Note: I don't understand English, so I used machine translation and hope there aren't too many mistakes. I've added some notes.
This case originates from the web game FallenLondon. The information comes from within the game and thefifthcity (the FL wiki site)
Start#
Shortly after descending from the surface to London, you encounter Jack, who is killing someone on Watchmaker's Hill.
“Smiling Jack. The mad clown. The media's darling. London's most infamous murderer.”
Watchmaker's Hill is a starting point where almost everyone who comes from the surface to London undergoes the first wave of initiation regarding "Dangerous": some mad beasts, rude sailors, hunters and bounties, chaotic taverns... You need to make a name for yourself here. Jack is probably part of that initiation. He and they wield knives recklessly, and even if arrested and killed, he will suddenly reappear after a while. Even when you move to other areas of London, he seems to always appear in random events; Jack could show up on any street, and anyone could become Jack in the next moment.
After completing "Make my name" and becoming POSI (A Person of Some Importance)—that is, making a name for yourself in this London—you receive an invitation from the authorities.
The seemingly endless appearances of Jack have put immense pressure on law enforcement—let alone the fact that a few people who got involved in Jack's cases have even become Jack themselves. It's a nightmare. Now you need to find the source of this nightmare.
Clue#
In Concord Square, you handle various pieces of evidence, dealing with every faction (Socialists, Revolutionaries, Bohemians, etc.) and tracking every trace of Jack. Eventually, you find a thread.
Eight years ago, there was a Jack who returned to being a normal person.
This "former Smiling Jack" left little trace. But you deduce that he must have been exiled to the Tomb Colonies, and the captain would keep records. Before finding him, you spent nearly a week in the greasy dock archives.
This former hellspawn is now a successful entrepreneur and a part-owner of the "Great Downward Engineering Company." His family were factory owners before the "Fall." He can be considered middle class, with little influence, but he doesn't lack a few "echoes" (that is, money).
You find a way to break into his office. He doesn't want to remember those days. But when you point a gun at his civic duty, he agrees. And hopes you will promise not to write his name in the case records.
He takes a large gulp of sherry before speaking. “To be honest, I don't remember much about it. It's not because time has passed; I lost my memory at that time. When I woke up, I found myself in the Tomb Colonies, and many friends were very angry with me, but they had to explain what happened. ...That afternoon, I went mad in a wooden cabin without any warning, and my family spent half their fortune to cover it up. They told me I killed four people, one of whom died forever. But I remember nothing. I only remember a knife. It was a worn-out, dull knife, unlike the other wooden tools in the room... I must have picked it up. After that, I lost my memory.”
You catch the keyword in his words: "a knife." That's right, you recall all the memories of Jack's appearances; he and they never lacked a weapon.
So you return to the cluttered evidence room and pick up one of the weapons—
You found him.
Jack is in the knife.
The next steps are easy to imagine. Organizing evidence, searching for origins.
After six knife sharpeners and four blacksmiths, you summarize some common points. These knives are over twenty years old. A few have manufacturer markings. Four different marks—none of which are local to London. The blades are made of cheap steel, the handles of ash or cedar, with copper or brass fittings.
There's one more thing. One of the blacksmiths mentioned a clayman puppeteer. Claymen rarely engage in entertaining children. But this person has a talent for giving life to small objects. His puppet shows are "worth seeing, though a bit unnatural. But it's as if—”
As if Jack. Those mad, inhuman killers.
This clayman is not hard to find; he is quite old and very candid. You find an answer in his words.
“These knives... they are still alive, in a way I can feel. And they are very angry. I feel there is nothing left to do for them. Poor things. I want to tell you that you are hunting some mad clayman weapon makers. But strangely, they are made by different people. I think it is human hands. But they do have that spark. Vitality. They must come from Polythreme.”
Polythreme is not a common place name; it is a distant, strange place on some small island in this vast, lightless sea underground. You find a book that describes it as follows:
"Polythreme is a city where some principle in the water or earth - they say - makes everything live. This makes it a hellish place. Candles scream as they burn. Furniture is enslaved wood. Buildings are hollow shells of misery. The Clay Men are sold by Polythreme - or perhaps they escape."
"Everything's alive there, or so the story goes. Coal burns with a long low moan, steel is forged under protest, new-minted coins still shriek with pain and horror. It sounds a horribly callous place. Not to mention remarkably noisy."
