The street, as he walked as casually down it as he could, made ‘Tj’Chin’Ker’s skin itch. And he hated it. Every step brought him more and more little details filtering in through his perception of the street that just made him want to tear off his clothing and run down the thoroughfare naked.

Naked had solved almost everything when he was young. Probaby when he was very young, too. Maybe not in those rare few days when he was very, very young, but who can say? He was willing to let such speculations fall by the wayside as he wandered along looking for the sign with the black cat. He even wanted to, but keeping his mind turning over the same problem over and over again was helping ‘Ker to maintain his emotional balance.

The tall man in the fancy suit had been one of his enemies. The man hadn’t, he thought, recognised ‘Ker. And so ‘Ker had taken Cole’s message to heart, and headed out the door to find the “co-fee” store.

…Store? Shop? Pub? Inn? Taverna…?

Too many new words were fighting in his mind for dominance, but it sounded like a place to have a snack or a meal of some sort. That boded well. Food was always a delight. And he didn’t have any of the modern coinage, so he was gratified that Elgin, the Dancer, would be taking care of his bill.

Several storefronts he had passed already on his walk possessed the “light ghosts” that were all the rage in this era for entertainment. He had seen many people enjoying plays and pantomimes made from protected lights on the devices they carried, and which so many people had implanted into themselves, usually into the skin on the back of their left wrist.

All of the grand windows of these stores had such light ghost pantomimes, all jumping out of the oversized glass fronts and imploring ‘Ker to enter their stores. It had taken only a bare moment or two for ‘Ker to realize that the ghosts were street hawkers. Just as annoying as any other sellers he had seen in a thousand other cities and towns over the years.

Rome had been, he remembered, as thick with barkers and hawkers as blood sucking insects in any swamp in which he had ever traveled. Many of those barkers in the small Roman settlements he had visited had tried to convince buyers their wares were either blessed by, made by, or fully endorsed by any number of gods. ‘Ker had once bought a pair of boots “made by Nodens, himself!” Having met Nodens several times, he had doubted the veracity of the statement, but they had been well made boots for all that.

But now that he saw them for what they were, and he noticed they never came out more than two handspans from the glass in which they lived, he could ignore them.

But, now, because of his luck being what it was, he now stood midway down the third block from where he had started out from, and now found himself in a dilemma. A simple stride forward and to the right, he saw a store that had a black cat on its sign. The painting of the cat had the feline sitting like a human, and drinking something warm… or possibly smelly… from a ceramic mug.

This was probably the place Cole had directed him to.

He also saw that across the street from where he now stood, there was another sign with a painted likeness of a black cat. This cat was curled up in proper cat fashion, denoting feline comfort or possibly sleep. It was curled up next to …something.

The thing it was curled beside had an angular bottom, with almost buttocks-like double rounded form. It was perplexing.

He wasn’t certain of the writing on the signage, as the shop across the street didn’t look like food was involved with their cat metaphor. But, it did have, possibly, a butt related metaphor. Or possibly the spread and fanned out wings of a dead seabird of some sort. Between the two interpretations, ‘Ker was always in favor of a good butt. It had been a while since he had seen one. At least, since he had seen one that was, metaphorically, as happy to see him as he was to see it.

With a stab or pain in his hand, and a moment of cognizant recognition, ‘Ker remembered the young woman he had charmed at the hospital. He looked down at his hand, using the trick of vision that the Dancer had shown him just last night, and saw the angry twist of magic that wove about and through his hand and trailed off into the aether, disappearing off toward the East.

Staring up at the sign with the cat next to the combination disembodied butt dead seagull, he had just taken a step toward the alluring possibilities, when a loud caxton went off near him, causing him to jump backward.

Finding himself standing upon the brick window ledge of the “cat drinks smelly things in a human manor” store, he watched as a “car” slowed as it drove down the street, and a window on the vehicle’s side irised open, showing a scowling elderly woman.

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“Cross where it’s safe, sonny!” Her voice was steel on a grindstone, and he resented her advice. It may have been sage advice, but from who it came, rude old human in a modern cart thing, and the fact that her vehicle’s claxon had warned him for HIS OWN GOOD, did nothing to ease the reception of the message.

He was vexed. And embarrassed.

And vexed.

But, he reasoned as his limbs loosened their positions, and his heartbeat slowed to something closer to normal, “Living and vexed beats dead and embarrassed any day.”

