St. Samuel's Church, in the main chapel. The bishop, with his short black hair, withdrew his gaze, no longer looking at the middle-aged gentleman at the offering table, nor did he feel any inclination to engage in conversation as before. Here, before the altar, under the watchful eyes of the goddess, he represented the Church—his treatment could not be dictated by how much someone donated. Nevertheless, he remembered the gentleman's pleasing appearance and refined, mature demeanor, and intended to make an effort to meet him again should the opportunity arise. As the final bill slid into the offering box, Kerens closed his eyes and turned away. Passing by the preaching bishop, he deliberately glanced at the clergyman, offering a warm nod. The bishop returned a cheerful smile and gently tapped his chest four times in a clockwise motion. Caine didn't rush to engage with anyone, making sure his actions remained logical and free of any abrupt or suspicious moments. With calm composure, he stepped aside to allow a devotee to pass, then walked back to his previous seat along the aisle, picked up his hat and cane, and proceeded step by step out of the church. At that moment, the worshippers who had just heard the sermon either went to the offering box to express their gratitude or simply rose to leave, neither finding anything unusual about the behavior, since it wasn't mandatory. Even the most generous and devout donors wouldn't contribute every time they came; instead, they typically made one or two contributions per week or bi-weekly, depending on their household circumstances. The working class usually gave a few pence, the middle class a few to five shillings, while the wealthy and the nobility contributed in pounds, rarely exceeding one hundred. This is the usual situation. On the annual feast day of the goddess of Night—the "Winter Festival"—the amount donated per individual significantly increases. Wealthier citizens typically contribute two to three solidi, middle-class families donate around five pounds, while members of the upper classes directly contribute to the parish bishop or church charitable institutions, ranging from several hundred to several thousand pounds. ——The "Winter Festival" refers to the day when the night is longest each year, celebrated as the birthday of the goddess of Night. ………… Outside the church, Caine stood at the edge of the square, observing calmly as flocks of white doves took flight and then circled before landing again. He even purchased some food from nearby vendors, leisurely feeding the birds, with no intention of flipping through newspaper advertisements to search for suitable housing in the northern district, as that was the housekeeper’s responsibility. A seasoned housekeeper who has lived in Beckland for years should know roughly which neighborhoods host the various nobility, the wealthy, and the upper-middle-class professionals capable of assisting the household, thus enabling her to make purposeful choices when selecting a residence. Neighborly interactions are the very first step for newcomers to enter these circles! "Whether it's the Carlton Club, where the Conservative establishment gathers, or the Liberal Freeholders Club, or the various clubs representing the military—both active and retired officers—each requires a substantial introduction before one can even begin to engage. Oh, the kingdom is now what they call 'club politics.'" Klein pulled his thoughts back, considering what to do next after the act of feeding the pigeons, which had helped shape his persona. After careful reflection, he realized he actually had nothing urgent to attend to, as his plans remained only at the surface level. Thus, he prepared to enjoy an expensive yet sumptuous lunch—something befitting Dautremer Tangates, as well as a natural curiosity on Cline's part. During his months in Beckland, he had never found the courage to visit any of the city's most renowned restaurants, consistently choosing among his own restaurant, the self-service restaurant at Clag Club, street-level ordinary eateries, or the dining room at Jurgen's law office, occasionally heading east to settle for breakfast or lunch in what appeared to be rather greasy cafés. "La Borée Restaurant?" Their head chef is said to have come from the Earl of Hall, bringing to the wealthy patrons—big lawyers, high-level government officials—a refined, aristocratic cuisine previously out of reach. The Earl appears to have invested in the restaurant and holds a significant share of ownership. Well, the restaurant specializes in local Beckland dishes, with particularly renowned desserts, though the prices are quite unyielding. "Intis Serenzo Restaurant—here you'll find the most authentic Intis cuisine, by the way. Many of their signature dishes are credited to Count Rosel, claiming they originated in the imperial court. Moreover, unlike most restaurants of its caliber that offer only a few main courses daily, Intis Serenzo provides a remarkably diverse menu." Klein recalled the restaurant information he had read in newspapers and magazines, and ultimately decided to experience the imperial court cuisine firsthand. He didn't linger any longer; he hailed a carriage and headed for Intis Serenzo Restaurant in the western district. At the door, while handing his coat, hat, and cane to a red-jacketed waiter, Caine asked, "Is there any seating available? I haven't made a reservation." "There is," the red-jacketed waiter replied calmly and respectfully, "Mr. Caine, are you visiting us for the first time? Are you dining alone?" Caine nodded confidently and smiled. "Yes, that's correct." "Would it be a pleasure if I were to introduce you to our restaurant's most celebrated dishes and wines?" the waiter said, guiding Caine inside. "That would be