“Miss Sandrone,”
Ellen couldn’t help but speak up, trying to keep her tone casual, “How do you find the breakfast here?”
Sandrone swallowed the food in her mouth and looked up, a hint of satisfaction and honesty in her blue eyes: “Mm, it’s delicious.
Thank you, Detective Lady.”
She was speaking from the heart; this meal was indeed tasty to her.
Ellen fell silent.
She looked at the “tasteless as wax” food on her own plate, then at Sandrone’s seemingly normal breakfast, and finally at the wall clock—it was nearly nine o’clock, and she had to report to 17 Whitechapel Street.
A thought flashed through her mind: Could it be that her sense of taste was malfunctioning today?
Or…
was this shop discriminating against customers, giving her a “special flavorless version”?
Regardless of which it was, she had added this place to her blacklist.
She didn’t touch the food on her plate again, only took a few sips of the bland coffee, and then signaled the waiter for the bill.
As they left the cafe, Ellen suddenly stopped, turned to Sandrone, and said seriously: “Miss Sandrone, things haven’t been peaceful lately; some…
unusual things have happened.
You’re studying abroad alone, so be extra careful, especially at night or when going to secluded places.
If you encounter any strange people or things, or if something feels off, remember to contact the police immediately.”
There was a faint, imperceptible warning in her tone.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you for the reminder,” Sandrone nodded.
Ellen turned to leave but was suddenly called back by Sandrone.
“Detective Lady…
um, the bill…”
Ellen looked back, a genuine smile appearing on her face: “I said it’s my treat.
Go on back now, and stay safe.”
She waved and walked quickly toward the street corner, intending to hail a horse-drawn carriage to the Riverside District.
Sandrone stood there, watching Ellen’s retreating back, and rubbed her finally full stomach, her feelings complicated.
This breakfast had been good, but the Detective’s attitude and words made her feel as if a storm were brewing.
She glanced toward Mr.
White’s shop, where the police line still hadn’t been removed, and decided to look for odd jobs directly today; she couldn’t approach that area for the time being.
Deep inside her satchel, Columbina, within the mirror, patted her stomach contentedly.
After wandering around the Dock District and the factory district for nearly two hours, Sandrone only saw some manual labor or cleaning jobs that required heavy physical strength and paid extremely low daily wages (usually only a dozen copper bits).
With her petite build and student appearance, even stepping forward to inquire felt out of place.
Just as she was feeling a bit discouraged and preparing to try her luck in the further commercial districts, a handwritten recruitment notice on a bulletin board at a fork in the road—connecting a middle-class residential area with an old commercial street—caught her eye.
The paper was of good quality, the handwriting neat and forceful, written in deep blue ink:
Hiring: Private Assistant
Job Description: Assist the employer with daily affairs, organize documents and materials, and maintain a clean working environment.
Requires attention to detail, organization, and the ability to adapt to flexible working hours.
Requirements: Female, literate, basic organizational skills, steady personality, able to accept a certain degree of environmental…
uniqueness.
No bad habits.
Weekly Salary: 5 Silver coins (negotiable after the probationary period based on performance).
Interview Location: No.
47 Wutong Street, Riverside District, today at 2:00 PM.
Rosen.
A weekly salary of 5 Silver coins!
Sandrone’s heart skipped a beat.
This was nearly half the monthly salary of an average factory worker; to her, it was a huge sum, enough to cover her basic room and board and some educational expenses, with a little left over.
The job description also sounded like clerical and organizational work, which was much better suited for her than manual labor.
Although the “uniqueness” of the environment was a bit concerning, it was worth a try.
She noted down the address and time.
Wutong Street, Riverside District…
It sounded much better than the slum area where she currently lived.
She checked her pocket watch; it was already nearly noon.
She hurried back to her residence, changed into her cleanest dark gray dress, carefully combed her hair, wrapped the mirror in cloth to hide it in the deepest part under the bed, and then headed out again.
Wutong Street was located in the East District of Nuremberg, adjacent to a tributary of the Weser River that flowed through the city.
Both sides of the street were lined with tall plane trees, their foliage shading three- or four-story brick apartment buildings with small balconies and wrought-iron decorations—a typical residential area for middle-class and well-to-do families.
No.
47 was a three-story apartment with ivy crawling up its exterior walls.
The black main door was polished to a shine, and two pots of neatly trimmed geraniums sat in the porch area.
Sandrone took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a plump woman in her sixties, wearing a clean floral cotton dress and a white apron.
Her gray-white hair was tied in a tight bun at the back of her head, and her face was kind but her eyes were sharp.
She was Mrs.
Rosen, the landlady of this apartment building.
“Good afternoon, child.
You’re here for the assistant position, I assume?”
Mrs.
Rosen looked Sandrone up and down, her gaze lingering for a moment on her washed-out but neat dress and those deep blue eyes.
A friendly smile appeared on her face.
“Come in, I’m Mrs.
Rosen.
The employer is out for the moment and has entrusted me to conduct the preliminary interview.
This way, please.”
She led Sandrone to a small room on the first floor used as a parlor, furnished with velvet sofas and a mahogany coffee table.
The air carried a faint scent of lavender.
“Please sit, child.
What’s your name?” Mrs.
Rosen brought over two cups of black tea.
“Sandrone, Ma’am.
Sandrone Lopez.” Sandrone used her mother’s surname, which was the alias she often used in foreign lands.
“A good name.
From the looks of you, are you a student?” Mrs.
Rosen sat down opposite her.
“Yes, Ma’am.
“Mechanics?
Oh, that must require a great deal of organization and patience.”
Mrs.
Rosen nodded, seemingly taking a liking to this major.
“So, Sandrone, how much do you know about this private assistant job?
The employer is a…
well, a very unique young lady, Miss Star.
She is a private Detective.”
A private Detective?
Sandrone was somewhat surprised.
This profession wasn’t rare in the Kingdom of Norton, especially in industrial cities like this, where they handled commercial disputes, tracked missing persons, and even dealt with private matters that were inconvenient to report to the police.
But a female Detective, and such a young one?
Mrs.
Rosen seemed to see her doubt and lowered her voice, her tone carrying a sort of exasperated yet amused helplessness: “Miss Star’s abilities are beyond question.
Her observation skills are as sharp as a hawk’s, and her reasoning…
though sometimes so erratic it’s hard to keep up, often hits the core of the matter.
The cases she takes range from stolen jewelry in noble houses to dockworkers looking for missing relatives; she’s dabbled in it all and done quite well.
But!”
She emphasized her tone, “Her personal life…
or rather, her working environment, is a complete disaster.
I’ve helped her find no fewer than five assistants; the longest one lasted three days, and the shortest one ran out holding their nose after just five minutes.”
Sandrone’s heart skipped a beat.
“So, maintaining a clean working environment is the top priority.”
Mrs.
Rosen said earnestly, “The high pay is for a reason.
Miss Star’s requirements for an assistant are also…
very particular.
She doesn’t care much for conventional etiquette or social pleasantries; she values practical observation, execution, and…
well, endurance.
If you can pass her test and can tolerate her study-slash-living room, which is comparable to a battlefield, this job will be very stable, and the pay is definitely generous.”
Sandrone thought it over.
A messy environment?
Her own small room could hardly be called neat.
A peculiar test?
She had some confidence in her own observation and logical thinking.
Endurance?
Having experienced dead people, an eerie mirror, and supernatural combat, she felt her threshold for endurance had increased significantly.
Most importantly, a weekly salary of 5 Silver coins!
“I’m willing to try, Mrs.
Rosen,” she said seriously.