"Though I think we missed something going on outside during this. Let me rewind and check.”

To Cal’s astonishment, Penbrooke accessed his phantom terminal and, shifting his finger along an imaginary line, had the world wind itself back in time, motion reversing, spittle flying back into Noel’s mouth, tempers cooling, until finally they were back to when the butcher had just realised he was on the ladies’ menu.

What the… How did he just…

With the world frozen around him, Penbrooke left the pub and was immediately taken aback. While you could glimpse the outside from indoors, it just hit different when wastelands were all the eye could see in every direction you looked.

Roads were guttered by expansive potholes that were filled by murky puddles; trash was piled up outside ramshackle houses and scattered across the streets; and although it’d been difficult to notice earlier on due to the poor lighting inside the pub, here it was clear to see that the locals all shared an unhealthy tinge to their skin that made them appear like post-apocalyptic survivors.

“You know, when you said the secret of Fragrant Grove was that it was a shithole,” Penbrooke began, “I thought of laughing at how absurdly tame that sounded for a secret. But not anymore.”

Across the street people had gathered around a bonfire of burning trash for warmth, its plume of rancid black smoke drifting with the wind; amongst their ranks were several frizzy-haired and grimy-skinned children who shivered in threadbare rags.

Cal hummed his agreement, rendered speechless by everything in sight. All this time he’d thought the rumours he’d grown up hearing had been exaggerated, or perhaps a case of Riversdalians hating Grove Street homies and slandering them through absurd tales about how much of a shithole it was to the point that the nickname had become the village’s official name.

How wrong he’d been, which only made it all the more mindboggling the drastic transformation the village had undergone in the short span to the present.

Having taken in the surrounding sights, Penbrooke tapped his phantom terminal to resume the vision; whereafter the man of the hour made his appearance, turning the corner onto the street.

Ovaro looked much the same man as ever with his plump face and glossy hair, beard manicured to a T and dressed in fine fabrics. Yet, despite this, it was clear to see the current him was no mayor. Where Mayor Ovaro had been a leader of the people with an aura that commanded respect, the current Ovaro’s aura was sharp and distant from the locals, clearly that of a dangerous outsider that none of them wanted to tangle with.

Well, not none of them per se, as was proven shortly after when loud barking echoed from a street out of sight. Initially creating the impression of a pack of wild dogs, the closer it got, the clearer it became that it was in fact the work of one sole man who was barking mad.

The Hound of Basketville dashed into view on all fours, chasing after the future mayor from behind, “Bad outsider, bow wow wow, stranger danger, bark ark ark.”

Huh, so Jake wasn’t lying when he said the Hugo of the past used to be far worse. Indeed, for one, while it was true the present-day Hugo had only worn a loincloth, you had to give it to him he was wearing something at least.

The children by the burning trash shouted excitedly on seeing the hound. “Look, guys, look! Hugo’s about to ragdoll the outsider.”

“Ruff em up real good, Hugo – that’ll bring a bit of warmth to my heart.”

Despite the crazed naturist pursuing him, Ovaro didn’t pay any attention to Hugo until the hound had reached pouncing proximity; only then did the future mayor deign to turn, casting a sceptic eye upon this scourge of public indecency. It was a super effective, as reflected on Hugo’s expression that transitioned from rabid fury to alarmed recognition of who he’d been hounding after.

The dirty mutt yelped and leapt backwards into the air as high as he’d done when springing on Penbrooke, his royal sceptre spinning circles like sycamore seeds in the wind.

“Ruh-roh, not stranger, gotta run, gotta run!” Whimpering pitifully, Hugo reversed directions and sprinted away on all fours, the sun shining down on his taint for everyone’s viewing pleasure.

Never in a million years would I have thought that the tail wasn’t his own idea, but instead part of the re-education building’s plan to plug up his deviancy.

Watching him scamper off, the kids were disappointed to say the least. “Oh, come on, he’s more cowardly dog than Courage even!”

“Could it be the outsider is a Stand User? I’m guessing a speed type, as that’d make sense of why the fight was over so quick before we could even see anything.”

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Frowning, the future mayor ignored the children’s nonsensical babble and rubbed the ridges out of his brow. “Right, that definitely has to get sorted.” Only after he had soothed the sight out of his mind did Ovaro proceed down his original path, towards the pub.

Near the entrance, Boris glanced up from his book when he saw Ovaro approaching and showed a pleading gesture with his head cast down. “Please, kind ser, a penny for your thoughts. I’ll listen to your troubles for two bronzes, cheapest price you’ll find for miles around.”

The future mayor walked straight on without acknowledging Boris’s presence and headed into the pub, his mutterings being the only sign he’d even perceived the beggar, “Vagrant shrinks have no guarantee of confidentiality. Looks like I’m going to have to introduce some industry standards to protect the populace from these habitual liars, on blankets and otherwise.”

