While the detective was sitting patiently on the train, waiting to arrive at Sodor Station, Grock had been laying the foundation for his schemes in the near future. Sigerson, as far as he was aware, would be his second priority; after all, the rebels had already received the news and information concerning the government's attempts to cover up its corruption. There was little reason to single him out now.
A traitor… That's all he was… Just another traitor to the country…
Mr Grock groaned as he stood up from lounging on his chair for the entire day; age, the common enemy of all mankind, had finally been catching up with him over the past weeks of nonstop working. His top priority remained the same: capture the leader of the rebels, Markus Hoffman.
His hollow cheeks, sunken in due to the recent workload, blew out slowly, while his cold dark eyes swept across the richly ornamented room. Being one of the countless rooms in the House of the Custodians, it was deliberately littered with priceless articles and paintings that hung on the maroon tapestry.
Echoing footsteps sounded from the corridors outside. Grock calmly lowered himself back into the puffy armchair and sat waiting with his arms folded. The door opened and in stepped Avarice Crowne, president of Ecclesia. He strode across the carpeted room, seating himself opposite Grock. A glittering chandelier hung on the ceiling; light naturally filled the entire spacious room, making it as bright as day although the moon and stars outside had already started to shine in the darkness. Crowne, who was looking equally as worn-out as Grock, sighed and facing him, spoke first.
"I believe you have had a rather bad week yourself?"
"Not the worst, but… The rebels have been pushing back at us lately."
"Is that so?" asked Crowne, his grey moustache fluttering with each breath. "Well, I'm afraid you may have an even harder time now, after what happened this week."
"Yes," sighed Grock, unable to keep himself from feeling slightly annoyed that there was still more to come. "It's inevitable now, isn't it? War with Revalty will soon become a reality and we cannot stop or delay it. Why, I expect they'll be preparing their troops and weapons as we speak. Did you do as I instructed earlier this week?"
"If you mean checking on our military, then yes I did. Our numbers and weaponry should be strong enough to repel the enemy's advances."
"Our strength is not what I'm worried about…" muttered Grock. "It's their loyalty that will decide the results of this war… There has been much activity in the military recently… If a rebellion broke out, there would be little hope for us in the approaching war. What you must do first is unite our country's forces and ensure their loyalty. With this, Revalty stands no chance against our power."
Crowne made no reply. He understood the importance of these words. In his entire career, Crowne had never experienced betrayal before; in fact, it was quite true when his opponents called him a 'ruthless liar'.
During the previous uprising when he rose to power, the king and the entire monarchy depended on him, their most trusted subordinate, for security. However, when he found the opportunity to strike, he wiped out the entire bloodline of the royal family in a single night, covering up the murders with his power as a high official in the government. Now, the roles were reversed. He was the one in danger. It was still unclear whether the military had faith in him; his most trusted general was assassinated a few months ago, after all.
Grock received a sudden epiphany. His eyes lit up as if a lightbulb switched on in his cunning head. The general that had been shot down some time ago… The killer was never identified, was he? On that day, it was determined that a large organised group, supposedly the rebels, had done the deed. Since information on the victim's movements was only known to the Enforcers and not a soul could access it otherwise, Grock scoured the entire organisation for spies but was unsuccessful; either they all worked together to betray him, or none of them did.
Something strange laid behind it all. If the rebels were really the ones behind the countless crimes earlier in the year, they would no doubt trigger a war between Ecclesia and Revalty, which would achieve the opposite of what they originally intended. Were they just ignorant or could it be a third party interfering with the two of them?
"Anyways, I appreciate your help," said Crowne, extending a strong hand to him.
"We'll meet up again here, I hope?"
"Of course," replied Crowne. Then he added unexpectedly with a laugh, "I'll end this war and crush our enemies before you catch Hoffman, you can be sure of that."
Not at all assured, Grock bade him goodnight and waited until Crowne left the room, then he pulled out his pipe and began smoking furiously at once, which was usually a sign of great mental exertion. It was too strange… Who would want to start a war on purpose? Although he sat thinking and drowning himself in smoke, nothing came to mind, no matter how hard he racked his brain. Was there any other organisation in the world that had a connection with the Enforcers?
If nobody within the Enforcers had betrayed them, which Grock was inclined to believe after many unsuccessful searches, then the only logical explanations as to why information was leaked would be either that somebody gave small hints without noticing what they were doing, or information was given to a person whose credibility would never be questioned, namely, the wealthy elites known as the Custodians.
