Lucien reached for the cold brass doorknob and drew a deep breath. The warm, pine scent of their small home was instantly replaced as the door opened; cool air touched his cheeks. He inhaled the damp smell of water mixed with traces of coal oil and a slight metallic tang. He stepped outside. The morning rain had ceased, but the sky above Columbus Capital remained a weighty, oppressive grey in Lucien's eyes.
Outside, the small residential district part of the Old Quarter within Columbus Capital's Inner Ring felt busy. The wet cobblestone pavement reflected the light from the brass gas lamps. He noticed thin wisps of steam curling from small chimneys on neighboring rooftops, a sign that the residents had also begun their day. Yet, the predominant sound in this district was the hurried rhythm of footsteps.
People rushed past, clad in long coats and hats. They carried dull leather work bags or wooden boxes filled with tools. Heavy wooden carriage wheels creaked on the street, marking the central hubbub of the morning traffic.
The district was lined with sturdy brown brick buildings and distinctive oriel windows. Lucien noticed small shop plaques tucked between the houses of the district. This place seemed to harmonize domestic life with unavoidable professional necessities.
In the distance, Lucien observed a middle-aged woman with neatly coiled, reddish-brown hair slightly wavy at the temples arranging flower pots outside a tailor shop. Despite the early hour, she wore a smart, thick, dark-blue cotton dress, paired with a small, stylish bonnet and a tiny brooch on her high collar. Her appearance was perfectly suited for a reputable clothes shop owner.
"Morning Mrs. Finch!" He greeted warmly from a slight distance as he walked towards her, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
"Oh, good morning, Lucien, how are you today!?" Mrs. Finch returned his greeting with a warm, kind smile.
"Very well, Mrs. Finch," He paused in front of the middle-aged woman to catch his breath.
"I'm relieved the rain has stopped, aren't you? It would have been a heavy day to carry an umbrella all the way to the merchant district," He continued with a touch of complaint in his tone.
"Indeed. You look quite tidy this early, dear. Do you have distant business in the city center?" her friendly eyes taking in Lucien's attire.
"Just fetching an item for my aunt, as usual," He lifted a hand to his collar, straightening it
"By the way, how is Florence? Is she alright? I do hope she isn't overworking herself with all that research," Mrs. Finch voiced a sincere concern.
"Ah, Aunt Flo? She's doing fine, Mrs. Finch. A little tired, but she always seems as passionate about her research as ever," He smiled, ensuring there was no hint of worry in his voice.
"That's a relief then, dear." She replied with a long, relieved sigh.
"Well then, I should be going now, Mrs. Finch. I wish you a pleasant day and a busy shop!" He gave a slight nod as a sign of respect.
"Of course, dear. You should be careful on the road!" She lifted her hand in a gentle wave.
A faint smile lingered on Lucien's face. He then turned, quickening his steps, and continued his walk away from Mrs. Finch.
Lucien continued his journey, feeling the folded fifty Mark banknote and the payment note in his pocket. He moved away from the peaceful crowd toward the dense bustle of the capital. In the distance, above the skyline of Columbus city, tall towers of stone and wrought iron began to emerge, a sight that often dominated the capital's horizon
His journey brought Lucien to Broad Street, the gateway to the merchant district, where the noise escalated.
Broad Street was a churning sea of people. The scent of tobacco, coffee, and sweat mingled with the smell of coal oil and hot metal from distant factories. The air was filled with the shouts of street vendors, the distant rumble of steam engines, and the rhythmic clanging of hammers from the ceaselessly working iron workshops.
"Hot Coffee! Hot Coffee! Freshly brewed, for a cold day!" A voice rang out from one of the vendors.
Lucien had to walk fast and agilely, his body nimbly weaving to avoid hastily pushed vegetable carts, delivery carriages, and rushing pedestrians.
He allowed his eyes to observe his surroundings, trying to momentarily escape the nightmare he had experienced. This Merchant District was truly alive. An old map seller with a thick grey beard shouted, offering maps for new sailing routes. Beside him, a young woman with rosy cheeks and a white apron dress was busy weighing spices whose aroma pricked the nose. Lucien saw a cobbler on the corner tapping rhythmically on black leather soles, and across the street, a street alchemist selling cheap concoctions managed to influence a small crowd with the green contents of his glass bottle.
