Chapter 39: Flower Moon Street

It was a copy of the Imperial Capital Morning Post. It had been folded twice, and the front-page headline was set in large, bold lead type:

"Third Expeditionary Force to the New Continent Loses Contact; Ministry of Colonial Affairs Denies Connection to 'Indigenous Anomalies'"

After confirming the man had actually gotten off the train, Richard picked up the newspaper and unfolded it.

The wording of the main article was perfectly noncommittal:

"The expeditionary force lost contact with the rear over six weeks ago, following its advance into the central plateau of the New Continent.

"A spokesperson for the force stated that the communication breakdown may be related to the harsh local climate and terrain, and that a second support team is currently being organized.

"Regarding recent public rumors of so-called indigenous anomalies, the spokesperson issued a denial, stating that there are no circumstances beyond the normal scope."

Richard silently read the passage twice.

"No circumstances beyond the normal scope." It faintly echoed the conclusion of that government report from decades ago.

The phrasing was always this watertight—flawlessly denying everything while explaining absolutely nothing.

He scanned further down the page.

Page three was a dense, crowded mix of domestic news and advertisements.

One small ad was squeezed right between the obituaries and the medicine ads:

"Madam Marie the Medium — The Imperial Capital's Most Accurate Spirit Channeler"

"All things may be asked; even the dead can speak."

"For appointments, please visit 17 Flower Moon Street. Closed on Sundays."

A mimeographed portrait accompanied the ad, taking up barely a square inch of the page.

The ink had bled around the edges; the print quality was barely better than the hemorrhoid cream ad next to it.

Yet even through the crude printing, the excellent contours of the subject's face were unmistakable.

She had a smooth jawline and a straight nose. The curve of her lips had been deliberately highlighted by the artist, tilting upward in a way that felt both languid and reserved.

For a cheap newspaper portrait, the face was almost excessively beautiful.

Richard stared at the advertisement for a moment.

In the seats diagonally across from him, two middle-aged men in gray plaid coats leaned in together, chatting.

One of them wore a felt hat. He had a rolled cigarette pinched between his fingers, completely oblivious to the cherry burning down to his skin.

"...That Madam Marie, you know about her, right?"

The man's voice rose and fell over the din of the third-class carriage.

Richard's hearing was sharper than most. Even across the aisle, he caught the bulk of it.

"She hangs a medium's sign out on Flower Moon Street, but behind closed doors..."

The man in the felt hat shifted his cigarette to the corner of his mouth and made a thoroughly vulgar gesture with his hands.

His companion chuckled, his voice dripping with sleaze:

"True enough. Those shops on Flower Moon Street might put crystal balls and candelabras out front, but everyone knows what goes on in the back rooms."

The man in the felt hat shook his head.

"That just means she's got skills. Whether it's fortune-telling or running a secret brothel, she keeps the big shots of the Imperial Capital perfectly happy. She can run public ads in the newspaper without anyone investigating her. You think she doesn't have someone powerful backing her?"

Their voices dropped lower then, and Richard only caught scattered fragments:

"...Count so-and-so..." "...the Police Department..." "...that business on Christmas Eve..." He couldn't piece together full sentences, but the meaning was clear enough.

Flower Moon Street.

Mediums, secret prostitution, a back garden for the rich and powerful, off-the-books gray transactions.

Richard committed the place to memory, along with the street number and that mimeographed portrait.

17 Flower Moon Street. Madam Marie the medium.

A renowned beauty in the Imperial Capital, an honored guest of the elite, and a public spirit channeler.

Judging by how the Warren Family had hired Mrs. MacNeil, most mediums preferred to keep a low profile and make their fortunes in silence.

This one in the Imperial Capital did the exact opposite. Not only did she put out newspaper ads, she even plastered her own portrait right on the page.

Either she was a complete fraud using her looks to reel in clients, or she had genuine abilities to back up such arrogance.

"What are you looking at?" Father peered at him with one eye over the edge of his newspaper.

"Just some Imperial Capital news." Richard flipped his paper back to the front page.

Father's gaze swept over the medium's advertisement, and he frowned.

"Those people are all charlatans."

"Yeah."

"That whole Flower Moon Street area is full of crooked dealings. Once we get to the Imperial Capital, don't go wandering off over there."

"Understood."

Hearing the exchange, his younger sister leaned over with a curious look.

"Madam Marie the Medium... 'All things may be asked; even the dead can speak.' This ad is way too exaggerated."

She leaned in a bit closer to study the portrait.

"Still, the woman in the drawing is quite pretty."

"She is."

"Are all the scammers in the Imperial Capital this good-looking? None of those fortune-telling old women back in Briston were easy on the eyes."

"Everything is expensive in the Imperial Capital. I suppose the bar for being a fraud is a bit higher too."

Evelyn tilted her head, quickly losing interest in the paper. She leaned back against the window to watch the scenery roll by.

Outside, the rolling hills were gradually flattening out. The fields were now divided by neat fences into massive farms.

On the distant horizon, the blurry silhouette of a city began to emerge.

There weren't many smokestacks. Instead, the silhouettes of church spires and bell towers formed a rising and falling skyline.

The Imperial Capital was drawing near.

...

It was past noon by the time the train pulled into the station.

The Imperial Capital Central Station was leagues beyond that old station back in Briston.

The cast-iron dome was absurdly high; craning his neck to look up at it left him sore.

There were over a dozen platforms. Steam locomotives squatted side by side at the end of the tracks, panting like a herd of black behemoths.

Passengers flooded out of the carriages, merging into a dense, surging crowd that pushed toward the exits.

Richard and his family were swept forward by the sea of people.

Unlike the drab, cramped feeling of Briston Central Station, everything in the Imperial Capital Station was scaled up several sizes.

The dome was higher, the corridors were wider, and even the cast-iron floral patterns on the pillars were more intricate.

The patterned stone floor tiles had been polished to a mirror shine by the hundreds of thousands of shoes passing over them daily.

Stepping out of the station's main doors, the streetscape of the Imperial Capital unfurled before them.

Neatly trimmed sycamores lined both sides of the street. Their trunks were painted with white lime, and their leaves rustled loudly in the autumn wind.

In the distance, the twin towers of a grand cathedral broke through the rooflines of the surrounding buildings. The crosses at their peaks gleamed blindingly in the afternoon sun.

There were far more carriages here than in Briston. Four-wheelers, two-wheelers, open-tops, and enclosed cabs wove through the streets in a steady stream.

Occasionally, an automobile would dart out from the pack of carriages, honking its horn with absolute authority.

Standing on the station steps, Evelyn couldn't take it all in fast enough.

"It's so big. So much bigger than Briston."

"...Didn't we come here last time?"

"We did, but I still can't get enough of it."

As she spoke, her gaze chased after a dark red four-wheeled carriage.

Its lacquered body was shiny enough to reflect a person's silhouette, and a family crest was traced in gold paint on the door.

The two black horses pulling it had sleek, glossy coats, and the brass buckles on their harnesses flashed in the sunlight.

A uniformed driver sat up on the box, the brim of his hat pulled low enough to show only his chin.

"How much do you think a carriage like that costs?" Evelyn asked, fully knowing she wouldn't get a real answer.

"Probably more than our house," Richard replied casually.