After a brief stretch of darkness, a dim light flickered to life.
The Information Broker sat at the center of the room, several large black rats nestled in his arms. He had clearly expected Lloyd's arrival. A smile lingered upon his indistinct features, impossible to fully make out beneath the weak illumination.
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," he greeted directly.
Part curious, part cautious, Lloyd took a seat across from him. Camus remained outside to stand watch, leaving only the two men within the strange chamber.
"So you're the Information Broker?"
"Indeed. What would you like to know?"
The confirmation only deepened Lloyd's curiosity. Yet before asking anything, his gaze drifted into the darkness behind the broker. Something was moving there.
Squinting into the shadows and aided by a Hunter's exceptional eyesight, Lloyd finally saw them.
Rats.
An uncountable swarm of rats crawled through the dark recesses of the room. Countless holes riddled the walls, forming passageways for the creatures. Some of them carried tiny chains tied to their tails, markings that appeared to serve as a means of transmitting information.
"You all seem to know who I am."
Rather than launching into his questions, Lloyd found himself more interested in this mystery. Camus had recognized him immediately. So had this broker. How?
"Of course we do," the broker replied. "You're the famous Mr. Holmes."
He gently stroked one of the rats in his lap.
"In the Lower District, information about Shrike is worth a fortune. And you're one of the people closest to him. We all know who you are, even if we've never met."
Lloyd nodded slowly.
"Now you're finally starting to look like an information broker."
"Truthfully, we never wanted to receive you," the broker continued. "As a rule, we avoid anyone connected to Shrike."
"Why?"
"Because Shrike is... strange."
There was no hesitation or caution in his answer.
"Oh? I'd like to hear more."
Lloyd's interest in the man only grew stronger.
It almost felt as though the broker were deliberately baiting his curiosity. If so, he had succeeded. While investigating the smugglers, Lloyd still had enough time to indulge a story.
"Mr. Holmes," the broker asked, "do you know how we Rats exchange information?"
Without the slightest concern, he revealed what sounded very much like a trade secret.
"Countless messages. Eyes and ears everywhere. Information passes from one contact to another, one becomes ten, ten becomes a hundred."
"But they're still just vagrants," Lloyd pointed out. "There are many places they can't access."
"True. But small details can reveal hidden stories."
A faint gleam entered the broker's eyes.
"Think about it, Mr. Holmes. Seemingly unrelated events often possess invisible connections. Take something simple—for example, what your mother might cook for dinner tonight."
Lloyd straightened in his chair and listened carefully.
"Based on your family's financial situation, current food prices at the market, the tastes of your household, and countless other factors, an unknown outcome suddenly becomes something that can be reasonably predicted."
"But that's hardly precise," Lloyd said. "It's little more than theory."
"Which is why it's deduction, not prophecy."
The broker smiled.
"An imperfect deduction, certainly. Yet one still worth considering."
He spread his hands.
"This is what we've always done. We gather vast amounts of seemingly insignificant information. When needed, we sift through that archive and apply a measure of reasoning."
"To weave together a story that resembles the truth," Lloyd finished quietly.
The broker nodded.
"Exactly."
"We can construct a plausible narrative from countless angles. It may only be accurate within certain limits, but it remains reasonable. Shrike, however, is different. His story isn't reasonable at all. Or perhaps he is hiding something so deeply that the story itself refuses to fit together."
His smile faded.
"And that is enough to inspire both caution and fear."
Lloyd fell silent.
Several seconds passed before he finally spoke again.
"Your theory is sound. In principle, it could work. But in practice... it would be extraordinarily difficult. Perhaps impossible."
The sheer task of storing and retrieving that much information would be overwhelming. Not even the Purging Agency possessed such capabilities.
Unless...
Unless they actually could do it.
A thought occurred to him.
"So the rumors are true? Somewhere beneath this city, the Rats have built an archive? A place filled with every scrap of gossip and rumor imaginable?"
The broker did not answer directly.
"If you want deeper secrets, ask the Rat King. I'm merely an information broker."
Lloyd's pupils narrowed.
That statement carried far too many implications.
"Then the Rat King truly exists?"
The broker chuckled.
