Chapter 2.4
Even buildings powered by mystical cogwork couldnât purify the waves of wind and dark clouds pouring in from the outside all at once.
Especially the rain.
When it touched human skin, it burned black. The skin peeled, blistered, and left behind horrific wounds. Living in Downtown, it wasnât uncommon to hear stories of people who, after being exposed to the rain too much, died in agony from cardiac arrest. Because of this, when winds or rain carrying high concentrations of harmful substances swept in from outside, the city would issue warnings advising people to stay indoors.
Of course, those warnings were only accessible if you made it as far as Middletown.
âI-I should get going. Just need to use the restroom.â
At the mention of the rain, Rani shot up from his seat.
He had once told Cyril that heâd been exposed to the rain while on a job. That was when heâd first been hospitalized at Nevaeia Hospital, and he had confided the story to Cyril. He described in a pale-faced whisper how excruciating the pain was, how grotesque his face and body had looked when he saw himself in the mirror upon arrival at the hospital.
After that, Rani became terrified of water. Instead of washing, he changed his clothes, and if changing clothes didnât feel enough, he thought it best to shed his skin. Cyril didnât much care either way. He did appreciate the fact that Rani often bought up large amounts of cheap wine to wash his hair.
âWhy donât we stay a bit longer?â
Astor, who had been absentmindedly staring at Raniâs retreating back, gave Xara a nudge on the shoulder.
Without giving it much thought, Xara nodded.
âI was planning to stay late tonight.â
âOh, same here, actually. Itâs been a while since I cameâfeels like a waste to leave after just one drink.â
Saying so, Astor flipped through the menu. Cyril sighed inwardly at the two people who seemed so relaxed despite the rain. So much for heading home early. Well, Rune was still with the tailor, so it wasnât like he had a pressing reason to go home anyway.
Xara asked Astor,
âSo where were we in our conversation? The west?â
âYes, the west. Cyril, one Blue Hawaiian, please.â
Astor smiled at Cyril as she placed her order.
âDo you know, Cyril?â
âKnow what?â
When Cyril asked back, Astor gave an answer he might well have expected.
âThe urban legends about the cogwork and wind-up buildings in each city.â
Astor had arrived at Kyrie about ten minutes after the Uptown young man.
Astor was a hunter. More specifically, a story hunter. Someone who took pleasure in tracking down the mysterious tales, legends, and pre-Cataclysm records of each city and claiming them as his own. When he set out on a trip, he would wander until he found something of value, so he only showed up every few months. Sometimes, Cyril wouldnât see him for over a year.
Thatâs why Cyril often wondered whether it was right to call Astor a regular. It had been years since Astor first came to Kyrie, but he had visited fewer than ten times total. Their rapport had always hovered in a vague, in-between stateânever quite growing closer, yet never unfamiliar.
âUrban legends?â
As Cyril poured light rum, blue curaçao, coconut-flavored rum, and pineapple juice into the blender, he spoke up. It was Xara who replied.
âRumors surrounding the towers and buildings. The so-called Seven Mysteries. Isnât there one in Orgel, too?â
âAh.â
At the mention of the Seven Mysteries, Cyril nodded. Unsolved mysteries always made for popular small talkâespecially in this city, where all kinds of strange elements were tangled in chaotic disorder. Stories drifted across the ground like fog.
Xara and Astor⊠It was quite the unusual pairing, Cyril thought, but they seemed to have bonded over their shared knowledge of stories from other cities. He could easily imagine how the three of themâleft at the bar counter while he dealt with Una and the mysterious customerâhad spent their time chatting. Xara and Astor likely got carried away with city legends, while Rani sat there looking bored.
âDid you hear the one about the man-eating beast in Orgel?â
As Cyril handed over the finished Blue Hawaiian, he murmured the question. Astor popped the cherry garnish into his mouth and made a face. Was the cherry bad? Cyril, who lacked confidence when it came to picking out fruits and vegetables, felt relieved when he heard what Astor said next. The issue wasnât the cherry.
âHonestly, that doesnât even qualify as an urban legend. The Master of Orgel said it himself a few years back. Killed the fun.â
âTrue enough.â
Astor referred to the cityâs ruler as the Master. It wasnât particularly strangeâUptown residents had their own terms for property owners, too. For instance, the owner of the Clock Tower preferred to be called a king, so the citizens there referred to him as the King of the Clock Country. For short: Clock King.
The owner of Orgel had similar nicknames. Beastkeeper, or Livestock Masterâterms that implied he raised beasts. These nicknames were mostly used in Downtown. They came, of course, from that incident. The bold statements he made at the council of city rulers.
ââEven if I have to antagonize the other city Masters, I will take in anyone who flees to Orgel. Therefore, citizens of Orgel must live kind and honest lives. If you break this rule, I will unleash the beast I raise and have it kill you.ââ
After recounting the speech with dramatic hand gestures, Astor gave a shrug.
“What kind of pathetic mystery is that?”