If a Custodian were to ask for information from the Enforcers or request help from them, it would hardly be flagged down as suspicious activity; in fact, the Enforcers were so used to cooperating with them that they frequently received requests in exchange for large sums of money. Grock gritted his teeth with displeasure at the very thought of this. He absolutely hated being a lapdog for some snobby rich family.
Even with this information, however, he was unable to pinpoint the suspect list to a specific number of Custodians; the sheer number and variety of crimes committed over the year led to a random jumble of chaos. The different crimes seemed to lead to dozens of individual goals and motives instead of one single converged path of premeditated planning.
Not only did he have this new mess to unravel, but the old problem still remained: the rebels. Grock, his head filled with rage whenever he thought of that notorious criminal, stomped out of the House, entered the cab prepared for him and travelled back to headquarters, which was not too far away.
Entering the gloomy building in the middle of the night made it seem even more chillingly eerie than it appeared during the day. The iron bars and tight brick walls seemed to cry out along with the voices of the haunted lost souls whose existences were wiped out within the building. Low flickering lightbulbs gave off a meagre amount of light as they buzzed hypnotically like a thicket of crickets. The air was damp and smelled slightly metallic, possibly due to the countless iron chains and instruments littered around in the cells.
With every step he took, Grock's footsteps reverberated forebodingly. Very few Enforcers were still lurking in these ominous corridors, so Grock reached his office without a word to anybody. He flicked on the light switch, fell into his chair and shut his weary eyes while keeping himself fully awake to be able to receive messages at all times.
It didn't take long, contrary to Grock's expectations, for a lone messenger to knock on his door and enter with more work for him.
The Enforcer who had just entered panted hard as he tried to catch his breath, his back rising up and down rapidly while trying to draw in as much air as he could with each heave. Grock glanced up at him with mild surprise, then pointed to a chair on the side and said, "Have a seat."
The messenger shook his head urgently and, taking the last few gulps of air hurriedly, he said, "Sigerson was spotted just then at Sodor Station, sir!"
Grock raised his thin eyebrows at this unanticipated piece of news. For a while, he was unaware of what to say although he instantly knew what was to be done. He finally spoke up in a voice no louder than a whisper, "Can you be certain it was him? One mistake could reduce our chances of catching him."
"If you'll allow us, sir, we'll go and investigate further to confirm his presence."
"Very well. Don't raise his suspicions; he is as slippery as an eel when cornered and I would very much like to avoid a second failed attempt at his capture."
"Yes, sir! I will be back with news as soon as I can."
With a salute, the Enforcer hurried away with his new task assigned to him. It would take an hour at the very least for anything to be made certain. In the meantime, a plan was required in order to trap Sigerson while he was still within his grasp. He would be flopping around helplessly in his net like a desperate fish soon enough…
—
Grey smoke once again swirled around the room and filled it, choking the unfortunate messenger when he returned three hours later, who came with an official-looking file in his hands. With a cough, he handed it over to Grock, explaining their current circumstances.
"I've just gotten it confirmed, sir; the man we have set our eyes on is indeed William Sigerson. Here is a file on his personal information, sir."
The director of the Enforcers flipped through the papers inside delicately but not thoroughly, merely scanning the papers for information he had not yet obtained. After spending a couple of minutes flipping back and forth, stopping to read some articles of interest and completely skipping others without a second glance, he raised himself from his seat, gripping the desk for support. Neatly tucking the thick stack of paper back into its folder, he pushed it back towards the messenger, who was clearly perplexed. He gave him a strange smile, almost as if he was going to thank him for his new discoveries.
"Are you finished with them, sir?" inquired the officer hesitantly.
"Oh yes; they were most enlightening and may have even helped fill in the few holes gaping in my theories."
"T-Those papers were worth several years of information, weren't they, sir?"
"Yes, it was a full record of Sigerson's career in the constabulary as well as other basic details."
"Then, pardon me for my rudeness, sir, shouldn't it take longer than a few minutes to inspect every one of the papers?"
"I see what you mean. No, I don't think the papers are needed any longer but I'll keep them with me nonetheless. Come with me, officer, and we'll put this newly acquired information into good use right away."
He pushed the heavy door open, permitting the officer to pass him and exit first, then he himself marched out after him. Down the dimly lit corridors they walked, their boots thudding on the stone floor sonorously. The echoes that reverberated around in the vicinity sounded more like sinister drumbeats than footsteps.