"Of course he does. Without his permission, do you think I'd be telling you any of this?"
He continued stroking the rat.
"Mr. Holmes, you're an interesting man. At least, the Rat King finds you interesting."
"Why?"
"You'll have to ask him."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
The answer came instantly.
Seeing the irritation flicker across Lloyd's face, the broker added:
"If the Rat King wishes to meet you, he'll come to you. Not the other way around."
He set the rat aside.
"Now then. Ask your question."
The small talk was over.
After a moment's consideration, Lloyd finally said,
"Smugglers. A group arrived from Florence recently. I want to know where they are."
The broker seemed to count something silently before answering.
"The time has come. You may pursue them now."
Lloyd blinked.
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Your previous customer was one of those Florentine smugglers. Assuming nothing unexpected happened, he's probably the man you're looking for."
Lloyd stared at him.
"Wait. Were you stalling for time?"
A nameless irritation surged within him.
"He's a valuable client too," the broker replied sincerely. "I couldn't very well sell him out immediately. At the end of the day, I'm still a businessman."
"No... this is far too convenient."
Lloyd's guard rose instantly.
Ever since finding Camus, it felt as though he had been drawn into a whirlpool he couldn't yet see.
"You're both valuable customers," the broker said. "Choosing which investment to support wasn't easy."
He smiled.
"So I thought of a better solution, Mr. Holmes."
"Prove which one of you is worth more."
Lloyd stared at him coldly.
Then the entire room lurched violently.
A thunderous explosion echoed from outside. Warm air rolled through the chamber. Somewhere in the distance, screams rose and faded.
"It seems your other customer wasn't such a respectable fellow after all."
The sound of gunfire erupted above.
The broker's expression instantly hardened.
He rushed outside.
Bodies were falling from overhead. They smashed into the narrow walkways, causing the entire structure to tremble. Blood sprayed through the air. Most of the victims plunged into the reservoir below, disappearing into the misty waters without a trace.
"What happened?"
The broker shouted at Camus.
But Camus clearly had no idea.
He was merely a drifter struggling to survive. He couldn't begin to understand why this miserable corner of the world was suddenly under attack.
A rain of bullets poured down from above.
Metal clashed against metal.
The rusted walkways shattered under the assault, swaying on the verge of collapse.
A rat scampered toward them, a red chain tied around its tail.
"Evacuate! Evacuate!"
The broker roared.
Truthfully, he didn't need to.
The Rats were already moving.
The underground labyrinth stretched in every direction. Over years of survival, they had dug countless tunnels throughout the depths.
Then the walkway gave way.
The entire structure, already built upon unstable foundations, began to collapse. The ground tilted sharply.
The broker seized a protruding beam to keep himself from falling.
Although there was water below, a fall from this height would be no different than striking solid stone.
For all his intelligence, he remained an ordinary man.
"Looks like your investment failed."
Lloyd's voice remained calm.
Like the broker, he gripped a support beam, yet showed no sign of panic. To him, this hardly qualified as danger.
The broker cursed inwardly.
Years of peaceful business had apparently made him forget a simple truth.
Sometimes clients preferred murder to negotiation.
"Damn Florentine bastards! None of them can be trusted!"
The furious outburst echoed through the chamber.
Lloyd paused awkwardly.
He knew the insult wasn't directed at him personally, but it still felt strange hearing it.
Above them, muzzle flashes flickered through the mist rising from the waterfall.
"We have to get out of here!"
Camus shouted.
Clinging to the structure, he began moving toward an intact section of walkway. If they could reach it, they might still escape.
Then fire rained from above.
Flames erupted around them, trapping the group.
"Shall we continue?"
High above, surrounded by the corpses of Rats, a servant asked quietly.
The Priest stared down into the chaos.
"Yes."
His voice was cold.
"I know how Old Dunling works. The deaths of a few people in the Lower District won't attract attention."
"But—"
"Enough."
The Priest cut him off sharply.
"Save your pathetic mercy. That mad New Pope is still hunting us. We must find the Apocalypse before he does. Only then can we reverse our disadvantage. Do you understand?"
The servant lowered his head.
The last of their spies within the Church had been eliminated.
