Chapter 2

"Wonderful, wonderful!"

Although I have been with him on so many adventures, have been in continuous (well, I have to admit, not much lately these few months, because of my medical practices and darling wife) contact with his astounding deductive abilities, I could still hardly keep the admiration from sounding in my voice. My friend lay reposed upon his armchair, reading the newspaper and having a good smoke with his pipe. Although to my medical eye he seemed gaunter, paler and evidently suffering from acute exhaustion, his bright eyes indicated that he was in high spirits. "Come now, that really is too much praise." He smiled faintly. "But, it certainly was a devilish tricky case, I must admit. Dr Kissinger is a man of remarkable talents."

"Yes," I said, taking a seat opposite him. "And I'm afraid, my dear sir, that you are definitely taking a rest for an indefinite time. Your nerves, I fear, have taken as much as they can stand at the moment. I would recommend a nice bracing climate, away from the stress and gloom of London."

He looked up at me with a smile.

"You never will change, will you?" laughed the man, taking another puff from his pipe. "You tend to make such a stupendous affair out of the very little. My nerves are shaken, that may be true, but this tends to be a usual occurrence after rather difficult cases. In a week I should be fine."

He flipped through the newspaper lazily.

"Anyway, it seems that nothing eventful is happening in London at the moment. Unless you count Sir George Endel, who according to this, had died of a heart attack yesterday morning. A rather unhappy way to die," said my friend meditatively. "But I must confess I never liked the man." He threw the newspaper across the table. "And, I would also advise you to take a hansom home later, rather than to walk." Grinning ruefully, for I should have known that it was impossible to hide from him the state of my shoes, I picked the newspaper from the mess of congratulatory telegrams and took a look. "George Endel? Why, wasn't he the man who was accused of the murder of his groom just a week ago?"

"Oh yes," he murmured wryly. "Interesting insight to our justice system. After a great deal of fuss, in which I am sure many bank cheques were exchanged, he managed to get off with a stern warning and a fine. He's a very rich man, who holds many… should I say, influential strings."

"Why, what a thing to say!"

"Well," the great detective shrugged. "As I've often said before, I seldom make any conclusions before I am sure of my facts. I have made careful study of most, if not all, of all the richest and most influential people in England. And if I am not mistaken, if you take down that little black book from that shelf opposite, and search under "E", there ought to be a nice little overview on the sort of man he is." Although his voice was calm, and rather weak, as a result of his recent exertions, I could tell he was full of repressed emotions.

He was silent for a short while, before speaking with sudden force and alacrity.

"Now you see why I take such great pains to distance myself from the police, and the likes of Lestrade? A highly decorated inspector of the Scotland Yard, and yet as thick as a slow-witted bull. Although, well, I have to admit that despite the lack of common sense, he has the tenacity of a bulldog…" His unexpected monologue trailed off into a moody silence.

After that mania that always seems to empower him while he was hot on case, my friend in the aftermath was a more lethargic, depressive person, and much more inclined to be philosophical and moody. He spent many of his waking moments carrying out either obscure scientific experiments, or reading an old book, or playing his favourite violin. As I settled down upon my chair to look over the newspaper's contents, I could not help but steal a glance at my dear friend. He was looking upwards at the ceiling, eyes curiously blank- and I wondered again at the power and ability of the human mind. I was certain, just by looking at that firm, angular face- that there was no criminal on earth who could ever evade the likes of Sherlock Holmes.

It was impossible to believe, that at that point in time, London, and the whole of England, would soon be subsumed by events deadlier and more fantastic than we had ever encountered.

"Well, the day didn't go too badly," muttered Raito to himself. Ever since his rather abrupt landing in Victorian London two weeks ago, Raito found himself amidst a people who did not take kindly to his blood stained suit, and thought that he had been involved in some murder or criminal incident. ("Sorry," said Ryuk, "I could only use the clothes which you wore during the day at that warehouse. That, or you going naked. All things considered, I think I made the right choice, didn't I?")

And considering that he was used to being encased in fog with no liberty of movement for a long while, it did take him some time to steady his movements and gestures. He had to brace and familiarize himself again with the sensations of being alive- to feel the wind on his face, the hard earth beneath his feet… the ability to move his body on command.

