CHAPTER I - THE SUNSHINE CAFE, PART 1

When the sun rose on that fine summer day, she stirred the earth awake. The city and the country basked in her light. She cradled both like they were innocent children. Where life lingered, the world lingered, and happiness lingered — a city where only echoes lingered. The light flowed through the city’s wide avenues, built with bricks. A few walked these streets, mainly pigs keeping to their beat. Buildings were built in a brutal style, in a time when the city lived through the war. The sun need not to worry; the buildings held beauty in its quiet desperation.

Atop each streetlight perched bronze mechanical roosters. Many of them were in patina, some bore deep dents, and an unlucky few were defaced with red paint. Suddenly, the roosters let out a shrill cry — they played a poor rendition of the Ryncheolian national anthem, ‘The March of Brotherhood’. Simultaneously, all the clocks in the city struck seven sharp. A cloud of steam rushed through their mouthpieces and out into the air. After a few minutes, the roosters wheezed back into silence, their job done.

Workers, dressed for the day, came out of the brick townhouses a few minutes after the roosters’ performance. Many of these workers were men. Each wore a hardened expression, a solemn stare. There were those who chose to bid their families goodbye, while others simply jogged on. Some chose to walk to their workplaces while others took the tram or the omnibus. The streets were packed today, there was not a single vehicle moving. It was going to be a long hard day of work.

All the while, dark clouds of smoke began to rise from the western factories’ chimneys.

It was foreboding.

Hidden by the river on the eastern side of town sat a quaint little cottage. The cottage was built out of oaken planks, painted white to hide the rot that some of the planks bore. A sign by its entrance read, “Welcome to the Sunshine Cafe“. It had a little boardwalk, occupied by a lonely man fishing for trash in the river. In the distance, on one of the city’s avenues, two figures were making their way to this little cafe.

Each of them stood out like a sore thumb in this part of the city. The young woman was dressed modestly, sporting a crisp white blouse and a flowing black skirt. She walked confidently in her shoes, outpacing her companion by a wide margin. Few women would dare do what she did. It was seen as a rude gesture for a woman to not be seen walking side by side with a man — especially for a young woman. Yet, her eyes sparkled with trust.

She knew he would be fine.

Behind her was that man, an older gentleman. He was simply following the young woman’s lively pace. At this point, she was hopping on the brick road, looking back at the man with a smile on her face. His back was arched, frail and unsteady, supported by a long black wooden cane adorned with a silver ornament.

Then, the young woman stopped as they neared a staircase.

"I made it before you, sire!" Lucille spoke with her hands in the air, wobbling for a moment before coming back to her pockets. "Now, then. Welcome to our meeting place, the Sunshine Cafe." She pointed at the small white cottage.

"Ah, how grand." The gentleman squinted, slowly making his way to the young woman, "Whether or not this will live up to my expectations, we shall see. Now then, Ms. Styron..."

He paused, "This is a bit unorthodox, normally I'd be the one setting the meeting place."

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"Questioning things now, sire?"

The young woman shot a look, “What’s done is done. It’s not like Meryl would do me any favors. She’s got no initiative when it comes to me.”

“Do not besmirch Ms. Montclair, Ms. Styron. It is rude to talk behind someone’s back.”

Lucille sighed, crossing her arms, “Yes, sire. I understand.”

The two made their way down the stairs, remaining silent up until they had reached the cottage.

"Sire, don't you think that it'd be better to start the day with a cup of coffee and some biscuits?" Lucille asked, as she entered the cafe. The young raven-haired woman walked confidently. "It'd do you wonders for those ailing knees and joints, much more so than the tea from Verignon."

"I'm not that old, Ms. Styron," replied the older gentleman with a hoarse sniff, his bald head gleaming. He took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, blowing his nose loudly with a groan. "For the record, I honestly believe that tea will help me keep myself alive longer. Preferably, green tea sourced from the rolling hills of Hewret."

"Right. But you should at least try a cup of coffee." Lucille pointed a finger to the old man's face, brushing by the bushy caterpillar over his dry lips. "A little bird once said to me that the best time to drink coffee is just before breakfast. Preferably, a light breakfast."

"Hear, hear," The man raised his hand. “That’s enough now. You’ve made your point.”

The two then took their seats, which were next to a window. Outside, flecks of ash had begun to rain down, where plumes of gray smoke rose towards the east. The old man paused, looking at his pocket watch. The time was 7:50 sharp. His eyes darted around, observing his surroundings closely. Seemingly, they were the only two people in this cafe.

Then, he exhaled deeply, a rattle sounding through his nose. "I must say this is a wonderful little cafe, Ms. Styron. Thank you for bringing me here." He paused, "But, pardon me, Ms. Styron. Why are there no customers in this cafe? This is close to Victory Avenue, surely more people would come visit this cafe."

"Oh, this cafe is more like one of those ancient guilds of sorts. All regulars know the owner at a very personal level, and when I say personal, I mean personal..." The young woman shook her head, before lowering her voice down to a whisper. "Don't tell anyone else about this place now, sire. It's our little secret."

As if right on cue, a middle-aged woman, dressed in a conservative manner, stepped forward and beamed. She was surprisingly short, the old man thought. The woman's hair was tied into a system of knots, still wildly flailing. There was a large mole on her left cheek, looking like it would almost burst.

“Good morning, Lucille!” The woman hugged Lucille tightly, “It’s nice to see you.”

“Yeah,” Lucille gasped, her arms flailing around the woman’s back. “Too tight, Mrs. Abigail! Let go of me! You're going to kill me!”

“Oh, pardon me.” The woman stepped back, blushing from embarrassment. “That wasn't up to par, now was it. Lucille, I did not know that you brought a guest with you, darling. Excuse the warm welcome, mister…”

“Pinkerton,” The old man stood up from his seat, extending his right hand forward. It trembled slightly. “R. J. Pinkerton.”

The woman grasped the old man's hand and shook it. It was a firm grip.

“Pinkerton! I see.” The woman placed the menu onto the wooden table, before leaning towards Lucille's ear. She whispered, low enough for Mr. Pinkerton to not hear. Whatever she whispered though, the young woman shot a glare at the woman.

“What’s on the menu?” Lucille snapped, slamming her hand onto the wooden table. She then leaned towards Mrs. Abigail’s ear and whispered something back to her. From his position, the old man couldn’t be sure, but he thought that he saw her lips quivering. Was she telling her about her situation? He snapped out of his thoughts, it was bad to dwell on such matters here. It was after all a professional matter, and those would be settled professionally in the office.

“Of course. I understand,” The woman smiled, promptly took out a notepad. “Now, Lucille. Have you picked something?”

“I’d like a cup of coffee, the usual. Oh, and some crumpets.”

“Right, and you sir?”

“Um, Madame?” Mr. Pinkerton composed himself, “Would you perhaps have any tea? Preferably, chamomile. My doctor recommended it for my throat to relax.”

“We do, but it will take a few minutes to prepare.” Mrs. Abigail bowed, “In the meantime, try to ignore the dust in this shabby old place. I haven’t gotten the time to clean this mess.”

She promptly disappeared into the kitchen.