13. Old City Rumors

“Fencing stolen goods?!”

Mrs. Fain exclaimed.

As Siles had suspected, Mrs. Fain was completely unaware of the Ernestine Tavern’s role in such activities. She likely thought it was merely a gathering spot for underground gangs.

Only after Siles explained did she react with sudden realization. She murmured in a panic, “No wonder… no wonder…”

“What?”

Mrs. Fain fell silent for a moment, then said, “My little Anthony… he’s always… always wanted to get involved in his father’s business. He thinks we underestimate him, treat him like a child. He…”

Mrs. Fain trailed off.

Siles thought to himself that Mrs. Fain and Mr. Fain likely dismissed Anthony’s ambitions, seeing them as childish antics.

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Yap. Wykd oyp qaydvkn shla Gdvbsdu’p ekpyrrlyaydnl, lhld alpsavkdt vs ypjkdt y vldydv qsa blzr. Ylydobkzl, bla psd zkjlzu vbswtbv bkp ynvksdp rashle bkp nyryckzkvu.

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“Ls, ds,” Yap. Wykd iwknjzu pbssj bla blye. “Ya. Lslz, usw xyu dsv jdso, kd vbl Xze Ukvu, kv’p clpv dsv vs ts swv yqvla lktbv yv dktbv. Rv’p vss eydtlaswp.”

Fkzlp rywple pzktbvzu, vbld pyke, “Jwv Gdvbsdu…”

“I can’t let you put yourself in danger for my son,” Mrs. Fain said stubbornly. The usually sharp and unrelenting middle-aged woman displayed that attitude again, but this time it oddly left Siles feeling a touch helpless.

Siles didn’t press further, only asking, “Why can’t one go out after eight?”

Mrs. Fain’s lips quivered before she said, “Because of some rumors.”

Siles was puzzled.

Mrs. Fain said, “Some say… after eight at night, they’ve seen… shadows appearing out of nowhere… coming from who-knows-where and vanishing without a trace…

“Just two days ago, Mrs. Hovi next door told me about this! You mustn’t go out. I don’t want you harmed because of my little Anthony… My little Anthony…”

She wandered back to her room in a daze.

Siles went to the door, looking out at the quiet street. He realized it was completely deserted. The fine rain and breeze stirred up street dust, creating an utterly lonely and empty scene.

Shadows from unknown sources?

Siles frowned, thinking it might be some people’s illusions, exaggerated through rumors into urban legends.

He hadn’t expected Mrs. Fain to believe these rumors so deeply. Perhaps living alone, with her husband absent and her son rebellious, and tenants coming and going, had affected her mental state.

…Siles exhaled slowly.

He returned to his second-floor room, folded the Lamifa City map, placed it in a drawer, and resumed his unfinished task—lesson preparation.

It was already Wednesday night. Time was tight.

That night, the light in the easternmost room on the second floor of Milford Street stayed on late. In the quiet, dark neighborhood, it seemed the only glowing light, casting a faint warmth in the rainy night.

Days of running around made Siles rise later the next day. He went downstairs near eight, intending to speak with Mrs. Fain, but found she had prepared a hearty breakfast—white bread, fried eggs, hot milk, fried fish nuggets.

Feeling undeserving, Siles ate lightly and hurried off to the Ernestine Tavern.

Morning on Milford Street was far livelier and more peaceful than the previous night’s desolation. It was a rare rainless day with faint sunlight, easing Siles’s mood.

Indeed, after days of downpour, July’s rainy season was nearing its end.

The Ernestine Tavern was in the northern part of West Lamifa. Further west lay the city’s slums.

Due to various reasons, this world’s productivity was fairly balanced, possibly because the mysterious gray-black mist disrupted capital accumulation.

Regardless, as Siles left Milford Street for the more remote, dilapidated parts of the Old City, he found the area more chaotic, with lower, shabbier buildings.

After about half an hour’s brisk walk, he finally spotted the Ernestine Tavern’s sign from a distance.

It was a distinctly unique building, tall and pointed with dark brown walls. As Siles approached, he saw it was only two stories but had an unusually high, slanted roof, like a witch’s hat perched askew.