Raito realized it was not going to be easy. It had taken him all his cunning, wit and ingenuity to avoid harassment from suspicious constables, to get decent clothing (he charmed a young lady into giving him some money for clothes) and to get lodgings from an unscrupulous woman whom he knew could be paid to keep her mouth shut. It was remarkable that Raito had managed to get this far, seeing that he was suddenly thrown into an unfamiliar surrounding, and had little clue about the century that he was in. However, Raito was no ordinary man. Due to his ability to retain all that he had read (and he did read very voraciously), he at once recognized that he was in England, in the heart of London, and judging by the common use of hansoms and the clothing of the people- he was definitely in the Victorian times- most likely the late Victorians. It certainly was very lucky that Raito was fluent in both Japanese and English, and knew a smattering of other Western languages like German and French.

But Raito at once recognized a problem he would be facing. He was distinctly Asian, with his skin tone, almond shaped dark eyes, narrow face and brown hair. He would obviously stand out as a stranger. People would be less willing to trust him. But even here, when Asians were relatively rare, he knew he would still be deemed as handsome, and strikingly so, to members of the fairer sex. He had seen two young ladies stare at him, and when he looked back at them, immediately dropped their gazes and blushed.

Raito smiled charmingly. He knew he could bring this… talent to good use in due time.

But now, he has to lie low, find out who his counterpart is- and defeat…no, kill him.

But he knew he had the disadvantage of time. Hence he must strike as soon as possible.

Raito leaned back upon his chair in the dingy apartment. The new death note was sitting upon the table, its cover opened to show the first lined page. On it was written some words, over which the name George Endel presided. "Well," he smiled, counting out notes and coins from a bag next to him. "It looks like the question of money is settled for now. It really was easy to get him to give me the bag without arousing suspicion- and as expected, he died of that heart attack exactly when I wanted it last week. Stupid man. I guess I should be happy that somebody had already invented photography in this era… it really would have been bad if I had been sent to some medieval time. But I wonder… why here, and this time, of all things? I have thought about it, but I can't seem to think of any prominent detective, or thinker…"

Ryuk chuckled, eating an apple. "You will find out soon enough."

Raito turned away, a tiny frown creasing his chiseled features.

He had thought, idly, of restricting apples from Ryuk in order to make the latter suffer, but realized that the death-god's "withdrawal" symptoms would undoubtedly be a distraction to his planning. And besides, he would prefer something more long lasting than a minor discomfort for Ryuk. Thus for now, he would bide his time and wait. "I would rather have some time to plan, but since I have no alternative…" Raito's eyes glinted as he took up his pen. He drew the entire month's collection of newspapers (and even some from dates before) he had bought, salvaged and even stole- discreetly, from different places.

Looked through them, and then began to write.

"Eh, Raito?"

"Not now, Ryuk. Later." Raito's voice was impatient and harsh.

It was not until the clock chimed again did Raito look up from his work, the familiar feverish look in his eyes and manner. Three sides of the notebook were filled with names.

"It seems that Britain has a lot of criminals," mentioned Ryuk, who seemed to be doing aerobics on the floor. "I am quite surprised that a month's supply of newspapers would have that many convicts."

Slowly, Raito turned to face Ryuk.

"No. I am doing things differently now. Now, I want to immediately strike fear and awe into the hearts of people here- I am killing not only those criminals who have been captured, but also those who have been acquitted, accused of crimes, even minors…"

"Interesting," said Ryuk curiously. "Why the sudden change?"

"My utopia will have no room for any who makes mistakes, who does not toe the line with the first chance he/ she has." Raito's voice was hard. "I shall become the god of this country, and then, spreading my influence, perhaps control the world! I believe I will prove myself interesting… to your king."

Raito yawned, stretching himself.

And now, to bring phase two into action.

Author's note: Some people have found it strange for Raito to have a disembodied head in the previous chapter, but it was done for a reason. I thought that the worse kind of hell to be in for Raito would be to be well aware of his own surroundings and intellect, and yet still is helpless in the nothingness.

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