Letters and Rewards

Garrick and Elyon nursed their drinks in the black market's bar until they felt slightly tipsy. Around 7 o'clock in the evening, they left the black market and headed back to the precinct.

Elyon, who wasn't accustomed to visiting the precinct at night, noticed the gas lamps were already lit, casting a warm glow. Inside the two-story building, only the reception hall and the patrolmen's room on the ground floor were illuminated.

Stepping inside, they saw Officer Green, whom Elyon had met at his welcoming party, lounging back in his chair with a dark blue constable's cap over his face, his left hand resting on his stomach and his right hand gripping his baton on his belt.

"We'll tread lightly, let's go," Garrick whispered, leading Elyon back to the clerks' office on the ground floor.

Settling into the familiar desk, Elyon pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer and began drafting a letter to Councillor Carter. Across from him, Garrick turned over a blank case report and started weaving a story.

Elyon struggled to find polished, courteous phrases to fill the page before him, while Garrick scribbled away with ease.

"Mr. Garrick, you seem quite adept at this?"

"Little Elyon, have you forgotten what I told you this morning? No one really reads these reports; just sketch out the bare bones. Let's hustle and enjoy our weekend."

While the two were busy fabricating their tale, a shadow pushed open the door.

"You gentlemen still here?"

Startled, Elyon snapped his head towards the door, feeling like a child caught in the act of secret play. Disheveled Officer Green stood at the entrance, a cigarette in hand.

"I took young Elyon to the docks tonight, and we bumped into a petty thief. Just wrapping up some paperwork now. I certainly don't want to drag this into the weekend," Garrick explained, winking at Elyon as he passed his desk.

"Got any smokes left, Green? Toss me one."

Green reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a tin cigarette case, handing one to Garrick.

"Let's step outside for a smoke, get some fresh air, and not corrupt young Elyon here," Garrick said, leading Green out to the precinct's front yard.

After Elyon finished the letter, he slipped it into a stiff paper envelope and addressed it to Councillor Carter at 20 Maple Street, King's District. Searching for a stamp, he eventually found a roll in the pen holder on the opposite desk and affixed the cheapest five franc stamp, suitable for local delivery.

The envelope featured King Charles II, who was rumored to be balding, yet the portrait still showed him with a full head of hair. After sealing the envelope with wax and stamping it with the precinct's seal, Elyon pocketed the letter and stepped outside, where Garrick and Green were enjoying their cigarettes.

"Mr. Garrick, Mr. Green, I'll be heading home now."

"Alright, remember we have patrol duty tomorrow."

A large red mailbox stood just outside the police station, made of double-layered iron with a slot for letters and a larger hatch for parcels. Elyon dropped his letter in and walked home under the dim streetlights.

On Monday, amidst a mountain of routine paperwork, a knock came at the office door.

"Who is it? Come in, the door's unlocked," Elyon called without looking up, busy with the Monday workload that had piled up over the weekend.

With a creak, Officer Rumm pushed open the door, accompanied by a slim, elderly man dressed in a black tailcoat, a black bow tie, a white shirt, and carrying a black walking stick, his temples graced with snow-white hair.

"Please, come in, Chief Elyon is right here," Rumm said and left, as the old man stepped forward, closing the wooden door behind him.

"And you are?" Elyon asked, finding the old man faintly familiar but unable to place him.

"Elyon, sir, you may recall seeing me at Councillor Carter's banquet on July 9th. I am Marlow, the councillor's butler. Last weekend, the councillor received your letter mentioning the lost necklace had been found by you."

"Ah yes, that matter. Last week, along with Chief Garrick here, I encountered a scoundrel who seemed to be selling the necklace. It looked familiar, and as I was about to inquire, he fled, and the young lady's necklace was left behind," Elyon said, indicating Garrick nearby.

"Please, take a seat, Mr. Marlow. Would you like some tea? Perhaps a brew of Earl Grey?" Garrick offered, setting his pen down.

"No need to trouble yourselves. I have here a personal thank-you letter from Councillor Carter, as well as the reward money. Please verify the letter and the money, then return the necklace to me," Marlow requested, taking a seat and handing a thick envelope to Elyon.

Elyon examined the envelope, which was far more elaborate than those used by the precinct, adorned with complex patterns and sealed with Carter's private stamp. Inside, there was a thin sheet of paper and a stack of ten-pound notes.

Elyon skimmed the letter, which was filled with courteous thanks. He replaced the letter in the envelope and handed over the necklace, which Marlow inspected closely before carefully pocketing it. Standing, he shook hands with Elyon and Garrick.

"The councillor would be delighted to count such honest gentlemen among his acquaintances. Do visit us at 20 Maple Street when you have the chance."

"We certainly will," Garrick said, beaming as he ushered Marlow out. Then he turned to Elyon, who knew what was expected.

Elyon pulled three ten-pound notes from the envelope and handed them to Garrick, who whistled cheerfully at the currency in his hands before saying, "There's nothing like the face of Harold I to brighten a bad day. Why don't you check how much is left in the envelope? I suspect a butler delivering in person might mean more than the hundred pounds advertised in the paper."

Elyon counted the remaining notes—fifteen ten-pound notes. "Indeed, there's still one hundred fifty pounds left," he said, offering another twenty to Garrick.

"No need for more. I'm already fortunate to get thirty pounds from your windfall. It's not safe to keep so much cash on you. Remember to deposit it after work."

Banking was well established in the Kingdom of Brugge, with both state and private banks. Without an identity card era, private banks only required a bill or rental contract to open an account, whereas state banks demanded legal identification and offered slightly higher interest on deposits.

Looking at the 150 pounds in cash, Elyon decided to deposit it in a state bank. On Earth, there were enough stories about private banks running off with funds; he didn't want a similar tragedy here.