The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the desolate landscape. The cold breeze from the northern mountains made them shiver and long for a warm fireplace.

Everyone hurried home, except the miners in the north. They quickly lit the lamps and the fireplaces, closed and locked the doors. Like an unwelcome guest knocking on the door late at night, the cold wind made the windows tremble. People clung to the warmth in the houses as if it were precious, not wanting the winds to come and take it away.

The two returned to the Black Diamond Inn and met Mrs. Mabel.

She was as bright and cheerful as she had been in the morning. She mingled and chatted happily with the other guests. When the two entered, she eyed Althur skeptically, as if her mind still doubted his abilities.

It's strange how doubt lingers in the human mind longer than truth. The two went up to their rooms and relaxed before enjoying a delicious dinner.

Althur sat on the bed and sorted through some documents. Today's suit looked wrinkled after a long day. He took it off and placed it on a hanger near the window, letting the morning light freshen the suit. Dust and stains were meticulously brushed off and neatly hung up.

After he and Brahms descended to the dining room, Mrs. Mable had prepared a lavish dinner consisting of some bacon served with eggs and bread, a little hot potato soup and two cups of warm forest tea. It was a welcome relief from the cold and damp weather.

During the meal, Althur noticed a man who seemed at ease in turtleneck shirt and trousers. He sat cross-legged and leaned back comfortably in his chair, reading the newspaper. On the table was a cup of steaming coffee. Althur had seen the man three times before, and he was always engrossed in the newspapers.

"I see you are curious about Mr. Damien."

"He seems well informed." Althur replied politely.

"Perhaps." Mabel's old voice sounded as her wrinkles shifted. She gracefully sat down at the dining table and gazed at the handsome boy who was attentively eating his meal.

"Good evening, Mrs. Mabel." The boy greeted her as his shyness faded.

"Oh, my dears, enjoy your dinner." She said affectionately, then turned her head to look at Althur, "That's the impression he gives people. Well, he claims he's a famous artist from the capital. They always write some comments about his works. So, he always reads the newspaper to follow his news."

Althur averted his eyes from the man Mrs. Mable called Damien. He was someone who was very aware of his surroundings. He doubted Mrs. Mable's claim that the man was a famous artist. He noticed that the man always focused on the crimes and tragedies reported in the newspapers, instead of the political and literary news, as if he were searching for his own name in the wanted section, sighing softly in relief after each scan.

"How clever you are, Mrs. Mabel."

She smiled and complimented, "Young man, you too are working hard today."

"Things are a lot more complicated than I expected ma'am." He sighed.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Where have you been?"

"Not much, just a little north, a little south. I still feel I should take things easy." He paused, "but of course."

"Please do your best, young man." Mrs. Mable's voice became wistful. "I recall the times when I attended mass funerals. Things were dreadful. Our Lady was merciful. Trees turned yellow. Oh dear, these sorrowful things are common here."

He refrained from answering but asked another question politely. "How long have you been running this inn, ma'am?"

"Almost ten years, if my memory serves me right. Haha. Forgive this old body." She chuckled.

"What do you think of these coal mines work?"

"Terrible, terrible. Those gentlemen told me that the government really cares about the workers and the children."

She glanced at Althur and continued, "but really, I've been to more funerals than weddings. I've seen more young men's deaths than their romances." She spoke nonstop.

"It doesn't seem to matter in this area, but the kids in the north see dead bodies every day. They're nothing more than cold corpses lying there."

"But the law forbids children to work in the coal mines." Althur said innocently.

"But if you won't let them, go down, who will? That devilish alleyway that only children can handle, why don't they go down there to earn their bread, dear?"

She looked at Brahms, who was moved by the story, "Oh, don't be gloomy, dear. We can sympathize, but what can we do now?"

"Maybe things can change." Brahms whispered.

"Yes, things can change. One day, perhaps in our dreams." She said softly.

Brahms didn't answer, but he thought dreams were good, they could change things, his powers could change too.

"I will try my best." Althur said and brought the conversation back.

"I hope so."

"So have you heard any gossip, Mrs. Mable, about strange people in this town or strange events, have you?"

"When you're my age, things don't seem so strange."

"What a broad mind."

"The guests in this inn, almost everyone has a certain uniqueness. Like you, young gentleman, and that cute one. Mr. Damien is as charming as an artist." They both looked back, the place where the man had once sat was now empty, only an empty cup of tea remained.

"The ladies here are also very fascinating, if you have time, I'll introduce you to them."

"Thank you very much. However, I still have a mission with me. Um, can you tell me, have there been any big news in the past few years?"

"Well, isn't it hard to ask this forgetful grandmother?" She scoffed.

"There was a very big incident, it was about 3-4 years ago or something, I can't remember, a lot of people saw ghosts, or they call them headless horsemen. Oh, my Goodness, headless ghosts riding around the cemetery".

"Everything from the rumors to the scene went on non-stop. So, the night watchmen and the police had to search constantly. Father Colby also had to give lectures to calm the people."

When she mentioned Father Colby's name, there was a faint admiration.

"Father Colby, is he the bishop of this parish?" Althur asked.

"That is correct. He's an honorable man, I remember during the disaster he took the place of the Merciful Lady who comforted us."

"Disaster, was it a mine explosion that killed a hundred people?"

"That's right. Actually, that's 93 people who died."

"Your memory is remarkable, Mrs. Mable."

"Don't underestimate me. Actually, a friend of mine, she had a son who died in the mine, the 93rd, and he was the only one whose body could not be found. Poor her."

"That's heartbreaking." He sympathized.

She said again, "Thanks to Father Colby, who has strong authority to criticize that company, we have received a fair share of compensation. After this incident, people seem to care more about the way they rip that cursed thing from the ground."

Althur listened to Mrs. Mable's story, letting the painful emotions fill his mind rather than focusing on the details. But there were a few things that still caught his attention.

Everything in the town began to change drastically ten years ago when a terrible incident happened, coinciding with Father Colby's arrival at the church.

This affected the strong anti-coal sentiment of the company and the town government. However, the theocracy he represented made everyone respect him, unable to do anything but be devout and obedient.

As for the rumor that many people saw ghosts and headless knights, it seemed to have spread about 3-4 years ago. However, he would have to find other sources to verify this information, as Mrs. Mable's memory was truly unreliable. He sighed softly at the dining table.