Night fell, and Crestana had long since left for home. Elliot had checked in on him once before he soon retired for the night, but clarified he wouldn’t be home by morning.

He lay on the couch, still in his day clothes, watching the moon shy behind clouds through his open window. Silver light kissed the gentle lines of the dusty couch, found the crevices between the floorboards and glinted off the worn edges of his knuckle dusters.

He turned his fists over, watching the light gently roll over the gems, hopping from one to the other. Left to right, left to right.

The moon highlighted the physical signs of wear: the chips, the scratches, but not so far as the magical. The shapes and patterns woven into the physical matter, canals in which Aether would flow, mould, and take on new shapes, were deforming with time and use.

Lieutenant-General Elvera promised him repair and maintenance if he offered his services to Geverde’s crown. The toys the librarians were crafting were enticing, reinvigorating even. They opened up avenues and use cases he’d never dreamed of. But they’d be useless if the foundational magic decayed.

Without that, he truly was nothing. At least he felt that way. Crestana could poke holes in his rhetoric all she wanted. In reality, he was more desperate than she could ever imagine.

Alis Harbourman; the arbitrary name coupled to a worthless existence. All his value lay in the palm of his hands.

Moira stirred: he could hear her shifting under the covers. He’d left the door open in case of an emergency, but was now regretting it. The light in his eyes, the shuffling from his room…a horrible night to be a light sleeper.

But the door hinges to his room squeaked loud enough to jolt someone awake. Knowing what little he did of his client; he guessed she was similarly wary of her surroundings in the small hours. Alis let it be. He’d gone without before.

The map on the table fluttered, left in place after they’d finished consulting it late into the night. The coloured lines and shapes alone weren’t enough to jog the girl’s memory, but along with some descriptive language, Alis found a plausible starting point for their journey.

That was tomorrow’s problem, but the ticking of his clock reminded him tomorrow was rapidly turning into today.

The next train was their ticket out of the city. After a purchased breakfast and two transfers, they headed towards another border town—a satellite settlement separated by farmland from the city. Too close to be a stopover, too far to thrive in a unique identity, it was one of the many sentinels of the Excalan breadbasket. If it weren’t for Moira’s finger firmly planting atop its name on his map, the town would’ve never crossed his mind.

He kept a watchful eye on her as the train continued full steam out of the city. Her attention had died down after the second station, too overwhelmed with stimuli to ask questions about every single detail. Now, the window seat just about kept her entertained.

Alis watched the overhead fan buzz in its cage: trains going so far outbound were rarely busy on weekdays, let alone full. Besides one or two other commuters, they had the wooden box on wheels all to themselves.

“Is it always this temperature here?”

Alis pulled on the collar of his button up. “It gets much colder in autumn, and it snows in winter.”

“Hm…I remember being hotter,” she said, readjusting her knees on the seat as she peered over the windowsill like a cat.

She looked back at him. “What’s snows?”

“Snow?”

“You said snows.”

“Snows is when snow falls from the sky. It’s ice. Frozen rain.”

Moira looked at him, cheek twitching but otherwise dumbfounded. “Okay,” she said, turning back to the window.

“You’re welcome,” Alis muttered. The magic was still fresh in her mind—quite literally—and the traces left hinted that whatever happened to her happened recently, less than a month ago. Enough for a lead to grow cold, but not die.

He kept it all to himself. All the client knew was that he was entertaining her request, and all for free. Anything else was unnecessary, better left in the dark.

The double-platform station opened to an equally sleepy town, the high street stretching out before them. Artisan goods, quaint bakeries and family restaurants operated out of wood and stone houses, their worn shingles clinging onto the rooftops despite the wear. He imagined business would be better on weekends, but for now, the place boasted little in the way of foot traffic.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked Moira, standing beside him as her gaze travelled down the main street. She nodded.

A good start, all things considered.

“All right. Do you remember where you stayed?”

At that, she shook her head.

“Right,” Alis nodded. “We start there, then.”

The sun was at its zenith, so they took to the entrance’s awnings as Alis read the map, studying the faded paper hidden behind stained glass.

The window beside him screeched open, and a Beak woman stuck her head out of it, the floral designs of her mask followed by a powerful stench of roses and peonies.

“Can I help you?” she asked, the mask croaking as alcohol in the perfume met Alis’s nose, crinkling it.

“I’m looking for inns. Could you help me?”

“Is the little girl with you?”