Fortunately, before dying, they had managed to reveal Lawrence's location.
That single piece of information had given the Cardinals a sliver of hope.
"Continue."
The Priest's expression darkened.
"We cannot leave behind any trace. Not even witnesses among the rats."
He understood better than anyone how terrifying the New Pope truly was.
The networks and influence the Cardinals had spent decades building had collapsed almost overnight.
Even after escaping, the New Pope continued his relentless pursuit, denying them even a moment to breathe.
The servants obeyed.
From their elevated position, the Rats below were little more than targets.
Gunfire fell like a storm.
The bullets concentrated on the largest central structure. Ironically, the collapsing terrain shielded those trapped below from direct fire, but flames continued to rain down.
Eventually, they would burn alive.
"Looks like your customer came specifically to kill you."
Lloyd observed.
The attacks were becoming increasingly focused.
The target was obvious.
The Information Broker.
The broker said nothing.
His mind raced desperately.
But no amount of calculation could compensate for the weakness of mortal flesh.
Suddenly, Lloyd grabbed him by the collar.
"Tell the Rat King," the detective shouted, "that I'm interested in him too!"
The broker stared blankly.
For a moment, he wondered whether the detective had finally gone insane.
Then he felt weightless.
The world spun.
The scene blurred.
Lloyd was rapidly shrinking in the distance while the nearest walkway rushed toward him.
The madman had thrown him.
Actually thrown him.
The broker slammed onto the walkway.
Pain exploded through his body.
Yet this was hardly the time to question where Lloyd had acquired such monstrous strength.
He scrambled to his feet and sprinted across the trembling structure.
Camus followed close behind.
The moment he landed, however, the walkway groaned with the sound of imminent collapse.
A few steps later, it broke apart completely.
Fortunately, he escaped in time, crashing directly into the broker and knocking him over.
But now Lloyd had no escape route.
He remained trapped within the burning center of the ruin.
The broker turned back.
Lloyd was looking at him.
The detective seemed to be saying something.
The distance was too great to hear.
Reading his lips, the broker muttered,
"Stay... where you are?"
What did that even mean?
In the broker's eyes, Lloyd was already doomed.
Yet the detective suddenly started running.
The impossible unfolded before him.
From the very beginning, Lloyd had never intended to escape.
He had planned to counterattack.
The figure leapt forward with breathtaking speed.
It was strength that surpassed human limits entirely.
Each landing shattered another fragile walkway beneath him.
One after another, the elevated passages collapsed.
Yet Lloyd sprinted across the disintegrating network as though racing atop a falling world.
His destination was the summit.
The gunmen finally recognized the threat.
They concentrated their fire.
Bullets screamed through the air, but none could match Lloyd's speed.
He moved like a storm unleashed.
Crude ladders built by the Rats crisscrossed the towering walls of the cavern.
Lloyd vaulted onto them without hesitation.
At that moment, he was exhilarated.
Only minutes ago he had been wondering how to locate the smugglers.
Now they had delivered themselves directly into his hands.
Beneath that excitement lingered caution.
Ordinary smugglers did not possess this level of firepower.
Nor did they conduct business with the Rats.
Their identities were clearly far more complicated.
No matter.
Once he reached the top, every mystery would reveal itself.
The gunmen intensified their assault.
Bullets shattered the rotten wooden ladders ahead of him.
Lloyd cleared the gaps effortlessly.
Learning from their mistakes, the gunmen destroyed every remaining ladder further up.
Suddenly, there was nowhere left to land.
A pale flash split the darkness.
His sword-cane stabbed deep into the wall.
Suspended above the abyss, Lloyd hung from the embedded blade.
He was close enough now to see the fear on the gunmen's faces.
Like Death itself racing toward them.
Using the sword-cane as a pivot, Lloyd swung forward.
At that moment, the Priest seized a rifle.
This time, there would be no escape.
The gunshot rang out.
The bullet struck.
Yet it was deflected by the sword-cane.
The impact, however, robbed Lloyd of his momentum.
His body stalled in midair.
The last of his forward force vanished.
All he could do was watch as the gunmen retreated into the darkness.
Then gravity claimed him.
He plunged downward into the reservoir below.