Chapter 2: The Newcomer's Misfortune

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The butler wrote in the letter that the travel expenses were enclosed in another envelope. When Roland went to the board office to inquire, he indeed received that... half a crown (two and a half shillings). Although Yam said that with someone like Thales Collins, it was unlikely to receive a noisy clinking letter. Inside, there was probably a quiet gold sovereign (£1) lying obediently with the stationery—otherwise, it wouldn’t be dignified. Now, looking at it, even the half crown wouldn’t jingle. The rose and clover on it were almost worn smooth.

“Enough for your carriage! By the grace of God! You greedy blind boy, to extort from me?”
“Do you know why poor old Collins didn’t put the money in the letter sent to you? Because there are thieves and robbers among your kind!”
“If you insist it’s more than half a crown, then I’ll have to speak with the sheriff. Many children’s hands have passed through it since I received the letter.”

Roland understood the meaning behind that last sentence. So, he pocketed the coin he had tossed onto the table, tapped his wooden cane quietly, and left.

Yam could no longer take leave; she arranged for another child to accompany Roland, so he could walk as far as possible before taking a carriage.

“Will you come back, Roland?”
The boy, thin-limbed but with a disproportionately large head, asked innocently.
“I don’t know,”
Roland replied. Wearing work trousers and a checkered shirt sewn by Yam, the handsome youth stood at the crossroads, his withered-leaf-colored eyes sparkling enchanting under the sunlight.

Several girls had noticeably slowed their pace. Pretending to fix their hair, gaze at shop windows, or look for someone, their eyes all focused on Roland’s eyes, nose, and lips—those greedy looks bewildered the young boy accompanying him.

But it didn’t last long.

When their gaze shifted away from his face to take in the whole figure, they noticed Roland’s patched-up clothes and outdated round-toe work shoes that were far too big. Their eyes scattered immediately, letting the handsome youth vanish into the roar of machines and drifting dust.

“There’s a carriage ahead, Roland.”
Roland patted the boy’s head and walked toward the bustling public carriage station.

...

The farther he went, the more he moved from desolation to prosperity.

The information Roland received grew denser: fabric brushing, cane tapping, whispered conversations, the fresh scent of ink in the wind, metallic jingling of keys in coat pockets, and muffled curses as leather shoes stepped into puddles.

Breath mingled with biting wind.

Slippery cobblestones jostled the carriage, making it shake. The gaps between axles were wide enough that when the carriage jolted, passengers almost felt it was about to fall apart.

Of course, all these sounds were drowned out by the rhythmic pounding of hooves and the clatter of wheels.

Speaking of the Collins family, they were not exactly nobility locally. The elder Collins’ life’s work began and ended with port business—renting out fishing boats. He was very old, riddled with ailments, and rumor had it his son died under the hooves of a horse.

Recently, he was hardly seen at banquets.

When Roland arrived at the Collins estate, the butler, Seth Will, was already waiting at the door. Before the carriage stopped, the sturdy middle-aged man stepped forward quickly and, once the wheels halted, firmly supported Roland’s arm.

He stared at the simple blind cane for a moment and whispered, “Please come with me. The master is already waiting...”

The mansion stood just behind him.

For Roland, who had rarely traveled far, this place was undoubtedly fresh and new.

Everywhere.

Like stepping on soft carpets, the smooth floors that didn’t creak, the courtyard fragrant with flowers, servants greeting respectfully.

Perhaps more importantly: there was no stench of manure.

It was like another world.

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He was led through four or five doors, like walking deeper into a forest—growing quieter.

Until he “saw” his father—Thales Collins—and Roland suddenly realized:

This man was absolutely not as haggard as the rumors suggested.

His footsteps were steady, his voice loud, and he carried an overwhelming scent of blood—far from the description of “old and sickly.” His voice rang like a great bell struck by a stone.

He said only three sentences to Roland.

Or rather, three commands:

First: Take good care of your sister and be responsible for her treatment every night.

Second: Do not leave the Collins estate, and avoid causing trouble.

Third: From today on, you must change your name to William, William Collins. Stop using that vulgar name someone gave you and don’t bring poverty into the Collins family.

These three sentences blocked all the questions Roland had prepared on the way.

Which was... fine.

The servants arranged his room next to his sister’s—Nina Collins—on the second floor. Just walk along the soft carpet to the end, and it’s the second room.

“Treatment starts tonight.” The butler gently helped him into a chair, took his cane, and poured tea. “I will prepare a finer cane more fitting to your status.”

“Mr. Seth.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roland shook his head, his gaze fixed. “I want to ask, the ‘treatment’ the master mentioned, and you said ‘starting tonight’—”

Seth smiled. “It’s the treatment for Miss Nina. She is ill with a rare, malignant disease hidden within her body. Every night, some impure blood must be drawn. The master has inquired of the church; only someone with the same bloodline can do this—you see, a father who just lost his son is clearly unfit.”

“When Miss Nina’s condition improves, we will discuss your matters.”

“Is that so?”

So this was the reason I came here.

Roland nodded obediently, asking nothing about himself. “I will do what I must.”

“No need to be so formal.” Seth stood up, carefully dusted the shoulders of his coat, and stepped back. “Lunch will be ready soon—by the way, I don’t recommend you visit Miss Collins just yet.”

“Is there a problem?”

“None at all, just a suggestion.”

The butler said this and left, closing the door behind him.

Roland sat quietly for a while, until no other sound could be heard.

His brows furrowed.

Without eyes, his nose became sensitive. Everything seemed to follow some kind of balance—Roland’s nose was sharp, so he smelled it.

The butler, the servants...

He smelled it.

Their scent of blood was the same as old Collins’.

Which meant.

These people participated in the “treatment” today?

Wasn’t it said only blood relatives could do this?

Or did the blood come from somewhere else?

It was not the scent of pig’s blood or fish blood commonly found in the market.

Roland lightly tapped his knee with his fingers, feeling strange.

Yes...

The more he thought, the stranger it became.

Especially those servants—

Their greetings and answers were too uniform.

As if...

As if they were...

All one person.

This thought made the hairs on Roland’s skin stand on end. It seemed countless eyes appeared around him, slowly crawling out of the darkness to stare.

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Roland shivered.

Alas.

Yam.

You’ve told me too many forbidden stories.

Roland coughed hard several times to dispel the chill, then stood up, holding onto the chair.

First...

He would see his sister.

Nina Collins.

Her room was right next door.

Roland twisted the door handle and felt along the wall until he touched the peculiar door latch.

The door was locked from the outside?

Roland tapped the metal bolt...

“Miss Collins.”

Roland stood outside.

“Miss Collins, I am—”

Bang!

A loud noise came from inside the room.

“Miss Collins? Are you in there?”

Bang.

“Miss Collins?”

Bang.

As if responding to his voice.

Roland hesitated for a few seconds, fumbled, and carefully removed the bolt, gently pushing the door.

The rusty hinges creaked harshly.

As soon as the door opened a crack, a disgusting stench hit him.

He nearly vomited.

It was a mix of feces and rotting flesh, with several flies taking advantage of his retreat slipping out from the crack.

Roland thought he had seen the world, but this smell truly stunned his mind.

Too foul.

Even worse than where he lived.

Covering his nose and trying to endure, he called out again:

“Miss Collins?”

Bang.

This time, the sound was clear.

There was indeed someone inside.

After hesitating outside for a while, Roland took a deep breath and stepped inside.

There was no carpet in this room.

Besides the buzzing swarm of flies, there was a deathly silence in the darkness.

“Miss Collins?”

Roland whispered.

After a moment, a hoarse female voice replied.

“You’re the new unlucky one?”