The following morning Asher found himself at a housing company.
Sporting his new charcoal linen suit,feeling a little strange in such expensive clothes.
As he perused the catalogue he had been given, he politely waited for assistance. Eventually, a middle-aged man approached him, clipboard in hand.
Asher listened to the man outline his options and asked several questions to narrow down his query, feeling the pinch in his wallet.
"It's alright; it's for work. It will be worth it, I'm sure! In fact, I'll make it so if it kills me. 2535 Colloway Street—a two-bedroom apartment near the office. Supposedly, it has a café across the street and a school just down the road. I’m not sure why the worker mentioned this to me. Perhaps he thought I looked like a young man eloping?"
After paying the man 15 pence for his administrative prowess, Asher left the housing agency.
“Mmmm, perhaps today I can treat myself to a public carriage ride. Otherwise, I’ll freeze to death before I make it back to Crestcheek Street.”
To his delight, he even managed to snag a window seat. Shortly after settling in, a man holding a newspaper sat beside him. Asher glanced over briefly and offered a terse nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught one of the headlines from the supplementary pages.
“WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN SEWERS BELOW HEARTH UNIVERSITY.”
Asher stole another glance at the portrait accompanying the article, making sure he didn’t recognize her. She was a brunette, quite young—perhaps no older than 18. Such a shame, truly. Yet, he felt like he had seen her before but couldn’t quite recall where.
Looking away, he hoped the man next to him didn’t catch him reading over his shoulder. He turned his attention to the city passing by through the frosted window.
It wasn’t long after he boarded when they arrived at Colloway Street. Disembarking, he handed the conductor 6 pence and adjusted his hat.
Colloway Street was quite a nice neighborhood. Children played in the streets, and the buildings were all clean and well-maintained. Most had terraces and tiny gardens enclosed by neat wooden fences. The air smelled of breakfast, and he spotted a boy riding a bicycle, delivering newspapers.
“Surprisingly, Menthil isn’t all miserable,” he mused.
Asher waved the boy down and purchased a copy, sacrificing a pence. He decided he should start reviewing it daily, knowing that staying updated on recent events could be the difference between solving a case and retiring it.
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Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he strolled down Colloway Street. He wasn’t too worried about directions; after all, he was following the enticing smell of coffee. Soon, he saw a small crowd gathered in front of a quaint café called Amerthit Bakery. It seemed the establishment lacked enough space for the morning rush. Asher took his place in the queue and waited patiently for his turn.
In front of him, a woman wearing a green blouse and grey cardigan turned around to look at him.
Asher drew a sharp breath and swallowed hard, digging deep to find the self-control he didn’t know he had to prevent himself from staring at her captivating presence.
The woman blinked a couple of times, sniffing the air. She glanced around at random passersby before finally settling her gaze on him. Her pensive expression shifted to a shallow smile, revealing eyes that sparkled like deep green forest moss, vibrant and sharp. Her flaxen hair was straight and tied up, neatly kept out of her way.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Yes, it is... erm... I mean, good morning to you as well,” he half-blurted.
The woman chuckled at his blunder, eliciting an imperceptible blush from him.
“You’re from around here? Western borough, I think it’s called.”
Asher reached into his inner pocket, producing an old pocket watch made of silver metal—its origin a mystery even to him.
“Come to think of it, where exactly did I find it?” he pondered silently for a moment before redirecting his attention.
He snapped the watch open and noted the time, ensuring he wouldn’t be late. Looking back at the woman he had designated a public safety hazard, he replied, “Yes, I’ve just booked a flat here on Colloway. But I’ve never once left Menthil—somber as it may be, it’s home.”
The woman seemed intrigued, but the queue had already crossed the café’s threshold.
“Well, I just arrived less than a month ago from Urbs Stellarum. It has been a real struggle to make friends here.”
Asher felt his focus slipping again; this time, he caught her scent—rose water and cinnamon, perhaps clove.
It was more than enough to make him experience another faux stupor.
He wore what he thought was a mildly skeptical expression. What sort of places had she been networking? Every lad across the borough must be pining to solve such a “conundrum.”
“Is that so? Well, I’m Asher Moretti. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’d be delighted to enjoy your friendship.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled with a gleam reminiscent of a child unwrapping a new toy on Christmas.
“I’m Renee Duval. I hope to see you soon. You’re welcome to join me for tea at Market Street, 907. Jusqu'à ce que nous nous revoyions.”
Asher made a mental note of her address, repeating it three times to be sure.
“Well, I’m a bit busy at the moment; however, I will drop by when I get a chance. If not, I’m staying at 2535 Colloway. Ah, and j’espère bientôt.”
She seemed pleased he had acquiesced to her somewhat limited English.
Shooting him a smile, she gave a half-curtsy and walked past him.
Renee donned a veiled sun hat, clutched her bag of baked goods, and left.
Asher took longer than he would have liked to tear his gaze from her departing figure.
When he finally did, he inquired about seating with the clerk. Shortly afterward, he was enjoying a coffee—unfortunately without cream.
From time to time, he nibbled on the croissant aux Amandes he had ordered. It was delicious, the almond butter nestled inside a delightful surprise.
Opening his fresh copy of Menthil Daily, he began to peruse it leisurely.