The inn's wooden stairs groaned underfoot, and Holmes and Watson were assigned a double room at the end of the second-floor hallway.
The room was small but reasonably tidy, with simple furnishings: two single beds with bedside tables, a desk, a wardrobe, and a very small private bathroom.
The walls were covered in faded floral wallpaper, and a window looked out onto the inn's back alley, offering a view of a courtyard cluttered with debris and sparse shrubbery at the edge of the town in the distance.
It was typical budget inn decor; the only "decoration" was a hardcover booklet on the bedside table, its cover printed with the sign of The Golden Fleece Inn and a miniature black goat insignia.
Creak—
Holmes quickly closed the door, and the lock emitted a dull click.
He did not turn on the lights, but instead walked immediately to the window to observe outside; the back alley was empty, save for a few sparrows hopping around the trash bins.
He then checked that the latch was secure and cautiously pulled the worn, beige curtains halfway shut, ensuring that no one outside could easily peer into the room.
After completing this series of actions, Holmes turned to Watson, made a hush gesture, and began to inspect the room with dizzying speed.
He first walked a quick circle around the room, then crouched to check under the beds, tapped the walls and floor to listen for echoes, and carefully examined the door lock and the gaps in the door frame.
He even picked up the inn's booklet, quickly flipped through it, and set it down, then picked up the ceramic kettle on the table to check its interior and base, before turning over the glasses inverted on the tray to examine them carefully against the light.
His gaze swept across the corners of the ceiling, behind the wardrobe, and the base of the wall lamps; he even checked behind the radiator and the gaps in the curtain hooks, finally resting on the smoke detector on the ceiling.
He pulled over the chair from the desk, stood on it, tapped the smoke detector's plastic casing extremely lightly with his knuckles, and tilted his head to listen.
Watson leaned against the window, watching Holmes perform this "security sweep" ritual, which he was already familiar with, without interrupting.
A few seconds later, Holmes stepped down from the chair and shook his head at Watson.
"Temporarily safe. No obvious listening or surveillance devices," Holmes said in a very low voice.
Watson breathed a sigh of relief, leaned his cane against the bed, and sat down wearily on the bed by the window, the mattress emitting a slight creak.
"Good God, Sherlock, this feels even more nerve-wracking than being on the front lines."
"Relax, Watson. Maintaining vigilance is good, but there's no need to put too much mental pressure on yourself."
Holmes walked over to the other bed and sat down.
"Tell me your initial impressions."
"Bewildered. Time has jumped over one hundred and twenty years, even further back than the date of our last case; we're like primitives who have stumbled into a future world."
"That tour guide, Mark, is already fanatical in his belief in the so-called 'mother goddess black goat'."
"And that VIP card—it glowed in your hand. That strange sheep-shaped insignia is everywhere in this town. What on earth is it?"
"A symbol, a totem, a... faith?"
Holmes lay on the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"Tour guide Mark's narrative is full of inducement and bias; he promotes to people that the 'sheep god' is the 'mother goddess', but that 'freelance writer' Lika claims that the 'mother goddess' usurped and replaced the 'sheep god'."
"Lika!"
Watson recalled that capable female writer.
"She didn't seem to see the anomaly with the card, but she appeared to notice your pause."
"And, Sherlock, I noticed..." He hesitated for a moment, "Under her trench coat, it looked like there was a holster?"
A nearly imperceptible arc tugged at the corner of Holmes's mouth: "Your observational skills have improved, Watson."
"Yes, the outline of a well-designed leather holster; it's highly likely a handgun. Her stance and the distribution of her center of gravity all indicate a solid foundation in combat or tactical training."
"When she introduced herself, her smile was perfect, but there was scrutiny deep in her eyes. She was evaluating us, just as we were evaluating her."
"Is she friend or foe?" Watson felt a shiver.
"It's too early to draw a conclusion."
Holmes shook his head, his expression grave.
"Her target seems to be the Carnival, or more accurately, what is hidden behind the Carnival. She also seems to possess some unique intelligence; she might belong to some... organization that handles such special incidents."
