"Welco!"
The mont the door swung open, the parrot squawked impatiently. The bookstore owner, bleary-eyed, lifted his head and wiped a trickle of drool from the corner of his mouth with a gray sleeve.
"My apologies. Good afternoon, custor."
"Hello."
Jenkins glanced around. The shop was unusually cramped, the aisles between the bookshelves impossibly narrow. He casually pulled a thin, black, old book from a nearby shelf. The cover read "Bygone Days," apparently a collection from so unsuccessful poet.
"How much?"
He placed the old book on the counter and leaned against it, his coat sleeve pressed flat on the wooden surface. Glancing back, he saw Chocolate darting across the street with incredible speed, while Papa Oliver stood on the opposite side, looking completely helpless.
"This one... 11 pence."
The book's printing quality was abysmal, and poor storage had left it riddled with wormholes. It was practically waste paper.
After flipping through the verses inside, he was even more certain of his assessnt.
"Just a mont."
Jenkins held up a hand to the owner, strode back to the entrance, pushed the door open to scoop up Chocolate, and then returned.
"Sorry, how much did you say it was?"
"8 pence."
The owner mumbled, still looking half-asleep.
Taking his wallet from his coat pocket, Jenkins pretended to be counting his coins.
"Your old books are quite expensive!"
"A man's got to eat."
The owner grumbled, pulling out a sheet of paper from under the counter to wrap the book.
"A shop in a location this good, and you're struggling? Huh? Why is the alley across the street blocked off?"
The mont the words left his mouth, Jenkins suddenly realized he had gone through this whole charade for nothing.
"It's not like I'm conducting a secret investigation. I could have just asked directly," he chided himself.
"So young n blocked it off this morning," the owner explained. "I hear the city council is extending the steam pipe renovations to this area, so they sealed it for construction."
Jenkins nodded, took the wrapped book, slipped it into his coat pocket, and turned to leave.
As he pushed the bookstore door open, he instinctively glanced to the side, checking for passing carriages before crossing. When he looked up again, he froze. Papa Oliver was gone.
Just two minutes earlier, when Chocolate had dashed across the road, Papa Oliver had been standing right in front of that new wall. The street wasn't very wide—three carriages could probably pass side-by-side at most. If he had decided to leave, a simple shout would have easily reached Jenkins.
Puzzled, Jenkins hurried across the street and scanned his surroundings, but there were no pedestrians in sight. He activated his Eye of Reality and peered down both ends of the road, but he couldn't spot the tell-tale aura of Papa Oliver.
"Strange..."
He scratched his head. From what he knew of Papa Oliver, he wasn't the type to just leave without a word.
"Chocolate, can you sll Papa Oliver?" he whispered, holding the cat. But Chocolate simply pawed at his face, likely insulted that Jenkins was treating him like a dog.
He stood there a while longer, but Papa Oliver didn't return. Jenkins pulled his collar up to hide his face, confird that the street was deserted, and activated his Cat's Grace. With a few running steps, he placed a hand on the low wall and vaulted over.
The alley was also empty, save for so household trash piled against a wall. A bare tree stood in the middle of the lane, its branches strung with ropes by the residents, creating a spiderweb of clotheslines.
The sky was overcast from last night's snow, so only a few garnts hung from the lines.
The door nearest the wall was the back entrance to the building fronting the street. Fresh food scraps lay in the trash can by the steps, but the black iron gate stood ajar. Peeking inside, he saw no doorman.
"How could they be so careless?"
Jenkins muttered to himself, then started walking toward the address Papa Oliver had ntioned.
The Stress family lived on the top floor of a two-story, earth-red building in the alley. It resembled an apartnt building, only exceptionally crude. Judging by the structure, it was impossible for the individual units to have their own washrooms or toilets; most likely, all the residents of the building shared one.
"Is anyone here?"
At the bottom of the stairs was a rusty gate, with no doorbell or bell in sight. He called out a few tis but got no answer. He gave the gate a gentle push, and it swung open.
"Why doesn't anyone lock their doors?"
He murmured, looking up at the dilapidated little buildings around him. He saw no other residents.
It was at this mont that he finally realized sothing was wrong.
He didn't step through the gate. Instead, frowning, he walked with Chocolate out the other end of the alley and back onto the main road. No one. He stared for a mont at an empty carriage—no horse, no driver—then pushed open the door of a nearby goldsmith's shop.
It was also empty. If he wanted to, Jenkins thought, he and Chocolate could rob the place blind.
"So, it's not that Papa Oliver has disappeared... it's that I have?"
Mulling this over, he walked back into the alley, vaulted over the wall the way he ca, and headed toward the old bookstore on the other side of the street.
He kept his Eye of Reality active the entire ti but saw no suspicious auras.
The owner was still in the shop, still looking sleepy. The parrot squawked another loud welco as Jenkins pushed the door open. Chocolate stared curiously at the talking bird, kneaded his little paws on the stitching of Jenkins's shoulder, and narrowed his eyes, clearly plotting sothing.
"Welco, custor."
The old man yawned as he greeted Jenkins, then tapped a finger on the countertop. "Is there a problem with the book? Sorry, no refunds."
"Alright, what do you want?"
Jenkins asked, standing by the door, not daring to get any closer. The bookstore owner was emanating a black spiritual aura, and the prudent author wasn't about to take any chances.
"I'm just an old bookseller. What could I possibly want?"
He shrugged. "You walked into my shop. You picked the book. You paid for it. If you've run into a problem, you should be asking yourself."
"What is this place outside?"
"Who knows?"
"If I pray to a Righteous God right now, what do you think will happen?"
"Nothing will happen. You've probably guessed that already, haven't you? This is no longer the material world."
Jenkins took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had already tried to contact Alexia Miller in Ruen with a projection ritual, but it hadn't worked. He had realized it then. Even so, hearing the bookseller state it so plainly made his heart sink.
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