Stretching his back, flexing, then twisting his torso, he was easing his muscles back to a semblance of normality, ‘Ker finally straightened, and then turned to the “Cat drinks smelly things in a human fashion” store, and grabbed the handle, pulling it out as he had seen others doing at other stores along this street.

A warm breeze, leaving in breads and sugars wafted from the open door, almost mugging him for what few things he had left on his person. The aromas were enticing and fully engaging, with everything from simple breads to complex confections of a variety he hadn’t yet known existed.

Stepping into the little shop, ‘Ker could see people taking in hushed tones to one another, sitting at several scattered little tables. All drank dark liquids from various designs of ceramics, and some also ate pastries and small buns. This wasn’t a bakery, though he could tell they baked much of what they served, but it was more akin to a pub. Though he could not smell anything of beer or ale here.

The most predominant smell was that of some sweet, charred thing. It smells of grains and syrups, but was neither of those things. After a moment, the scent resolved itself in his mind. It was qahveh kaneh, from Etiopani. Some of the People used to import it, and drank it regularly before the Migration.

It was too expensive for ‘Ker to ever indulge in, and his brother, Tj’Arr’Dne, hated the smell. His nose was as sensitive as a hound’s, and his eating habits as picky as a toddler’s. But, ‘Ker could see every person in the pub, for that was what this place more resembled, was eating dessert cakes and small sweet buns along with various concoctions of qahveh.

One elderly man sat alone at a table, tapping with his fingers on lighted spots on the surface of the table, occasionally stopping to grab the tall ceramic mug by his right hand and taking a sip of the utterly black liquid within. Aquick sip, set the mug back down, a lick of his silver mustache, and then back to tapping the lighted spots with his fingers.

At first, ‘Ker thought the old man was playing a dexterity game, like the Thread Game that his own people often played. But then, as he stepped further into the interior of the store, he could see the back side of a light ghost that hovered over the man, and see words quickly spreading across the “scroll” image the light ghost had been made to imitate.

The scent of the liquid that the old man was regular;y sipping away at was now prevalent in the confines of the small pub; ‘Tj’Chin’Ker decided he liked the smell of the qahveh. Between the qahveh scent, and the sugary breads and sweets, it was becoming quite the heady atmosphere.

Waiting a moment to acclimate and orient, “Ker turned to the counter where a young man with dark skin and a very high hairline stood, watching him. He had a pleasant “shopkeeper’s smile” on his face, which was a common look for those who often worked in commerce. It was a thin smile that said “Hello, I am happy to see you. Please buy something, and don’t be rude, stupid, or kill me.”

It wasn’t too much to ask, but most people failed in that simple list all too often, ‘Ker knew. People, as he knew, were horrible to one another; even his own People.

Maybe especially his own, as he thought of the Mother, and the care he had received from her toadeaters and lickspittes over the centuries.

Stepping up to the counter, ‘Ker said what he had been practicing in his mind as best he could manage to the young man who waited.

“Hello, I’ve been sent by Mister Elgin Stark and his employee, MIster Cole, and been told they will handle my check,” he paused at “check,” not certain it was the right word to use here. “And that I should wait here for them to summon me when the work I had set them to has been finished.” He smiled, trying for “friendly, if clueless traveler.”

Moments later, after a blissfully short conversation, mostly revolving around “New in town? Yes. … Okay… What would you like? A qahveh and something to eat… Okay…” ‘Ker sat at a table with a fresh cup of steaming black liquid in a fanciful cat themed mug, and a small plate on which rested a small bun in the odd and off putting shape of a mushroom.

The bun smelled like the best parts of seared pig belly, butter, and something sweet he had never smelled before coming to these shores. It, too, was sweet, and almost cloying.

When he bit into the bun, it was a wonderful mix of savory herbs, all of which he recognised, and small slivers of seared pork belly that had been cooked, or smoked before cooking, in some odd, sweet syrup.

Swallowing the first bite, he took another, and tried to wash it down with the qahveh the same way he might have done with a drop cake and tea at home.

The sudden choking noises he made as he tried to process the overwhelming flavor of the dark, rich, BURNING liquid made every head turn to him as he flailed and fumbled at the small napkin, so as to not spit the contents of his mouth all over the two petite women who sat at the table across from him.

Gasping around his difficulty in breathing, “Apologies…HACK! Wah! HUH!!” Followed by a huge, racking inhale that left him red raced and eyes watering.

…smooth… he thought, sourly.

He almost did not hear the door to the shop open, and the hard soled footsteps of the three men who entered.

But through his tear clouded eyes, he saw the blurred white suits they all wore.