Ovaro pushed through the double swing doors and stopped by the pub entrance. He looked around in the manner of a surveyor, measuring the state of the building and mumbling to himself changes to be made and repairs to be carried out.

His presence made no difference at first, until a few older folk realised he wasn’t a stranger but rather someone they knew a bit too well for their liking; their whispers spread like a seismic wave amongst the pub clientele and quickly brought a hush to the building.

The serving staff nearest to Ovaro was the administrator girl with glasses, who – feeling pressured by the patrons’ expectations on her to do something about him – went up to him with a nervous smile.

She opened her mouth to greet him, then became distracted by the motifs of flowers decorating his otherwise neat clothes, edging the borders of his tunic and down the trim of his trousers; although they ill-suited the wearer, they were evidently the work of expensive bespoke tailoring.

“Move aside and stop your gawping, girl,” Ovaro said without sparing her a glance.

“P-pardon, ser. I’ve never seen a man wearing such clothes before.”

“What, you think it makes me less manly or something? Is that it?” His tone made it very clear he would only accept one answer, and it wasn’t the one she was thinking of.

For a man who wears his obsession plain for all to see, he sure is oddly insecure about it.

“No, no, nothing,” she answered, flustered. She may not have recognised him, but she had enough sense to see that he was not your cuddly, neighbourhood uncle type, nor your typical foppishly dressed lady’s man that adhered to chivalry. “Sorry. Would you like a drink or anything to eat?”

“No need, I’m here on business purposes.”

She looked lost on what to do, and so, after slightly bowing her head, she extricated herself from having to deal with him.

As she rushed away, there was a large shadow at the very edge of Penbrooke’s vision, by an open window looking on outside, though it was quickly gone; given Penbrooke himself didn’t seem to notice anything, Cal figured he must have imagined the shadow there. Or at least he did until he caught sight of Rory also staring in that direction, expressionless except for a slightly lowered brow.

It was then that the subdued atmosphere in the pub made itself known to a certain person who was so far in the cups that he alone was immune to the hushing effect.

“Yeah, you strumpets better shut your traps, or else I’ll give you something to trumpet about. That’s right, if you come for the king you best not miss, you hear me? Hey, why’s everyone gone silent?”

Following the direction of their furtive gazes, Noel discovered Ovaro stood by the entrance with his eyes glued to the rafters.

“Huh? Ain’t you the Cheevers’ kid? Finally come back, eh? Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but your parents are long gone, kiddo. To be honest, I never quite liked them – always thugging and harassing others – so actually I’m rather pleased to tell you that.”

Usually those listening to Noel’s non-stop faulting would respond in some manner, but this time there was little else besides a couple of awkward coughs; this, alongside Ovaro’s snub of Noel, incensed the old man further.

“Oi, what did you do to intimidate the good village folk, you gangster? You think you’re hot shit just because you’ve been out and about, huh? Don’t make me get up and teach you a life lesson with my boys right here, or else...” He raised his feeble, varicose-veined fists.

The future mayor finally graced him with a look, giving him a subtle smile that sat somewhere between disarming and threatening. “It’s been a while, Noel – I see you’re in rude health still spewing shit from both ends.”

“Answer the question, or you’ll have Lightning-Fast Noel to face up with.” The old man rolled his fists in the air like an old-school boxer, demonstrating his feared jabs in action that, indeed, even the swiftest sloth would struggle to avoid.

Ovaro smirked. “Of course not. Why would anyone be intimidated by a harmless, law-abiding citizen like myself?” He then announced to the building, “Everyone, please pay me no heed and carry on with your festivities.”

“Well, good. I’m glad you’re not following in your parents’ footsteps. Those crooks would try rip me off at any opportunity they got,” Noel said, content.

Ovaro added as an afterthought. “Funnily enough though, I don’t recall my parents ever telling me about Lightning-Fast Noel. They did have a laugh about, oh, who was it again? Was it No-Bite Noel? No, it had to be No-Bladder-Control Noel, no doubt. Actually, never mind, I think it was uh… ah, No-Mates Noel, wasn’t it?”

“That’s it, sonny Jim. You’re in for it now.” Nagging Noel rose from his seat in a rush of anger and took a step forward, then gave an awful groan and slunk back down to the ground, holding his spine. Blinking tears away, he moaned, “Count your lucky stars. I’ll let you off the hook this once, but next time you try a similar thing, oh I’ll…”

The future mayor must have achieved whatever purpose he’d entered the pub for as he paid no regard to Noel’s endless stream of bluster, and he turned and left without providing any explanation.

Ovaro ignored the beggar shying away from his presence outside and went around the side of the pub, towards a shortcut; he was cutting through an alleyway several paces wide when a thickset hooliganess sprung out from hiding in a large pile of trash.

Chicken bones and eggshell pieces tumbled down her impressive full height as she glared down at him.