12. The Map Shop

When Siles Noel left the Historical Society, it was already past four in the afternoon.

The group had attempted the [Flowing Wind] ritual multiple times, their hands aching from the effort. Except for Siles, everyone else had experienced failures, while Siles succeeded every time.

He cautiously concealed his perfect success rate.

At the end of the session, Carol mentioned that, aside from the Historical Society’s space behind the door, they shouldn’t use potions or rituals elsewhere yet, as they were still insufficiently skilled novices.

The next time they came, they would focus on conceptual learning and supplementation.

The path of a Revelator was a long and arduous journey; they had already glimpsed this when they saw the hefty Box of Knowledge.

Having experienced this wondrous power, everyone nodded eagerly in anticipation.

Siles seized an opportunity to ask Carol if he could borrow the books in the room. As expected, Carol replied that he could read in Room 666 but couldn’t take books out of the Historical Society.

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Fkzlp elnkele vs yaakhl lyazu dlmv vkxl vs alye yd kdvaktwkdt cssj. Slyekdt oyp, qsa bkx, y oyu vs alzym.

Gqvla zlyhkdt vbl Tkpvsaknyz Fsnklvu, Fkzlp vssj y rwczkn nyaakytl cynj vs 13 Ykzqsae Fvallv. Wsa ekddla, bl yvl calye okvb fyx yde rzyddle vs nsdvkdwl zlppsd ralryayvksd yqvlaoyae.

Jwv yp dktbv qlzz, bl pweeldzu blyae y jdsnj yv bkp essa.

Fkzlp vkzvle bkp blye, rwggzle, wdpwal obs oswze hkpkv yv vbkp bswa. Tl oyzjle shla, jllrkdt vbl nbykd zsnj sd, yde srldle vbl essa byzqoyu vs zssj swvpkel.

Rv oyp Yap. Wykd.

Tla lmralppksd oyp wdlypu, y xkm sq ydmklvu yde dlahswpdlpp yp pbl pyke vs Fkzlp, “Ya. Lslz, vblal’p y zlvvla qsa usw.”

“…G zlvvla?” Fkzlp rywple.

Tl kdpvkdnvkhlzu alnyzzle vbl rspvxyd’p pnblewzl. Rq vblal oyp y zlvvla qsa bkx, obu oyp kv elzkhlale dso? Ebu byed’v Yap. Wykd xldvksdle kv obld bl alvwadle lyazkla?

The next moment, Siles realized the letter might be a pretext. Whether it existed or not, Mrs. Fain seemed to have found an opportunity to speak with him.

Recalling her worried demeanor over the past three days and the basket of fine cherries, Siles narrowed his eyes slightly.

He said calmly, “Alright, please wait a moment, Mrs. Fain.”

Siles closed the door, put on his coat, changed into walking shoes, reopened the door, and followed Mrs. Fain downstairs.

Mrs. Fain said distractedly, “The letter is in the kitchen.”

They went to the kitchen, where Mrs. Fain handed him an envelope. Siles took it, glanced down, and saw it was from Merlin Town—the original body’s mother?

It seemed his mother had received his letter and sent a reply.

Siles understood and was about to thank Mrs. Fain when she said, “Mr. Noel… I, I don’t know how to say this. I think you’re a reliable, good person. Perhaps you could…”

Mrs. Fain’s eyes welled up almost instantly.

Siles, startled, asked, “What happened?”

“My son… he, he refuses to come home. He’s mixed up with those underground gang people.” Mrs. Fain was both furious and heartbroken. “I’ve written to my husband, but who knows when he’ll return.

“My little Anthony hasn’t been home for three days… Mr. Noel, please…”

“You want me to bring Anthony back?”

“No… no. I can’t expect more from you,” Mrs. Fain pleaded. “I just hope you can check on his safety. I’m afraid something’s happened to my little Anthony, keeping him away.

“I can offer you sufficient compensation. I’ll refund your rent in full. My husband is a merchant; when he returns, we can give you more. I don’t know what to do.

“I don’t dare go there alone or ask the police. Even if I went, Anthony probably wouldn’t come back with me. I thought to wait for my husband, but I’m terrified something might happen to my little Anthony in the meantime. What would I do…”

Mrs. Fain trembled with fear.

As Siles listened, he recalled the original body’s memories of these underground gangs, particularly their unfriendly attitude toward women.

Mrs. Fain, alone at home in the chaotic Old City, didn’t dare act rashly.

She feared something had happened to her son or that he’d committed a crime—mixed up with gangs, what if the police arrested him too?—so she hoped Siles could confirm her son’s status.

…If she could truly refund his rent in full, Siles was willing to help.

He asked cautiously, “Do you know where he is?”

Mrs. Fain looked at him, overjoyed to see his attitude soften. She hurriedly said, “At a tavern. I… I heard Anthony mention its name… I’m not sure where it is…”

“What’s the name?” Siles said. “Perhaps I can find a map shop.”

“Ernes… Ernestine. Yes, Ernestine!” Mrs. Fain said excitedly. “Thank you, Mr. Noel. I won’t let you go empty-handed.

