness. He has not been with people for years, your silence urges him onward. Your problem would disappear overnight if you asked him directly.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate to ask him outright.”
“Do you say this out of a sense of propriety?”
“Maybe.” Kazuma tightened his fingers on his knees. “Yes. But whether he intends this or not, I feel there is a meaningfulness to his actions. It is only honourable to respond in kind.”
“A lovely thought. Truly.” Sholmes smiled kindly. “This is merely a storm of good intentions. I will be generous and allow you to deduce for yourself the motivation of his actions, as you are three-fifths of the way there. Here, I give you another one-fifth.”
“Anything,” Kazuma said, leaning forward. “Any morsel.”
“Pay attention to his hands.” Sholmes leaned back, looking utterly satisfied. “That is where you will begin to understand.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s not enough,” Kazuma said, scowling. “That’s infuriatingly little, even by your standards. You couldn’t even call that one-fifth, it’s one-one thousandth of a hint.”
“It is more than enough for you. But since I am aware that you would always have paid my fee, no matter the morsel, I shall give you an addition in respect to your honour.” Sholmes winked, holding the teacup higher in a mock toast. “Don’t overthink this. The answer has always been in front of your eyes.”
Perhaps it was petty revenge to see Lord van Zieks growing disconcerted throughout the day as Kazuma watched his hands. Lord van Zieks mostly penned documents, parsed through files, and perused through his legal books. He had no particular tells, save for a slight tap when he saw Kazuma was still watching him.
“If you do not have plans after work,” Lord van Zieks finally said, “perhaps you will afford me some of your time.”
Marman’s Confectionary Store had a cleaner style than others he had seen on the street of his lodgings. The front window had been filled with goods and posters, advertising for Lipton’s Tea and Cadbury Chocolates, stacked boxes by bright lozenges encased in glass. Inside, the room opened to a pastel white-and-blue striping, the dark awning of the cabinet giving an illusion of order upon the scattered goods that crowded every available surface, colourful in their popping pinks and juicy reds, the dashes of flagrant orange mingled with the dusting of sugar. Jars of marshmallows, boxes of peanut brittle, wine gums and brandy bonbons stationed behind the till, the Turkish delights piled beside the bright yellow lemon oval sweets.
“I do not know your preferences,” Lord van Zieks said. “If the liquorice was not to your liking, you may find another selection.”
“I didn’t dislike it.” Kazuma picked up a yellow box.
Lord van Zieks folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. In a shop full of sunshine and sweets, he lurked like a rain cloud in the corner. Kazuma browsed the shelves, picking up the glass jars. In the reflection, he could see Lord van Zieks had not moved, hands folded into his elbows. The intimidation of his stance scared off more than one independent child, who ventured around the corner only to twist their face in fear.
“Lord van Zieks.” Kazuma called him over to save the children, but he was also curious about the jar on the shelf. “What are these?”
“Unclaimed babies.”
“Excuse me?”
“Some call them jelly babies.” Lord van Zieks frowned. “They are sweet.” This warning felt out-of-place in a confectionary shop. Kazuma stared at the little jar of jellies, holes for the eyes and mouth.
“Why are they in the shape of babies?”
“What other form would they take.”
“Any other shape,” Kazuma said. He felt like his stance was reasonable, but Lord van Zieks only looked more confused.
“Unclaimed bodies,” Lord van Zieks said slowly.
“Not that.”
When he wandered through the shelves, he did see that Lord van Zieks would change his stance when another approached. The store clerk picked at the abandoned candy beside them and Lord van Zieks had crossed his arms over his chest again, an impenetrable defense beside the cotton candy. When Kazuma approached him, Lord van Zieks would release his hold. He would keep like this for a while, picking at the boxes with listless disinterest. Beside Kazuma, his hands would hang by his side, gaze scanning over the small details of the jar labels.
A child scream-squealed with laughter, a young boy happy with his mother’s purchase. Lord van Zieks looked over the shelves. Kazuma looked as well, alarmed that somehow Lord van Zieks would infect the entire shop with his gloominess. Instead, the usual strictness of Lord van Zieks’s mouth softened before he passed a hand over it.
Oh.
He got it.
Kazuma chose the brandy balls, the least colourful of the shelving choices. The box had been tied with a neat red ribbon, the loose ends trailing in the wind outside. Lord van Zieks to the curbside.
“Lord van Zieks.” Kazuma usually trailed a half-step behind Lord van Zieks’s lengthier strides, but when he talked, Lord van Zieks would slow for him. “I’m doing all right.”
“In regards to?”
“Everything. Being here. Being here alone, once Ryunosuke and Judicial Assistant Mikotoba leave. I’ll be fine.”
The original plan had always been to come to England alone. He had steeled his nerves when he received his assassination task. He had known, in some vague, uncertain murkiness, that he was not likely to return to Japan upright. This was a better future than he could have ever anticipated, forged by Naruhodo’s will, Susato’s steadfastness, and his father’s sword. Without his friends, he would find the land a little emptier and lonelier. But he would only have to look upon the ocean to feel their company.
This future in the land where his father had died, he would take with his own two hands.
“That is good to hear.” Lord van Zieks paused. “Though forgive the discourtesy, but I do not recall asking.”
“No. Not in any obvious manner.” Kazuma laughed, which served to perplex Lord van Zieks even further. Good. Revenge was a dish best served sweet.
Perhaps it was narrow-minded, but he believed most people would just say what they wanted to say. How are you. Are you doing well. I’m sorry. But a prosecutor was different from a defense attorney, for all the strategies he still employed. He knew well enough that lies hidden behind every subtlety. The witness lied to save themselves or save another, they lied without knowing, they saw something, they thought they saw something, they wanted to have seen something. Evidence lied, too, but lied in a way that was understandable. A splotch of blood hidden in a secret compartment, a matching signature that had gone undetected. Nevertheless, in court, evidence was all they had and they entrusted this with an honesty that they never imbued in the testimonies. To hold something was to know it.
So this was what Kazuma had. A mountain of savoury evidence, each reminding him somehow of Susato’s careful whisking and turning of the teacup before him on long autumn evenings, before the air had grown too cold .
“Do brandy balls pair well with any wine?” Kazuma asked, a street away from their office.
“There are a few possibilities. I do not know which you prefer.”
“I’ll try anything you recommend.” Kazuma stepped down from the curb, careful to avoid the mud. “If you’re willing to share.”
“I can see to make that happen.” People who said Lord van Zieks never smiled just didn’t know him. Certainly, he cast a dark shadow against the street, but his mouth would soften and there would be a firmer resolve in his eyes, though he would, at times, pass his hand over his mouth as if to hide the secret.
Kazuma held the door open for Lord van Zieks and looked out to the sprawled streets of London, the canes tapping across the streets and the lacey umbrellas, the briskness of the pace and the shouting from the street corners, the graveyard of his father and the courthouse where he practised, the sellers clapping their flour-covered aprons at the market and the cargo unloaded from the docks, the brick storefronts and the papered windows, and the Crystal Tower still cutting through the heavy suffocating smoke that pillared from the factories, overlooking the city in panes of shining glass that caught the light, before he, too, entered the office and closed the door behind him.