Siles timed it well. The tavern opened at nine, and it was just past nine.

He entered the tavern.

It wasn’t as eerie as he’d imagined. The brown wooden floor felt solid, walls adorned with drapes and oil paintings, and wooden window frames glowed warmly in the faint sunlight.

There was a bar and individual seats, not cramped, resembling an ordinary restaurant, not a gang hangout.

Siles chose a window seat.

A waiter approached with a menu, and as Siles casually looked at him, he froze. The waiter froze too.

It was one of the Historical Society study group members!

The shabbily dressed, always-anxious middle-aged man. Siles remembered his name: Eric Kolens.

Now, in a plain shirt and trousers, Eric stared at Siles in shock, his gaze turning to panic and unease.

Siles said, “I should explain, Mr. Kolens. Meeting you here is just a coincidence.”

Eric glanced around nervously, then sat awkwardly beside Siles. “Call me Eric.”

Siles nodded. “Siles.”

Eric said awkwardly, “I work here. The pay’s low, but it includes three meals. Sometimes I take food home; my daughter likes the taste.”

Siles nodded slowly, not pressing further—he could tell Eric’s financial situation was likely poor.

But that was precisely why being a Revelator was an opportunity Eric couldn’t abandon.

Siles had a sudden realization.

After a pause, he stated his purpose: “I’m here to find someone you might have seen.” Eric listened attentively, and Siles continued, “His name is Anthony Fain, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy with freckles, rather… arrogant.”

Eric thought, then said, “I remember him, but I didn’t know his name. He comes here every morning lately for brunch, hangs out with friends until night, then leaves.”

Hearing Anthony was unharmed, Siles felt relieved. He didn’t want his investigation to end with a young boy’s corpse—though was Lamifa City that dangerous? Siles wasn’t sure.

“Thank you,” Siles said. “I’ll wait here for him.”

Eric nodded, hesitated, and asked tentatively, “Would you like something to eat or… drink?”

Siles said, “Any non-alcoholic beverages?”

“A juice?”

Siles nodded, paid, and gave two earl coins as a tip. Eric looked embarrassed, but Siles said, “Don’t worry, it’s restaurant etiquette.”

Seeing Siles’s consistently calm and steady demeanor, Eric felt his feelings of inferiority and shame ease.

In the past two sessions, Eric had been even more reserved than Siles, barely noticeable, especially compared to the visibly affluent young members.

He was cautious, self-deprecating, sinking into a mire of his own making.

This chance encounter with Siles gave Eric an inexplicable sense of kinship.

About half an hour later, Eric approached Siles to say, “The person you’re looking for is here.”

Siles nodded, his gaze already spotting Anthony Fain.

The tavern now had a few patrons. Anthony Fain arrived with other boys his age, rowdy and boisterous, sitting in a row at the bar, ordering just three plates of fried rice for five or six to share.

Siles noticed their clothes were dirty and worn, their shoes caked with mud. They seemed like a small group, warming and trusting each other but utterly vulnerable, lacking self-protection.

…A group of runaway kids?

Siles thought for a moment, then said to Eric, “Get them three more plates of fried rice, three vegetable salads, one sausage each, and a drink each. My treat.”

Eric looked surprised.

Siles didn’t explain further. Finding this boy would bring him significant reward; for now, he’d call it caring for the vulnerable.

Soon, the kids grew noisy. Before long, Anthony cast a glance at Siles. They seemed famished, devouring the food Siles bought.

When Anthony Fain approached Siles, rice grains still clung to his lips.

“I know you,” he said. “My mom sent you, didn’t she?”

His tone was impolite.

Siles looked up, his dark eyes quietly studying the young boy. After a moment, he said, “Rice.”

Anthony froze, then angrily wiped the rice from his lips.

“Are your companions also wandering with you?” Siles asked directly, not waiting for Anthony to speak.

Anthony’s face flushed as he retorted loudly, “This isn’t wandering!”

Siles tapped his fingers on the table. “Three duke coins.”

“What?”

Siles said concisely, “What I spent on your meal.”

Anthony Fain, with barely one duke coin to his name, turned ashen.