“Polythreme 是一座城市，据说，水或大地里的某种原理使万物都活了过来。这使它成为一个地狱般的地方。蜡烛会在燃烧时尖叫。家具是奴役的木头。建筑物是痛苦的空洞躯壳。粘土人正是由 Polythreme 出售 —— 或者从这里逃离。”
“那里的一切都是有生命的，至少故事是这样说的。煤会在燃烧时发出低沉的呻吟声，钢铁在抗议中锻造，新铸造的硬币仍然因痛苦和恐怖而尖叫。这听起来是一个可怕的冷酷地方。更不用说非常吵闹了。”
It sounds unusual. But what is ordinary in this dark underground? You decide to find the truth.
Pursuit#
You find a screaming map pieced together from the annoying former naval officer and astronomer—this is undoubtedly something in the style of Polythreme. At least you know how to get to that city. Now you embark on a ship and set sail.
Sailing on the lightless sea is never a calm or pleasant journey. You need to fight the tentacles of coral reefs, dodge mermaids singing unknown songs, and negotiate with unexpected passengers in the cabin. To increase speed, you even decide to cut through Gaider's Mourn—that's the pirates' old haunt, the forest of pirates.
But thank goodness, on the fifth east wind (which means the arrival of a nightmare on the lightless sea), you arrive at Polythreme.
Recall your first impression of Polythreme
From above, the city's design resembles anatomy rather than urban planning. The port you are in is a massive mouth, swallowing everything. Behind it are branching and twisting stomachs and intestines. The palaces on the hills, surrounded by gardens, look more like a wrinkled brain wrapped in a skull.
No one hides beneath layers of scarves, coats, and long socks. The citizens of Polythreme are the clothes themselves, moving on their own. Occasionally, two tattered garments stop in the street to converse, even exchanging parts of themselves—a scarf for a mask; a left boot for a right glove. Are these exchanges commerce? Politics? Or romance?
So where are Jack and, oh, the artisans who make Jack?
There aren't many workshops in this place. While dealing with the King of Hearts—who can be simply understood as the lord of Polythreme (that's another story)—after several inquiries and complex sign language with the garments, the rough voices of claymen grinding in your ears, you find a blacksmith shop. A seemingly cheerful blacksmith is polishing weapons.
You interview him for several hours. He has only been here for a month. He doesn't know anyone from before in the workshop. He heard about the job opportunity at this blacksmith shop from a sailor at Wolfstack Docks. He has never become Jack. He claims this blacksmith shop has nothing special. You are quite sure he is telling the truth.
When you tell him about Smiling Jack and his knives, he sits in shock in his chair. At first, he doesn't believe you, but you provide evidence. He swears he will leave Polythreme tonight. You tell him he can stay here a little longer. But he is sure he will not make more knives for export to London.
Does the clue stop here? You continue to search around and finally obtain a memory from the clayman priest in a temple.
The clayman priest from the temple carved with eyes knows the history of that blacksmith shop. He is happy to talk to us. "That part of the town was where humans lived. They no longer live there. A great fire occurred."
The priest looks down and shakes his head. "They were a group of people. Or rather a 'family.' One of them ate honey. That night, he had a dream. Someone in the dream told him that the woman only cared about another person. He dreamed of the entire town burning, then lost his way in the dream. His body returned before his consciousness, just like in the dream, he picked up lamp oil and matches and burned the whole place down."
"This building has... gone wrong, or rather, life was burned away. But now something else remains there."
You explain the situation about Smiling Jack and the knives. The clay priest listens to your story and nods sadly. "Then you must make a choice. If you destroy the workshop, it will all end. But the one who manipulated in the dream will hide. Or you can go find them. But that means there will be more of these Jacks. As a priest, I cannot interfere in the dealings, but at least I can help you be cautious."
This should be the source of Jack. Burning, honey, lost consciousness, and dreams.
You know that destroying a workshop won't solve the problem; as long as the puppet master exists, its purpose remains unfulfilled, the next workshop will still be established.
At the same time, how coincidental, honey and dreams.
These are a few very familiar keywords.
The current clayman's blacksmith was recruited at the docks of London. The knives were exported to London. The honey of prisoners? This also points to London. You know where the most honey and the most beautiful dreams are.
Veilgarden.
It's time to return to London.
Back to London#
After another exhausting journey over water, without rest, you step onto the streets of Veilgarden, reeking of the sea.
Veilgarden is one of the liveliest areas in central London, famous for its songs, honey, and wine, filled with small taverns at street corners, wandering poets, alluring Bohemian prostitutes, and mad opera writers who revel here every night. You were once one of those trying to gain fame, but now you seem out of place in all of this.