“You’ve just found a job; you must need money. Consider it as staying with me for a while, and I’ll refund your rent now…”

Siles, half-laughing, half-exasperated, stopped the overly excited mother. “Don’t rush. Let’s wait until I find Anthony.”

Mrs. Fain nodded dazedly, murmuring, “…Yes, yes. My little Anthony.” She began to sob.

After a moment, her emotions stabilized. She thanked Siles again. For a middle-aged woman living in the Old City, even with wealth, fear was inevitable, especially with her son tied to gangs.

Siles checked the time; it was seven in the evening. He asked Mrs. Fain, “Do you know any map shops nearby?”

“Maps…” Mrs. Fain thought, then said, “There’s a shop selling maps southeast of Logan Market. Are you going now?”

Her usually grim, sharp gaze lit up with hope, grateful for a kind person willing to help find her wayward son.

“No time like the present.”

Siles responded briefly, went upstairs to change into casual clothes.

He considered, then opened the letter from the original body’s mother, quickly reading its contents.

“…You make me proud, dear child… Enclosed is a hundred-coin note. Don’t skimp on yourself; life in Lamifa City always requires enough money.

“Your hopeful mother.”

Siles, slightly speechless, held the note from the envelope. He sighed softly, placed the hundred-coin note in a drawer, grabbed his wallet, die, umbrella, and other items, and left.

Night deepened, and Milford Street had only a few hurried passersby. Siles blended in, hastening through the fine rain toward the southeast of Logan Market to find the map shop Mrs. Fain mentioned.

About a quarter-hour later, he spotted a shop with dim yellow lights. After confirming the name at the entrance, he entered a map shop called “Mapa.”

To his surprise, four or five customers lingered inside, engrossed in maps as if reluctant to leave, completely losing track of time.

The shop, about forty to fifty square meters, was divided into two sections. The larger left area held various types and formats of maps; the smaller right area had books and a few chairs.

The lingering customers sat there.

Deeper in the shop was the counter and a living area.

Behind the counter sat a woman, around thirty, still charming, her gaze lazy and casual as she looked over.

She greeted Siles languidly, “Need anything?”

Siles approached the counter and asked, “I need a detailed map of Lamifa City.”

“Oh, that’s common. There’s a stack over there; find what you want,” the woman said.

Siles thought, then asked, “Do you know the address of the Ernestine Tavern?”

“…Ernestine?” The woman gave a suspicious look, as if saying, you look proper and respectable, yet you’re going to a place like Ernestine?

Siles explained, “I’m helping an elder find her child.”

The woman understood immediately.

As she was about to speak, someone approached the counter and interjected, “Ernestine? Not to warn you, sir, but that’s not a good place. It’s probably chaotic there now.”

Siles looked at the man with surprise. A middle-aged man, seemingly successful, his tone carried the smugness of someone privy to insider information.

Siles asked, “May I ask what’s happened?”

The man, pleased with Siles’s demeanor, nodded. “The rainy season’s ending, and merchants are returning from the Endless Lands. Some items that aren’t easy to sell—those go through underground channels.”

Siles’s mind raced. So, the Ernestine Tavern served as a hub for fencing stolen goods in the underground gangs.

Mrs. Fain seemed unaware of Ernestine’s role in fencing, thinking Anthony was just mixed up with gangs. But Mr. Fain was a merchant; the Fain family might already be linked to Ernestine.

Why had Anthony Fain run away and stayed at Ernestine?

Siles had thought this was just a rebellious boy’s runaway story, but there seemed to be more to it.

He thanked the man.

Mentioning the Endless Lands drew other customers’ attention. One, dressed like an adventurer, complained to the woman behind the counter, “Lady Mapa, your maps of the Endless Lands are a bit too basic, aren’t they?”

Their conversation continued as Siles listened, browsing the maps of Lamifa City.

He found many maps on the shelves—not just current ones but also maps from various periods of Lamifa’s development. One thick bound volume detailed Lamifa’s entire history from its founding.

Siles flipped through it with interest, then selected a comprehensive map of Lamifa City as his purchase.

The counter conversation didn’t stop.

“Endless Lands maps are always basic,” Lady Mapa retorted bluntly. “You want topographic maps, but the most detailed I have is a railway map of the Endless Lands.”

The man said, “But with the Grand Duke’s Withered Plains development plan, how can we develop without detailed maps?”

Lady Mapa replied even more bluntly, “Oh, please. Why not join the Grand Duke’s exploration team instead of looking for detailed maps in the Old City? The real maps are with the authorities.”

“When will those be available?” the man muttered. “Time is money now.”

“True,” Lady Mapa said, her tone reverting to lazy indifference. “Why not wait for the winter holiday market? Explorers from the Endless Lands will set up stalls then. You might get a hand-drawn map. It’s only a few months away.”

Winter holiday market?

Siles took note but didn’t show his curiosity. He confirmed the Ernestine Tavern’s location on the map and bought it for one duke coin.

He felt his funds running low, sighing inwardly.

He didn’t want to use the hundred-coin note from the original body’s mother unless absolutely necessary. So, he could only hope his savings held out and that Mrs. Fain kept her promise to refund his rent.

He had prepaid three months’ rent, totaling fifty duke coins—a significant sum.

With these thoughts, Siles returned to 13 Milford Street.