Information Trade

“He struggles, he bellows, he swings his fists at despair, roaring at the top of his lungs.”

“Yet fate is like a nightmarish sprite, leaping lightly by his pillow, mocking him madly.”

“Oh, look! Look at how every single struggle of his only pushes everything further into the most desperate abyss.”

Having come into contact with cultists once again, the experience was far better than back at Thorn Flower.

After all, this place conducted business openly, frequented by high-society figures. Even if there was malice, it wouldn't be displayed on the surface, so what Lynch had worried about did not come to pass.

Led by the handsome middle-aged man, the two climbed all the way to the top floor of the theater. Inside the luxurious manager's office, the middle-aged man looked down upon the stage below, reciting the lines in sync with the actors on stage.

Full of emotion and utterly absorbed, even the sneer and sarcasm on his face were so perfectly executed, as though he truly stood before an ant struggling against fate.

“Meet your destruction, pathetic soul! All your efforts shall ultimately turn into the most desperate echo within the Dreamlands.”

“‘The Arrival of the Nightmare’—is tonight the fourth act?”

Watching the handsome manager deliver his passionate recitation under the bright gas lamps, Lynch looked completely bewildered. He maintained an awkwardly polite smile, though his eyes radiated clear confusion as to what the man was doing. In contrast, Miss Valente offered a reserved smile, lightly clapping her hands.

“This is Master Miro’s most classic play, and delivering its essence is remarkably difficult. Unfortunately, I do not care for this piece. From its set pieces to its lines, everything exudes madness and despair. Watching it in its entirety leaves one’s heart filled with darkness and pain, so I truly cannot appreciate it. However, having the honor of witnessing your command of the dialogue is my greatest fortune today.”

“Chaos, madness, and despair—this is the truest face of the world, and the tone favored most by our Lord. It was precisely through this play that Miro was guided into Night City three times to personally offer his faith and reverence to the King in Yellow. That was his greatest fortune.”

“Does that fortune include slitting his own throat in public during his final curtain call?”

“Of course. He has already entered Night City, residing alongside the King in Yellow to share in an eternal performance. That is the ultimate fortune, something you vulgar mortals could never comprehend.”

At that moment, Lynch felt as if he were seeing those artists from his past life who had nearly driven themselves mad for their craft. It was hard to say whether he felt admiration, pity, or fear—perhaps a blend of all three. Regardless, keeping his distance was definitely the right choice.

Fortunately, the middle-aged man soon placed a hand on his chest and bowed deeply, like an actor taking a curtain call. When he raised his head again, the intoxication and madness had vanished in an instant, returning him to his previous refined yet ghostlily gloomy demeanor.

“West—owner of the Black Cat Theater, and apostle of the King in Yellow. Apart from theater operations, we generally do not open our doors to the public; we serve only friends from secret societies, providing private intelligence concerning high society and the occult world. Since you were introduced by Countess Hathaway, we naturally will not decline your request.”

“Is your intelligence reliable?”

Lynch had gotten the gist of the situation here. It was somewhat similar to Luiste Cafe, which he had visited before, except that place dealt in street gossip while this place handled high-end and occult matters. By now, Lynch was no longer as cautious as he had been before stepping inside. People running an open business rarely harmed their customers, so he asked with composure:

“How does it compare to the Shadow Alliance?”

“We certainly cannot compare to them. They are professionals, whereas we are merely a band of poets and actors.” West smiled somberly as he poured crimson wine for the two of them. “For instance, we only know that you, Mr. Detective, were designated by someone in the Shadow Alliance specifically to lure the followers of the Ancient Flicker into marking you as a sacrifice. As for why they did so, we have no way of knowing. If you happen to know, why not sell the reason to us?”

Lynch pressed his lips together, using his wine glass to obscure his eyes. When he moved it away, his expression had returned to normal, and he said calmly, “If I find out in the future, I certainly will. But compared to the reason behind that affair, I am far more interested in Flaming Red Lips.”

