Could the obsession with looks trace back to the Ancient Sun God? But wasn't He supposed to be more of a science-and-engineering type?
Vincent was still turning the question over in his mind when a hesitant voice came from behind him.
"Excuse me…"
A young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four stood there, fingers twisted together, clearly working up the courage to speak. His eyebrows were plucked thin, brown hair fell to his shoulders, and his features, while not particularly coarse, were dusted with cheap cosmetics — a combination that gave an oddly incongruous impression.
Without any need for his spiritual instinct, Vincent could see plainly that this man was in the grip of some pressing need. He offered a polite smile. "Can I help you?"
"Good afternoon, miss. I… I overheard just now that you can help people sort out their troubles?"
"More precisely — I find the right person to sort out your troubles for you."
Vincent corrected the phrasing, then asked, "So. Have you run into some trouble?"
"Yes."
The young man nodded repeatedly. "A very good friend of mine was arrested not long ago. She stood up for someone who was being bullied, and in the process accidentally broke a thug's leg. Now she's in prison for it."
His expression grew agitated. "She's a good person. She doesn't deserve this kind of injustice. What I want to know is — can you get her out?"
Vincent blinked. "When you say 'get her out' — you don't mean breaking her out of prison, do you?"
The young man flinched and looked around hurriedly, waving his hands. "No, no! I've heard that if you can find a good barrister, there's a real chance of keeping her out of prison. The trouble is, I have no way of getting anywhere near one."
"So — could you help me with this?"
"Of course!"
Vincent said it immediately, with a smile. Now this is textbook Broker work.
"May I ask your name?"
The young man nodded quickly. "My name is Sherman. And my friend is called Hugh — Hugh Dierchle."
Hugh Dierchle?
In all of Backlund, there was really only one person by that name — and if Vincent wasn't mistaken, she was the one who stood at just under five feet tall.
What a coincidence.
In the original novel, Hugh's first appearance was precisely this: imprisoned for breaking someone's leg. It was Fors who, in trying to free her, made contact with Backlund's Diamond — Audrey Hall — through Viscount Glaint. That was how the two of them first became acquainted.
As it turned out, Fors wasn't the only one working to get Hugh out. Sherman, though — Vincent had no memory of that name from the source material. Probably a character who never appeared in the original story.
Vincent knew that Hugh would be released soon enough with Audrey's help. But a ready-made opportunity for roleplay was not something to pass up without reason.
At that moment, Sherman grew visibly uncomfortable, dropping his gaze. "Miss — I've been told that barristers charge quite a lot…"
He drew a crumpled wad of banknotes from his pocket. "I have twenty-one pounds and eight sous in total. I don't know if it's enough, but it's every penny I have."
He held it all out without a moment's hesitation.
Well. You can see clearly enough how much he cares about Hugh Dierchle. But handing over your entire life savings to a stranger you've known for less than five minutes — isn't that just a touch naive?
Vincent reached out and took a single one-pound note. "All I need is a broker's fee," he said with a mild smile. "The barrister I find for you will set their own terms. But rest assured — once I've taken your money, I'll do everything in my power to bring you both together."
Sherman immediately bowed in gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Vincent stood. "Right, then. I'm going to get to work. I'll have news for you soon."
"Wait — where do I find you afterwards?" Sherman's face flickered with a belated wariness, as though he'd only now considered the possibility that she might be a con artist — though the fact that she'd only taken one pound made that seem unlikely.
"Right here."
…
Leaving the Bravehearts' Tavern, Vincent took a hired cab back to the Caesar Restaurant. The moment he saw Vivienne, he slipped into his Bernadette mode. "Vivienne — do you know any reliable barristers?"
"A few. Several of Backlund's senior barristers are regular patrons of the restaurant. I'd say I'm on familiar terms with three or four of them, but only one could really be called a friend."
She smiled. "Your Majesty has actually met him."
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "The pipe-smoking man at the party last night — the one looking for an assistant?"
"That's right. His name is Dring. He runs Dring & Associates, and whenever I run into a legal matter I can't handle myself, I go to him." She added quickly, "Though he doesn't know my true identity."
"Understood." Vincent gave a small nod. "I need him to do me a small favour. I can just drop your name when I go, yes?"
"Allow me to go on your behalf."
"No need. Just give me his address."
Twenty minutes later, Vincent was standing on Compton Street in the Joywood District, in front of a modest but respectable building. Above the door, a gold sign read: DRING & ASSOCIATES, BARRISTERS-AT-LAW.
Vincent stepped forward and knocked.
The door opened promptly. A fair-haired man in his mid-forties stood in the doorway, a pipe clamped between his teeth and a professionally pleasant smile on his face. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"
"The landlady sent me."
"Oh?"
Barrister Dring stepped back. "Please, come in."
Once they were seated, a maid appeared with two cups of hot coffee. Dring drew on his pipe and asked, "Now then, miss — what brings you to see me?"
"I'd like to put some business your way."
"…???"
"I'm a broker — someone who specialises in connecting people and solving problems. Whatever someone needs, whatever difficulty they find themselves in, I locate the right person to resolve it." Vincent settled into the role smoothly, adding a small smile. "I recently took on a client who needs me to find him a reliable barrister."
"Ah." Dring looked mildly surprised. "The brokers I know tend to operate in the grey — dealing with matters that can't exactly be brought into the light. Intelligence trading, mostly."
"You're not wrong. But this is the 'City of Hope,' after all. How much grey can there really be? A girl has to make a living somehow."
Dring broke into a laugh. "That's the best joke I've heard all month. So — what's the case?"
Vincent laid it out with a wave of his hand. "A young woman of some courage stood up for a commoner who was being victimised. In doing so, she broke a thug's leg. She's now in prison for it."
He gave a brief account of the details.
"And you need me to get her out?" The barrister pulled on his pipe and shook his head slowly. "That's not a straightforward matter. However you dress it up, it was a serious act of violence."
Vincent's spiritual instinct stirred. He thought for a moment, then said, "I understand you're looking for a barrister to serve as your assistant. An actual qualified barrister."
Dring's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Was it the landlady who told you that? And you think you can help with that too?"
"Of course. Though I'm curious — why does it have to be a qualified barrister? If you really need one so urgently, have you not considered training someone yourself?"
"There isn't time."
Dring sighed. "I'll be leaving Backlund before long. I only hope that before I go, I can get to the bottom of something I've wondered about for years — and that particular something requires the assistance of a lawyer."
"So the barrister's assistant position is just a pretext?"
Dring smiled. "Not entirely. My years of experience as a senior barrister are perfectly genuine. If whoever I take on actually wants to learn, I'm more than happy to pass on everything I know."
"I understand." Vincent considered for a moment. "I can have someone to you by tomorrow morning at the latest. What's my cut?"
Dring laughed warmly. "I'll handle the assault case at no charge, and pay you a hundred pounds on top of that. How does that sound?"
A smile spread across Vincent's face. "Done."
The smile wasn't about the money. It was because — in that very instant — the Broker potion had given the faintest, unmistakable shift of loosening.
Something clicked into place. This is what a Broker actually is. Not simply connecting people to close individual deals — but weaving together person after person who would never otherwise have crossed paths. Small links building into large ones, a network growing ever wider.
And at the centre of that web: the Broker.
The moment that understanding settled in Vincent's mind, the potion began to digest.
To be continued…