When a dark oak door stood menacingly in their way not too far off, Grock turned around before unlocking it and said, "Summon the men remaining in this city; I want every Enforcer immediately available to us to be prepared and ready for orders. Call every officer to this room; we'll be having an emergency meeting, so don't be late yourself."
Within minutes, the entire force was mobilised and Grock, explaining the circumstances to all the officers present, sat at the far back of the large room. They were sitting around a long rectangular table, glistening slightly from the shining lightbulbs above them, with several chairs draped with fine cloth positioned around. On top of the mahogany table was a map of the city, along with several symbols and sketches marked all over it.
Pointing and gesturing to one of them every few minutes, Grock explained the procedure calmly, positioning the Enforcers in the locations he thought were optimal for barricading the city to prevent the fugitive from escaping. Just as the sun was peeking over the edge, granting the city its soothing orange light, the meeting came to an end, and the Enforcers all dispersed to their stations.
After the orders were given and his men were coordinated, Grock, being a rather lazy sloth due to his aging body, returned to his office and sat back down comfortably on his armchair, smoking his pipe as he usually did. Thoughts zoomed around in his mind, organising themselves neatly like books on a shelf.
Sigerson had arrived by the morning express— at least, the report sent back to me indicated that. Since the express only stopped at three stations— Sodor, Huntersberg and Alms, the most likely station he boarded the train on would be Huntersberg.
At that time of the day, there would be little to no people roaming around in the station, making exposure much more likely due to the lack of crowds to blend in with. With all the Enforcers I sent to watch over the cities, it would be impossible to enter the train in the morning.
Huntersberg Station currently has the least amount of security watching over the vicinity; that Enforcer who volunteered to watch over Huntersberg himself must be monitored closely…
The officer who visited his office rushed up to him and reported, "The men are in position, sir."
He nervously glanced at his superior, then added in an uncertain voice, "Do you really suppose we'll be able to catch Sigerson with such a small number of men, sir? Would it be wiser to wait?"
Grock opened his eyes, took out the pipe between his thin lips and answered, "It can't be helped. Most of the other Enforcers are busy with the war against the rebels around hundreds of different locations in the country even as we speak now."
"What are we to do then, sir? Are you planning to block him from leaving the city, sir?"
"No— that would be impractical and inefficient. As you wisely stated a few minutes ago, a shortage of men is severely restricting us from taking dramatic measures against Sigerson. However, I believe a large number of men would hardly be necessary.
After going through the report you handed over to me, I suspect Sigerson's motives for returning here are much deeper than we anticipated… Every case he's solved… Even when he was held back by illness or injury, opposition from the law or death threats, there was never a time where he backed down and gave in to pressure. If there's one thing to be learned from that stack of paper… Sigerson never leaves a job unfinished. He will return to accomplish what he has left undone…"
"Where should we be watching, sir?" asked the officer, still not understanding what needed to be done.
"Where he least expects us to search," replied Grock, his eyes hardening like two specks of black flint. "Away from Sodor; possibly Alms."
"Alms?" repeated the officer, stunned. "Do you think he'll be travelling to Alms?"
"It is his companion, Miss Whitlock, who is nowhere to be seen, that I search for."
"Are you considering this sudden appearance to be a diversion, sir?"
"Think about it yourself. Why would Sigerson reveal his location to us so easily after hiding perfectly for at least a week? Why did he decide to reveal himself here of all places, where he'll be easily trapped? And most importantly, why is his faithful companion not with him this time? I consider these facts to be pointing to a diversion."
While they were discussing their theories, Grock had decided to get off his chair for once and join the officer to see for himself the progress they had made so far. The exit of their headquarters formed before their very eyes as they both marched on through the final corridor, the air filled with a grim atmosphere.
An uneasy feeling sunk within the deepest recesses of his mind; there was something odd about this manhunt. He had a hunch— only a hunch— that Sigerson, the one he was pursuing, was innocent. Too many questions were left unanswered to properly convict him of anything. But if he did happen to be innocent, why was he silent during the accusations made against him? There was still the question of his unexpected return; would a man on the run risk everything to close a case he was working on?
It would be wiser to check the details of the case later… For now, he had to focus on the two wars crippling the country: the one being fought outside the borders and the one that had been plaguing the nation from within for decades.