Watson scratched his head: "Doesn't that align with our goal? Should we cooperate with her?"
"On the surface, yes, but her methods, the nature of her organization, her ultimate goal, and whether she would sacrifice 'outsiders' like us to achieve her objectives are all unknowns."
"The fact that she withheld the vast majority of information from us shows that she doesn't fully trust us, or that she has her own considerations."
"Remember, Watson, before figuring out her true stance and intentions, maintain vigilance. Do not lower your guard just because we have a common enemy; her 'rhetoric' is also a weapon."
"I understand." Watson nodded solemnly.
"What about Anna? That somewhat reckless young girl..." Watson recalled the girl's sunny smile and clumsy demeanor, instinctively feeling she didn't seem like a bad person. "She looks just like a cheerful, ordinary girl."
"Anna..."
Holmes pondered for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed, seemingly finding it difficult to judge.
"Her behavior is consistent with that of a simple, cheerful, but somewhat clumsy young tourist."
"When the anomaly with the VIP card occurred, there were no traces of abnormality in her reaction; she seemed completely unaware of what was special about the card she was holding."
"Although her winning experience, at this eerie point in time, seems overly coincidental, but... for now, she herself seems more like an ordinary person who was inadvertently drawn into the vortex, a variable."
"As for her, just maintain observation and provide necessary protection; she does not pose a threat for the time being."
Watson nodded: "Then, Sherlock, regarding this incident... do you have any leads?"
"Leads? I have some fragments, but they are far from forming a complete picture."
"The greatest possibility, without a doubt, is this Carnival celebration that reeks of dissonance everywhere. The invitation, the guide's promotion, and the omnipresent insignia all point the focus toward the float parade on November 4th."
"Including this afternoon, we have three and a half days left. Collect as many clues as possible and be prepared to deal with whatever might happen."
The room fell into a brief silence.
The sunlight from outside the window cast a long, narrow beam of light onto the floor through the gap in the curtains, with tiny dust motes floating in the air.
The clamor on the surface of the town seemed to be cut off by the thick walls, leaving only the sound of the two men's clear heartbeats and their surging thoughts.
"Regardless," Holmes stood up and adjusted his shirt cuffs. "Information gathering is the first step."
"It's lunchtime, which is an excellent opportunity to gather information."
"Remember, we are ordinary tourists from London who are full of curiosity about exotic cultures. Keep your eyes open, your ears sharp, and your mouth shut."
"Understood." Watson also stood up and picked up his cane, feeling the heavy weight of the staff; the hidden blade and blood-drop gem inside were some of his greatest sources of reliance at this moment.
"I hope the landlady's so-called 'Novit specialty roast meat' lives up to its name; I feel like I could eat an entire cow right now."
The corners of Holmes's mouth seemed to twitch upward ever so slightly, serving as a response.
...
Walking down the stairs, the intense aroma of roasted meat mixed with the scent of spices rushed to meet them, instantly activating their taste buds.
The restaurant was small, with seven or eight square tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, most of which were already occupied.
The voices were boisterous; the clatter of knives and forks, the sound of conversation, and laughter intertwined, filled with the relaxation and anticipation of having arrived on a journey.
The walls were likewise decorated with wool ball and black goat insignia ornaments, and an old wall-mounted television was silently playing a promotional video for the local Carnival, with footage of the dazzling splendor of past float parades.
Watson spotted Anna at a glance.
Anna was sitting at a four-person table by the window, waving at them energetically with a bright smile on her face.
She had changed into a clean, bright yellow T-shirt, which made her look even more youthful and vibrant; the little episode on the bus had long been cast to the back of her mind.
Sitting opposite her was none other than Lika.
Lika had taken off her trench coat and was wearing a well-fitting white shirt; her dark chestnut short hair was neat and refreshing, with a notebook and a pen spread out in front of her, and her camera placed on the corner of the table.
When she saw Holmes and Watson, she also offered a perfectly appropriate welcoming smile.
"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Watson! Over here, over here! I saved you a seat!"