“Viscount Edmond—there is indeed such a person in Salter, but he is still mingling with those dwarves over on the Old Continent and has no intention of coming to Middle Earth. Princess Chloe’s identity is authentic, and Flaming Red Lips was indeed brought by her from the Kingdom of Salter. However, it did not come from the royal treasury, but was plundered from a heteromorph tribe in the New Continent just a few months ago. Count of Lorand oversees Rhine City’s ocean trade and maintains a complex relationship with the Kingdom of Salter in the New Continent. Mayor Howard Hoffman has frequent contact with both Princess Chloe and Count of Lorand, though his motives remain unclear. Furthermore...”

The answer came delightfully swift, and most of it aligned with the deductions Lynch and Miss Valente had made, proving that West's information was highly credible. As a result, both listened intently.

Yet right at that moment, West abruptly stopped. He poured himself a glass of red wine, took a small sip, and closed his eyes to savor it in silence.

Seriously? Cliffhanger dogs exist here too? Can't you act like a decent human being? Performing like this, aren't you afraid your King in Yellow will drag you into Night City to teach you a lesson personally?

Lynch cursed inwardly, gritting his teeth as he pressed, “And then? Is that it?”

“We are running a business after all, Mr. Detective, Miss Valente.”

West raised his glass toward the two of them. The curled corners of his lips revealed two gleaming white teeth, looking unnaturally eerie and sinister in the reflection of the crimson wine.

So even in this era, people know about free previews and paywalls! Half a month ago, I used a similar trick to hustle the lady next to me. Although she reneged on the bill in the end, has retribution really come back for me this fast?

Lynch turned his head to glance at the noble lady beside him. She was covering her mouth with her folding fan, her big eyes brimming with hidden laughter as she sneaked a glance at him.

Tsk. She must have remembered what happened back then too. Looks like I shouldn't be too shameless in the future.

He would probably have his pockets bled dry today, but more critical news surely lay ahead, and money spent on intelligence was never something to skimp on.

Lynch sighed deeply, feeling the Lande pounds in his pocket. With an expressive look of bidding his money farewell, he asked, “So, what is the price?”

“There is no need to be nervous, Mr. Detective. We generally do not use money here. Money... is far too vulgar. We disdain to consider it.”

Well, I don't! I really don't!

“To be frank, the rest of the information you require is indeed very secret and important, and some of it consists merely of our conjectures—we cannot guarantee absolute accuracy.” The handsome middle-aged man let out a subtle smile. “As is custom here, if you wish to obtain information, you must trade with information we find interesting.”

Lynch and Miss Valente exchanged a look, somewhat surprised, yet upon careful thought, it wasn't surprising at all. In fact, it felt completely reasonable.

“Do I possess any information you would find interesting?”

“In the past, no, but recently, yes.” West gestured toward the direction of the entrance. “That pack of Innsmouth fishmen—vulgar, insane, and foul-smelling. They have suddenly flooded into Rhine in recent days, making the very air here revolting. I need to know the reason and purpose behind their intrusion, as well as their hiding place. It would be even better if you could make them disappear completely. Help me figure out their intentions, and I will share everything I know about Flaming Red Lips with you. Each of us gets what we need.”

Hss... The strength of those heteromorphs is by no means weak. I must be careful.

How am I supposed to know what they came for? All I know is that this time they probably aren't coming for me, though god only knows what unlucky bastard drew these things here.

“Where should I start? Do you have any suggestions?”

“That is your affair.”

Lynch frowned and pondered for a moment. “When do you need it?”

“As soon as possible. I do not wish to wait another day—I would love nothing more than to see them vanish this very day.”

Lynch slowly lit his pipe, squinting his eyes as he sank into thought.

The news had reported that people had spotted these things near the docks at night. Perhaps he could go test his luck there in a little while.

Decision made.

“I'll go tonight. But we'll need basic intelligence on the residents of Innsmouth—surely that doesn't require an exchange.”

West raised his glass, chuckling softly. “Thank you very much. Allow me to wish you both a triumphant return in advance. As for the fishmen's information...”

Saying so, he leaned forward and lowered his voice, imparting these unknown pieces of forbidden knowledge.