“Yes,” he smiled, selling the lie with confidence. “She’s a visiting cousin. Our parents are busy in the city, but they’re joining us tonight. They asked us to find a place to stay.”

They hid Moira’s figure convincingly under baggy clothes, but Alis looked—and to many was—an adult not old enough to be her father, and too distinct to be her brother. Any negligence, and he’d have suspicions pinned on him instead.

“In that case,” the Beak said, waving him closer to the window as she pushed a map between them, spreading it flush with the counter.

“The Jane Maragret hotel on Burleigh Avenue is our largest. It’s not the busiest this time of year, since city folk would rather be down on the coast. Over here,” she said, dragging her finger across the map, “is the Lannard. Smaller, but they’re attached to the horse track and keep stables. Then on the other end of town is the Edwin. It’s a pub, but they offer rooms on their second floor. It’s meant for people who drink themselves to sleep.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

If he were to prioritise his time, he’d work his way from most to least promising. Instinct put the Edwin at the top of that list. Out of the way, not the first option in town, and non-intoxicated guests would stand out more in a pub compared to a hotel.

“Is there anywhere else?”

“Not officially, no. Can’t speak on any short-term rentals. I wouldn’t see how you would come across one unless you had friends in town already.”

Alis nodded, biting his lip as he stroked his chin. “All right, thank you. We’ll take a look.”

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said, retreating into her office and grinding the weary window closed. By now, Moira was once again beside him, also crinkling her nose.

“Any of those places familiar?” he asked.

“I wasn’t listening.”

“O-okay. Well, one was a hotel.”

“What’s a hotel?”

“You know what? Let’s take a walk.”

They kept to the shade, Alis recalling the directions as pavement turned to gravel turned back into pavement again. The houses were stout, all detached with a healthy plot of land to boast, separated from the road by dried up gutters and cobblestone fences.

Chickens roamed in front gardens, empty heads pecking at the ground before Moira’s quick footsteps scared them off. Every stray cat, every vegetable patch, Alis found himself grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, pulling her back on track.

But he could sympathise with her. The more he saw, the more it grew on him. When every building wasn’t much taller than you were, the sky seemed to close in, and the world felt much smaller than he knew it to be.

Half of him felt it too claustrophobic, the other half wondered how much easier it would be if his world only extended so far.

As they neared the Edwin, the town picked up again, with local shops answering the needs of the residents rather than the wants of tourists. Ordinary grocers, cobblers, fruit stalls and butchers.

A peek behind the curtains, for the more cynically inclined.

“What are you going to do when you find out who you are?”

“I don’t know until I find out.”

Fair point. Alis gave her that one.

“Then what if you can’t find a family?”

“I’ll stay with you,” she said with confidence. Too confident for Alis to deny then and there. Then, it was her turn.

“Do you have a family? You look like you’re alone.”

“I do,” he said, “technically.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Moira said, kicking a stone down the concrete pathway.

“Me neither,” Alis agreed, eyes finding themselves square on the pub’s second-floor balcony. It was an old building that spanned the corner of a cross intersection, log scaffolding and white plaster stretching up two storeys. The first floor was open, double doors thrown wide to invite foot traffic inside. The second storey was more secluded, repeating curtained windows interrupted by signage.

He scanned the second floor, spotting a curtain move somewhere down the east face. But with sunlight bouncing off the white plaster, it was hard to say for certain.

Alis checked his watch. Just past noon and in time for lunch.

He motioned to Moira, and they crossed the street.

The pub was near empty, its quaint atmosphere wasted on empty chairs, although it seemed the type of place to lose that quaintness once customers filled the chairs.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked in a last-ditch effort, but Moira could only shake her head in response. No matter, the check-in book was what he had his eyes set on.

He led the way up to the counter—the bartender behind it quietly polished a pint glass, a small nod the only acknowledgement.

“Excuse me?” Alis said, resting his arms on the counter; “My cousin and I are scouting ahead for our family. We’d like to reserve two rooms for the night.”

“Are you able to pay now?” he asked, the wrinkles in his forehead growing pronounced as he placed the glass down.

“No, but could we know which rooms are available?”

The bartender grunted, squatting underneath the countertop. Alis heard a small hinge turning, and leather binding scraping across wood before the tender resurfaced, placing a thin, untitled book in front of them.

He crossed his fingers as the bartender opened the book, wilted fingers turning through each page. It was a check-in list, each page divided into ten rooms. Enough detail was there: Alis could determine something at the very least.

If he could just take his time with it.