"Waking Elixir, sirs! A potion that will clear the mind and awaken energy! Only three Marks per bottle, and more proven than three cups of coffee!" The alchemist cried out in a loud and convincing voice.
The entire energy of Broad Street was a testament to the movement and ambition of Columbus Capital, a busy and fascinating world that sometimes made them forget that this capital once held a cruel past hidden behind the grey clouds.
Suddenly, amidst his comfortable observation, a cold sensation enveloped the back of his neck—a feeling distinctly different from the damp morning air.
He slowed his pace, as if something was demanding his attention. Paranoia was the word that surfaced in his mind, but Lucien's sharp instinct warned him of something real. His golden eyes swept across the crowd, scanning every face, every movement on Broad Street. The people around him seemed occupied with their own affairs. He noticed two uniformed laborers arguing loudly, and a woman haggling over the price of fish. Yet, the feeling of being watched was so palpable, as if a sharp gaze was slicing his back, following his every move.
Lucien's heart pounded, recalling the strict message from his Aunt Florence. The object he was going to fetch was not just an ordinary mirror but the foundation for his Authority, a sacred Medium in the world of alchemy and magic. An item with such high magical significance and financial value was sure to attract attention.
Suddenly, from behind a stack of wooden crates carried by a dockworker, Lucien caught a fleeting silhouette of two figures standing in the shadow of a narrow alley. One had a large, broad build, almost filling the gap, while the other looked thin, scrawny, and slightly taller than most pedestrians. Both wore long, worn coats. For a few seconds, the head of the thin figure lifted, his eyes darting straight towards Lucien. A cold electric shiver ran down Lucien's skin. Before he could react, the two figures immediately turned and vanished into the human density of Broad Street.
Lucien quickened his pace, clenching his hands inside his coat pockets and feeling the folded money and payment note again. The mysterious chill had transformed into an adrenaline-pumping warning. He had to arrive quickly, retrieve the mirror, and return to his aunt.
After walking past three more blocks, Finlay Glass Shop finally came into view. The shop was slightly nestled between a luxurious tailor shop and a busy apothecary. The building appeared older than the surrounding structures, with faded bricks and an old wooden sign carved in the clear, standardized script of the Westerian Language, the universal tongue of trade and common conversation across the Capital. Its front glass window was clean, reflecting the slowly fading grey sky of Columbus Capital, a contrast to the dullness of the surrounding bricks. Yet, an aura of warmth emanated from the soft yellow light behind the glass, as if a hidden fireplace would welcome Lucien. The shop exuded a comfortable calmness amidst the clamor of Broad Street.
Just as Lucien was about to step towards the shop door, a middle-aged man carrying a large bag of bread from the nearby bakery suddenly bumped hard into his shoulder as he rushed through the crowd. The bag of bread nearly flew, but the middle-aged man firmly steadied his position.
"Oops! I apologize, young man! I'm truly in a hurry," the man said, breathless, without turning his head, then immediately disappeared back into the hustle and bustle of Broad Street.
Lucien's heart pounded from the surprise, but he immediately calmed himself. He had to focus; it was only a small, ordinary accident, not part of the threat he had felt earlier.
Lucien took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and pushed the heavy oak wooden door, causing the small brass bell above it to clang softly. The smell of fine glass dust and polishing wax immediately greeted him, mixed with a faint aroma of cinnamon.
Behind an old wooden workbench stood a middle-aged man with a wide smile, Mr. Finlay, the owner. His neat white beard and friendly brown eyes made the atmosphere inside the shop, filled with glass and reflections, feel warm.
"Good morning, young man! May I help you with anything?" Mr. Finlay greeted in a pleasant, husky voice, wiping his dusty hands.
"Good morning, sir," Lucien replied, stepping deeper into the shop.
"I am Lucien, and I've come to pick up the order for the Perfect Frameless Mirror under the name Florence Faraday," A polite smile curved on his lips.
"Ah, Florence! Of course, dear. A special item for a special woman. Come in, Lucien, don't stand in the doorway." This friendly and familiar atmosphere momentarily made Lucien forget the cold air of Broad Street. He stepped inside and accepted Mr. Finlay's kind welcome.