The carriage rattled its way into Old Town, and the surroundings shifted dramatically. Everywhere lay dilapidated houses and potholed streets, the air thick with the stench of garbage and sewage carried on the wind. Charles pulled out a handkerchief dabbed with perfume, pressing it over his nose to mask the unpleasant smells. Joseph and Charles exchanged wary glances as they surveyed the dismal scene.
Joseph let out a long sigh. "It's so depressing that people have to live like this," he said, shaking his head slowly.
Charles nodded. "Yes, it's a vicious cycle few ever escape. Anyone born and raised here rarely gets much of a chance at a decent life."
Their carriage passed a group of beggars slumped against a wall and ragged children playing tag with a kind of carefree abandon that only youth could know, despite the bleak reality surrounding them.
Joseph watched them with a pang of sympathy. "I can't help pitying those kids. Growing up here, how can they learn to be good or find real opportunities?"
Charles concurred. "Worse still, any orphanage that should be a refuge turns out to be a front for human trafficking. Then again, not everyone here is wicked. Some folks try to do what's right, no matter how terrible the conditions are."
Joseph nodded. "Yes, but it's hard to blame anyone forced into shady dealings for survival. Sometimes you have to choose between staying alive or staying moral—and it's not always a simple choice."
He paused briefly, then continued, "It's one reason I want to change this kingdom for the better. Nobody should be forced to pick between surviving and being a good person."
Charles gazed at him with admiration. "It's definitely no easy task."
"I know," Joseph replied, staring out the carriage window. "But if we never start, it'll never change."
They fell into a contemplative silence, taking in the grinding poverty and misery through the window. Joseph felt his resolve deepen. He meant to do something about these people's living conditions.
Eventually, the carriage pulled up in front of an old church in Old Town. Charles and Joseph disembarked, scanning the vicinity carefully. The weathered gray-stone building loomed before them, once rumored to be a hideout for the Script-Decipherers.
Joseph instructed the driver to leave. If the carriage stayed parked in this area, it would draw unwanted attention—risking trouble or theft. When the driver departed, Charles spoke up:
"Let's check inside. Maybe we'll find some leftover clues."
Joseph agreed. They went in warily, discovering a large hall lined with rotting wooden pews. At the far end stood a massive carved wheel symbol—once an exquisite piece, etched into the gray stone, telling some portion of this kingdom's history.
Charles moved in for a closer look. Joseph said quietly, "Our special unit combed this place thoroughly, but there was nothing left behind. No traces to follow."
Before leaving, Joseph raised a hand in respect to the religious symbol, while Charles stood by without performing any gesture.
"You're not going to pray at all?" Joseph asked, slightly puzzled.
Charles shook his head. "I still have no memory of which faith I might have followed before two years ago. I'm worried if I worship your deity, I might anger whoever I used to follow."
Joseph gave a soft laugh. "Is that so? Suppose you used to worship Galatanas. Would you remain uncommitted forever? They believe every second is precious, as they say—let every moment slip by, and you waste the blessings bestowed upon you."
Charles quirked a smile. "Or maybe I worshiped some other deity, not one of your main pantheons—Fatúsrex, Galatanas, or Mundclavis."
Joseph frowned in jest. "Or maybe… you belonged to Nihilkios?"
Charles flinched. "Definitely not. If I did, I'd rather never recover my memories. Those lot are always inviting death. The devout ones drag others along to their final realm nonsense. They're way too dangerous."
Joseph nodded in agreement. "That's true. The authorities keep them in check so they don't spread their heresy. Anyway, it doesn't matter which god you do or don't worship. What matters is you're my friend."
Charles gave a crooked grin. "That's a fine speech, but a bit sappy."
Joseph chuckled before standing up. "All right, enough. Let's get back to finding Michael. We've got work to do."
They left the church and continued their search in earnest, weaving through the narrow back alleys of Old Town. They asked around, speaking to market vendors, day laborers, and street urchins who roamed the district. Yet no one had seen a man matching Michael's description.
They then headed for a deserted timber warehouse, a frequent hideout for runaways and criminals. Charles used an oil lamp to examine every nook while Joseph kept a lookout. They found evidence of thieves and smugglers, but no sign relating to Michael.
Afterward, they stopped by an old tavern known as The Drunken Fox, a hub of rumors in that quarter. Joseph bought a round for the weathered innkeeper in exchange for any information, but even his wide-reaching ears had picked up nothing about Michael.
By late afternoon, as oil lamps were lit along the streets, Charles sighed. "We've asked everyone we can. We've covered so much ground, but there's no sign of Michael."
Joseph nodded in sympathy. "I'm nearly out of ideas. But there is one place we haven't tried."
"Where?" Charles asked, hopeful.
"The black market. That's where illegal deals happen. Problem is, it has no fixed location. We just know it's hidden somewhere in Old Town. We'll have to do some digging around."
Charles reflected a moment. "I might know someone who can help. He might know about the black market."
"Oh? Who?" Joseph asked, intrigued.
"His name's Bartholomew, a bounty hunter and a fellow member of the guild. We worked together once or twice. He often deals with outlaws—collecting bounties on wanted criminals. I'll bet he knows something about the black market."
"That's great!" Joseph clapped Charles on the shoulder. "Where can we find him?"
"He usually hangs around a bar in the middle district," Charles replied. "We'll have to track him down there."
"Then let's go." Joseph agreed.
They left the dim alleyways, heading back toward the old church where their carriage had returned. Spotting it by the curb, they climbed aboard again.
"Take us to the middle district," Charles directed the driver.
He gave a short nod and set the carriage in motion. Not long into their journey, an abrupt alarm rang out in both their minds—a deep, resonant echo like the chime of a giant pendulum clock. Charles jerked in surprise, whirling to Joseph in alarm.
"You heard that too?" he whispered.
Joseph's face hardened. "Yes. It means an Ascendant is nearby."
He quickly ordered the driver to halt. Both men fished out their pocket watches, noticing the golden gears spinning rapidly beneath the dial. This signaled that an Ascendant was close.
"Get off," Joseph murmured, stepping onto the street. "Follow my lead and act natural."
They climbed down carefully, attempting to look casual. Yet both sets of eyes kept flickering to their watch faces. Its spinning gears didn't slow—on the contrary, they accelerated, indicating they were closing in on the source.
Charles's pulse pounded. He began to sweat, remembering all Joseph had taught him about the dangers of an Ascendant. Carefully, they meandered along until they arrived at an unassuming two-story wooden house near the edge of Old Town. It stood beside a narrow lane lined with similar dwellings.
Its steep, brownish-tiled roof suggested an ordinary design. The walls were painted white and, at a glance, appeared well-maintained. The first floor boasted two shuttered windows at the front, and above them, another pair of windows and a small balcony jutted from the second floor. On the front porch, an old rocking chair rested in one corner.
A modest garden preceded the entrance, with neatly trimmed grass and a few stray weeds. Patches of wildflowers lined a short brick path leading up to the door, and faint light shone through a downstairs window, suggesting the occupant was home.
At first glance, the house looked perfectly normal. Perhaps a bit too quiet, but no obvious sign of trouble. Yet the insistent ticking in their minds and the racing clock gears told Charles and Joseph that something sinister lurked within.
Charles swallowed. His gaze fixed on the house, uncertain of what might await them inside. But he was sure of one thing: on his first day of this job, he'd already landed in serious trouble. If this wasn't bad luck, he didn't know what was.