The bartender’s fingers stopped on a half-empty page, the pen ink still dark and bold, not yet weathered by time.

As he consulted the check-in book, two sets of footsteps leisurely descended a nearby staircase—a man and a woman, one in front of the other.

Alis watched them reach the first floor and find a table, sitting down as they continued their conversation.

They sure looked like tourists.

“Rooms two and seven are occupied. How many guests were joining you?”

“Four adults. Two adults and one child in two rooms,” Alis said, printing the story line by line as he kept his eye on the couple.

It wasn’t the sort of establishment to stay in with a lover, nor was it the place you’d find a tourist eating lunch in on a weekday. He shelved the thought in the back of his mind, hoping they would move on soon enough. It only made his job more difficult.

“I could put you in rooms three and four.”

Alis nodded. “If you’ve got the time, do you mind showing us the rooms? My father’s a light sleeper, and I’d like to make sure he can get some sleep.”

“If you’re looking for a hotel, I’d recommend the Jane Maragret on high street.”

“We’ve already been earlier today, and I thought it best we exhaust our options.”

Alis pleaded with his smile, silently willing the bartender to just give in. It would give the man something to do after all.

After a tense few seconds of telepathic pleading, the bartender sighed, exchanging the check-in book for a set of keys, both weighed down by a block of wood, their corresponding numbers roughly carved into them.

He rounded the corner and made for the stairs when Alis pulled one last move.

“Would you have a toilet anywhere?” he called after the already weary man.

“Around the corner, down the hall,” the bartender replied.

“Thank you! Please, start without me. My cousin will join you.”

The man barely responded, a simple grunt signalling the restarting of his trudge up the staircase as Alis made for the opposite direction. Moira interrupted him, holding onto the hem of his shirt and planting both feet like tiny anchors.

Alis tugged on his own shirt again, but the small girl’s stance was resolute. He turned around.

“I’ll be back soon, all right? Just have a look at the rooms and tell me what you think.”

He kept the smile going for a little while longer, aware that it wasn’t reaching his eyes. Moira let go and slowly turned around, following the bartender’s lead up the stairs.

As Alis turned toward the hallway, he caught the young couple in his peripheral vision. The woman who sat facing the counter caught his eye for a moment.

Either he was overthinking it, or they knew how to kick sand over their own footprints. Suspicious or not, their view of the counter was a problem.

He slinked down the corridor, eyeing a doorway that led into the kitchen. It seemed quiet from the counter, but he pressed his ear against the door just in case.

Nothing. No cooking at least.

Alis cracked the door open, slicing the pie until the gap was large enough for him to squeeze through. He crouched, quietly closing the door behind him.

The kitchen connected to the counter by an open doorway and a sidelong window. Crouching would keep him hidden.

He kept tabs on the couple with his ears. They continued to chat, and their voices weren’t getting any louder either. Alis’s hand gripped a knuckle duster in his left pocket, even though it wasn’t serving much more purpose than a stress ball. Past fryers and stovetops, he finally reached the doorway leading to the counter.

The thin leather-bound book called his name from across the way, just a short distance.

“You know where to go. Once your cousin comes back, ask for a key and show him the way.”

The bartender’s voice travelled down the staircase, his footsteps hot on its tail. Alis pressed himself against the doorframe, listening to the bartender’s grumbling grow in clarity.

By the time he could make out every expletive, he decided it was time to move.

“Sorry!” Moira announced, her small voice shrill against the silence. Even the couple’s conversation was stifled.

“I…forgot something…my toy in one of the rooms. Can you help me find it?”

Muttering under his breath was one thing, Alis doubted he could deny a young girl’s request in front of paying customers. The muttering expletives ended with a quick sigh, and the footsteps began again. This time in the other direction.

Alis indulged in a small sigh himself before stretching over the gap and plucking the list from the lectern.

He booked it for the bathroom as quietly as he could, locking the door behind him. A week and a half: that was the rough time frame both the Aetherologists and Moira herself placed on her amnesia. They had to stop somewhere—Alis hoped he could at least snatch a trail early. The search zone only expanded the further they went down Moira’s travel history.

A week and a half, that was only a few pages back, each page as sparse in guests as the information booth worker had suggested. Each day would only have one guest at most, some entirely empty.

Then he fell on a particular page, a particular entry. A single adult customer took for the night, one two rooms, and another by two adults and one child.

It fit the time frame, and the number of guests was a clear outlier. He had more hotels to check, and with each, the number of names would grow, but one was a good start.

“Peter Nair.”