Clues weave through Veilgarden. There is a honey courtyard with a crow's roof in Spite. At Wolfstack Docks, there are a series of steamboat captains traveling to and from Polythreme. In Concord Square, there is a pair of corrupt detectives. The soles of your boots are worn thin. But after days and weeks, you finally find it. You can see that thread. You have no doubt.
The honey shipped to Polythreme comes from the master of the "Bazaar," Mr. Spices' private stock. You also learn about the dream assassin. He is a famous honey dreamer, capable of killing in dreams, and is a well-known agent of Mr. Spices. After the fire at the blacksmith shop, he disappeared forever. Many say he entered the far dream, but you suspect he was silenced. Although this evidence may not hold much weight in court, it is enough to convince you that Mr. Spices is ultimately connected to Smiling Jack.
The "Bazaar" master, one of the actual controllers of this fallen fifth city—London. You may have suspected something before, but facing the entire thread laid out before you, you feel hesitation and confusion.
As you walk out of the small inn, where you were buried in sorting clues, trying to relax with a drink, a common street urchin delivers a message:
Mr. Spices is waiting for you.
Almost nothing escapes the gaze of the "master." It seems this matter is no exception.
You prepare your weapon under your gloves and see Mr. Spices' armored car and a group of special police at the entrance of Jekyll Gardens. They look down on you and let you pass without a second thought.
Mr. Spices stands alone by the muddy pond, staring at the water. He wears multiple cloaks to shield against the cold air, like a footed funeral laundry basket. But of course, he is never something to underestimate.
His voice is sharp, distinct even among the "masters," and very irritable. “The agents in Polythreme have told us that someone saw you at the blacksmith shop. Now your nose is pressed against my business in Veilgarden. Tsk tsk. Presumptuous, regrettably so. Very regrettable. What shall we do? You have shown an excessive thirst for secrets, insatiable. So we will let you feast. Then you will respect our wishes and act cautiously. Or not. But we all know what will happen then.”
“So, yes, we built a figure that your tabloids call 'Smiling Jack.' If you focus on the little things like dreams, agents, or honey, we will consider the whole matter regrettable. The most regrettable part is that you need to understand this has not succeeded.”
Mr. Spices gestures with his gloved claws. “I don't know if you care about the occult. But you certainly don't know that the 'Bazaar' loves to hear love stories. The 'Bazaar' has... desires. And one of our many duties is to satisfy those desires. You need to understand that Smiling Jack is merely an experiment. Using the unnatural vitality of the first customer's lover, we created Jack. What could inspire love more than the threat of death? That was our thinking at the time. Of course, we now know that was wrong. The 'Bazaar' does not accept this synthetic romance. Everything is in vain, truly terrible. But we saw that Smiling Jack had a certain positive impact on public order and media attention, so we shifted the relevant constructions. Well, Smiling Jack has lived another day. Now leave here. We want to be alone for a while.”
What is the "Bazaar"? Generally speaking, it refers to a marketplace, which is now the center of London, the heart of the labyrinth. It has "consciousness." You recognize this underground city once again.
You forget what kind of pace you walked out of Jekyll Gardens, as if those special police paid you no mind. You groggily return to the smoke-filled little inn—realizing that although this place leaks, it is always filled with various noises, but it has a warmth.
You fall asleep.
An albatross appears in your dream—seemingly the unfinished nightmare over that almost endless underground sea. You are very hungry, holding a shotgun, aiming carefully—but always shaking, the swaying water surface, waves, honey, the annoying voices of rough claymen, the voice of the tiresome prosecutor, the spiders crawling in the evidence room of the police station, the rats below deck—you shake... and pull the trigger.
Bang!
You are awakened.
Another person in the inn has been attacked by Smiling Jack.
Perhaps there is still something worth doing.
The gloved prosecutor describes your work as “a real breakthrough, without a doubt.” Police across London have been instructed to pay special attention to Smiling Jack's knives. A special team within the bicycle squad at the police station has been issued clamps to safely handle those knives. You personally supervise the destruction of all knives in the police station's storeroom and evidence drawers.
You were not executed by Mr. Spices or his associates. Nothing was circulated or printed. But you know the truth and have done your best. Perhaps, one day, someone will discover where the blacksmith shop went. But for you, the case of Smiling Jack is closed.
Case - 『Jack-of-Smiles』 Closed.