Chapter Eight: The Familiar Horse Brush

“Damn it, you followed me all the way here?” The tall Soley was the first to react, beginning to grasp what was happening.

“Who is he?”

Conrad, lacking any experience with the Black Hats, whispered his question to Murray, who was still slumped over the bridge’s railing.

“Don’t come near me, or you’ll regret it,” Murray groaned, clutching his stomach, ignoring Conrad’s question as he watched the shadow opposite them warily. “The laundry bill’s going to be outrageous.”

Black Hat Anderson kept a few meters’ distance from the three, motionless.

A pitch-black cat slid down from his shoulder, leaped lightly onto the bridge’s railing, its green eyes gleaming in the dim light. It approached the three along the railing, sniffed at Murray’s sleeve closest to the edge, let out a soft meow, then retreated.

It took up a position atop the first wooden bear at the bridgehead, looking down on the three bounty hunters.

“Look what we’ve got here—cat got your tongue?” Conrad quipped, though his hunter’s instincts finally sensed danger. He whispered to Soley, who was already retrieving another mist scroll from his coat, “What does this guy want?”

Soley replied, “Black Hat Anderson. Haven’t you heard of him?”

Conrad finally realized the gravity of the situation. The man before them could very well be the infamous Anderson, the butcher who rose through the ranks by killing bounty hunters.

Only he would dare target a band of desperados.

Conrad’s plump face instantly grew tense, beads of sweat gathering on his brow.

Soley gritted his teeth. “We could launch a surprise attack. We have one mist scroll left.”

“We’re unarmed,” Murray shook his head.

“What else can we do?” Soley said coldly, keeping his gaze fixed on Anderson’s silhouette. “If we can’t win, we run. Once we cross the bridge, we’ll be safe.”

Behind them lay the Stevenson estate, where guards or night watchmen surely patrolled. They were working for young master Carlos of the Stevenson family; they had no reason to turn a blind eye.

Murray’s face grew pale. “That damned mist—if I breathe in another whiff, I’m done for.”

While the three were still debating, the Black Hat was already preparing to act.

Through the thinning morning fog, Murray saw the figure across from them draw two gleaming triangular blades from his sleeves.

He slipped one into his hand, then the other.

The man’s sleeves billowed.

Murray’s pupils contracted sharply; he understood what his opponent was about to do. Instinctively, he shoved the gray stone meant to be exchanged for gold into Conrad’s coat and pushed him away, shouting, “Run!”

In moments like these, swift legs meant everything.

As Murray turned, he caught a glimpse of the sun—the other man had just emerged from the dawn clouds.

For a split second, the short man halted, his weathered face laid bare in despair.

He hadn’t the time to reflect on his foolish bounty hunting life.

A triangular steel blade buried itself in his vest.

…

In April, spring arrived late.

When the morning sun first crested the horizon, icicle spikes hung thick outside the window.

Carlos rolled out of bed; usually he slept until the sun’s warmth touched his backside, waking only when its gentle rays caressed him.

Bang! Bang!

The rhythmic knock startled him awake. He had no choice but to throw on his clothes and open the door.

Led by a servant to the spacious downstairs parlor, Carlos found Mori Stevenson seated by the hearth, warming himself. Derryht stood behind him, offering Carlos a faint smile and a meaningful glance as he shuffled in, still bleary-eyed.

Once Carlos was seated, his father got straight to the point.

“Something was stolen from the alchemy room last night.”

Carlos feigned surprise. “Oh? What was taken?”

Derryht watched Carlos’ calm expression with interest, as if searching his younger brother’s youthful face for a clue. He suspected Carlos was involved.

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Carlos shot his brother Derryht a glare, then cleared his throat. “Father, what is this Philosopher’s Stone?”

Mori lifted his eyelids, gazing at Carlos until his son grew uneasy. Finally, he said, “It’s a treasure to alchemists, but to others it’s just trash—not valuable, nor easy to sell. Old Du Bouy cares about it; he came here early this morning asking us to help find it.”

Carlos glanced around. “Did Mr. Du Bouy come? Where is he?”

The man who always lived in the alchemy hut, whom Carlos had never met, had surprisingly visited this morning. Carlos’ eyes sparkled with delight.

Mori replied coolly, “He was affected by the mist scroll, but luckily there were ingredients in the alchemy room. He quickly made an antidote and left.”

Carlos felt a pang of regret.

He asked, “Oh, so the stone’s been found? Why did you call me, Father?”

Mori was silent for a moment. “It’s not over yet.”

“What’s not over?”

Mori stared intently at Carlos. “Someone impersonated a Black Hat and killed a man on the Wooden Bear Bridge.”

Carlos’ face remained unchanged. “So the victim was the thief who stole the Philosopher’s Stone? Why say ‘impersonated’? Perhaps it was a real Black Hat. Catching criminals is their job.”

“There are indeed some overly zealous Black Hats who might do such a thing.”

Carlos nodded in agreement.

Mori sneered, his tone loaded, “But they lack the courage and skill to act right under the night watchmen’s noses. Moreover, Derryht just brought back something from the crime scene on the bridge…”

Carlos always felt his father calculated everything, and with that silver hair, he was like an old fox.

Now Carlos felt he was being outmaneuvered.

Derryht pulled an item from his coat and tossed it onto the table.

A rubber horse brush.

An old, worn horse brush—what could it mean?

Carlos stared at the brush, puzzled. After a moment, he realized something was off. It looked so familiar.

Crime scene.

Horse brush.

Suddenly, Carlos understood, and his face darkened as if covered in soot.

“If you can’t even manage such details, you shouldn’t be running amok out there. Old Du Bouy went to your room this morning. If it’s just basic alchemy, he’s willing to repay the favor by helping retrieve the stone.”

Hearing this, Carlos quickly left.

On the surface, he left in shame after being exposed by his elders.

Inside, he was delighted—things hadn’t gone perfectly, but the result was as he’d hoped.

It was a successful scheme.

He’d tried many ways before, but could never get close to that odd alchemy hut. Each time, he was chased out of the grove by swarms of crows or driven off by strange balls of lightning.

Even sneaking around the back, two damned big white dogs would stretch their necks and bark wildly beneath the window!

Previously, the town rarely saw outsiders, so his plans couldn’t be carried out.

This time, everything fell into place.

There was only one regret: being caught in the act by his father. Thinking of how earnestly he’d feigned ignorance, he felt mortified.

Carlos glanced up at the rising sun, his face twisted in barely suppressed rage.

He rushed to the backyard, where Uncle Grant was scratching his head over something. Carlos flung the rubber horse brush at him and snapped, “If you’re out killing, do you really need to bring a horse brush?”

Grant was overjoyed at the sight of the brush.

“Finally found it!”

“Double the bounty for the two survivors, except for the bounty hunter who died from the mist,” Carlos shouted at Grant, then strode off. After a few steps, he turned and added, “Next time, leave the horse brush at home!”