exactly what I need," Caine replied, as he passed through the ornately decorated doorway and saw walls reflecting a golden glow. For a moment, he felt as though he had stepped into a vault. Only then did he notice the oil paintings hung on the walls, the marble statues placed in well-appointed positions, and the golden accents and inlays scattered throughout the room. "Please take care of your step," he added. "The red-vested waiter offered a gentle reminder, guiding Caine to a window seat where the elegant melody of the violin drifted softly from the distant orchestra. He then brought over the menu and wine list, flipping through them with a warm introduction: 'Our most celebrated dishes include red-braised Daghya beef tenderloin, black truffle portobello mushrooms, and a classic French-style foie gras—I'd like to highlight that our foie gras is sourced directly from the Bonneville farm in the Champagne region of the Kingdom of Intis.' While listening to the waiter's description, Caine browsed the menu written in ancient Fosk, captivated by the prices. After detailing the starters, main courses, and desserts, the waiter shifted to explain the wine pairings, concluding: 'All our champagnes, red and white wines are from renowned châteaux in the Champagne region, including the 1330 vintage Ormille red wine, which retails at 126 pounds. Should you choose to purchase it, you may either take it away or have it stored with us for future enjoyment.'" "126 pounds... I could even hire an excellent housekeeper... He chuckled warmly. "Your dishes and wines are both excellent—quite hard to choose between them." The red-coated waiter smiled politely. "You might consider our chef's daily recommendation. Our chef will personally pair a genuine and delicious Intis meal for you, available at 15 pounds, 10 pounds, or 8 pounds." I don't want to choose any of them...克莱恩 leaned back slightly and smiled. "The 15-pound option." "Excellent," the red-coated waiter said, folding the menu and wine list and walking toward the kitchen. 克莱恩 took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and casually glanced around the room. Suddenly, he noticed a figure that seemed slightly familiar—a woman in a long olive-green dress. She was tall and well-proportioned, wearing an old-fashioned black soft hat, with a fine, sheer lace veil falling over her face. As a "faceless man," Caine possessed a sharp ability to recognize human physical features and immediately identified the woman: "The Enigmatic Queen," the eldest daughter of Emperor Roscel, Bernadette Gustave! He didn't hastily withdraw his gaze but naturally shifted his attention to the side, where Bernadette seemed unaware of any anomaly and disappeared at the staircase entrance. How had she ended up here? Ah, the restaurant's signature cuisine was Roscel's imperial fare—well, that wasn't at all what I expected, more of a Chinese-influenced style. Surely, Emperor Roscel wouldn't be a hands-on chef, at most he'd articulate his culinary philosophy. Indeed, there were stir-fried dishes here... Hmm, perhaps the true force behind this establishment is she? She wasn't drifting at sea anymore—why come to Bekkanth? Didn't she already find the rogue knight, "Black Emperor"? Caine sat calmly on the surface, yet a cascade of questions stirred within him. The family seated inside the carriage consists of Dr. Alan Cris, a well-known surgeon and member of the Crags Club, a close friend of Sherlock Moriarty who previously commissioned the detective to handle the Will O'Ascot case. Since his wife became pregnant, he has felt his fortune improving steadily—his professional career is growing stronger each day, his income rising month by month. Recently, he successfully performed an internal surgery on Baron Sindras, earning the praise of this newly elevated noble and receiving an invitation for the entire family to lunch at the Serenzo restaurant. "They say the ice cream there is particularly excellent," Alan said with a composed smile to his wife. His wife, a graceful woman with dark hair and a noticeably rounded belly, responded gently, "I'm actually more looking forward to the court cuisine of Emperor Roscel." Alan nodded, glanced toward the window: "We're nearly there." As he finished speaking, his wife pressed a hand to her abdomen, furrowing her brow. "It's a bit painful." "Allen, who wasn't making this his first time as a father, quickly checked and found no issues, yet his wife grew increasingly uncomfortable—her child seemed to be restless. 'I'll stay home,' she said, 'I'd like to rest.' Allen thought for a moment, then replied, 'I'll come with you.' He then instructed his personal servant, 'You get off here and go to Lord Sindras's dining room to apologize on my behalf.' As the carriage began its return journey, his wife's discomfort unexpectedly eased, and by the time they reached home, she was completely back to normal. She gestured to her belly, smiling and puzzled, at her husband, 'It seems he doesn't want to eat ice cream.' A sneeze! In the dining room of Indis Cerronz, where Klein had already enjoyed every dish served earlier, he now felt both touched and satisfied as he savored the ice cream, his nose slightly itchy, so he reached for a napkin and sneezed. ………… In the western district, within a dimly lit house. Forth, now elevated to the status of an astrologer, attends the various gatherings of the extraordinary with diligence and earnestness, actively seeking opportunities to earn a living. She currently owes her friend 220 pounds, to the point that her friend suspects she has been involved in illegal gambling. I can no longer afford even the essential crystal ball—her thoughts drifting, Forth suddenly hears one of the gathering members speak: "I'm offering for sale a 'Moon puppet.'"