Wizard Kings and Street Urchins

If the locksmith is the first clue, that means Mr. Matsumoto must be the second. And if the two really are connected, then my best bet is to head back to AT Locks.

That was the conclusion I had arrived at so far.

I kept checking Mr. Matsumoto’s poster. It claimed his name was Khurael Walkur, but that was unmistakably him in the picture. He was a teacher, who had disappeared five years ago. All I knew about him on Earth, was that he had joined our school last year, as a Japanese teacher.

When I came to this world, I could instantly speak the language. If I assume the reverse happened to Mr. Matsumoto, then it makes sense that he could speak Japanese well enough to teach it. Furthermore, wouldn’t it take about three or four years to obtain a teaching license?

Everything added up so far, though the solution was shrouded in mystery.

I pondered all of this, as Erin and I galloped in the direction of the locksmith. Left alone with my thoughts, I began to drift into conspiracies and outlandish theories.

What if this is a parallel universe, where everyone has an Earth counterpart? What if it’s not Mr. Matsumoto and just someone who really, really looks like him? After all, I once heard that everyone has a doppelganger—no! Everything these past few days has been unbelievable. Coming to this world, gaining superpowers, the locksmith… It has to be connected!

***

We arrived at AT Locks without a breath to spare. The sun was still high up in the sky, but we didn’t have all day.

“Give me the posters and let me do the talking,” I instructed Erin.

We entered the shop. The first thing we saw was a young boy sat at the locksmith’s desk, writing in a notebook. He innocently looked up.

“Good afternoon?” I said, uncertainly.

“Are you here for me?” I heard Allister’s voice ask. I looked to my left. The locksmith sat on an armchair, smoking a pipe.

“Alan Thatcher,” I greeted.

“Is that a customer?” he asked. He took no notice of the sarcastic tone with which I had said his name.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Erin cut him off. “Hello, sir. We were here yesterday. Do you remember us?” she asked.

“Oh, there are two of you?” the man noted.

I leaned over and whisper into her ear. “Erin, of course he doesn’t recognise us. He’s blind.”

“Really?” she whispered back.

“You didn’t notice?” I reproached. I turned my attention back to the locksmith. “Sir, we came to you yesterday about a lockless box.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right! I knew I recognised your voices. Do you have another one that needs opening?”

“Actually, we have some questions.” I declared. “May we take a seat?”

The old man waved his hand in the other armchairs’ general directions. We took it as a sign to make ourselves comfortable. “So, here’s the deal,” I began. “We’re looking into a string of disappearances, where the victims have vanished into thin air.”

“Thin air?” the man repeated, puffing curiously at his pipe.

“That’s what eyewitness testimonies report. They were all separate, unrelated people of all walks of life. The youngest disappeared ten years ago at eight years old and the oldest vanished eleven months ago, at age thirty-three,” I explained.

“Any leads?”

“Not a single one.”

The old man took a slow, pensive drag of his pipe. Finally, he spoke. “I imagine most of them disappeared in the kingdom of Boria, didn’t they?”

Erin and I exchanged surprised glances.

“Yes,” I affirmed.

He continued to smoke his pipe, as if he hadn’t heard me.

What, is he deaf, now?

“The reason they opened up the case in Ruhe, is because the last three people to go missing lived here,” I explained.

“How did you know they lived mostly in Boria?” a bewildered Erin asked.

The man hummed to himself. “Boy!” he called out.

“Yes?” asked the boy who was scribbling in the notebook.

The locksmith tossed a coin with pinpoint accuracy, straight at the sound of the voice. The boy caught it. “I need to speak with my guests here. Go buy yourself lunch. You can finish up later.”

The boy wasted no time in closing the book and running off. “Thank you, Mr. Thatcher!” he added on his way out.

The locksmith readjusted his sitting position. “Let me tell you both a story.”

***

“Now, do you understand?” the locksmith finished.

Wizard kings? Cursed cities? It wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’d experienced these past few days.

But I didn’t buy any of it.

Or at the very least, I had a nagging suspicion that the locksmith was removing himself from the equation.

“All of that sounds really scary,” Erin worried.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make quick work of it,” I lied.

After we’d asked our fill of questions, Erin and I stood up.

“Thank you for everything,” I said.

***

“So, Erin, what do you make of all this?” I asked. We were peacefully trotting down the busy road. It was nice and warm.

Erin hummed. “I don’t know anything about the Kingdom of Boria, but it’s the only lead we have so far. So, let’s go to Boria!”

“Let’s not,” I curtly interrupted.

“Aw, why not?”

“First, we need to see if anyone else has heard of this story. Only then is it worth exploring.”

“Didn’t he say almost nobody outside of Boria knows it?”

“Yes. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

“A little. Maybe he’s from there?” she suggested.

Maybe. Actually, I’d be more interested in this lead if it was fake. Then, I’d know that the old locksmith is trying to trick us into going to that kingdom. The obvious question would be “why?” Could it be the third clue? Or perhaps even the answer?

“Erin, listen up,” I said, assuming an authoritative tone. “You’re going to learn everything you can about the Kingdom of Boria. See if you can confirm the old man’s information. Whether you do or not, you will prepare everything we need for the voyage.”

She nodded with a reassuring determination. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“I’m going to investigate another lead.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“I’ll tell you if I find anything.” It was a lie. For now.

***

Sweat dripped down my torso, as I trotted down the cobblestone pathways of Boneview. I would have taken my cloak off, had I not been so paranoid. Now that things had calmed down, the seriousness of taking down a criminal organisation had dawned on me. What if members of the Triple H or Zero Limits gangs knew what I looked like and came to take revenge? With that in mind, I had made the decision to travel everywhere with a hood on.

There, in the alley. Three street urchins, arguing over something. They’d have to do. “You three,” I called out, as I approached. The only girl among them hid whatever she was fiddling with. “Don’t worry, I’m not a city guard,” I assured them. I dismounted my horse. “Can any of you read a map?”

Despite looking like she wanted to run away, the young girl couldn’t help but proudly raise her hand. “I can!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, so can I,” said the older boy, reluctantly.

I smiled. “Perfect. Then, I have a job for you three.”

***

I observed AT Locks from the shadows. Night had fallen a while ago, yet the locksmith still hadn’t left.

“I’m tired,” the youngest boy complained.

The girl—his sister—shut him up faster than I could. “Shut up, James!” she hissed. “Do you know how much we can eat with one gold?”

AT Locks’ front door opened. The locksmith stepped out and closed it behind him. He walked with a cane.

“That’s him,” I whispered. “Remember: even though he’s blind, you need to keep your distance.”

We waited until the locksmith was far enough away. “Go,” I signalled. The kids scurried off.

I snuck over to the door and got to picking the lock.

One minute went by…

Then two…

Then four.

I can’t open this thing! Damnit, Kugo, he is a locksmith after all.

Forget it. I already had a backup plan: the side window. I had noticed during our second visit to AT Locks, that it could be unlocked from the outside.

*Click!*

Well done me! I pushed open the window and crawled into the shop.

The worktable’s closest. Let’s investigate that first.

I held up my lantern and got to work scouring the table. It was full of locks, tools and blueprints. Nothing of interest.

Oh? Here: a tiny, open safe on the opposite end of the table. I rummaged inside…

Empty.

What else? Any cabinets? Shelves? More safes? Unfortunately, there was none of that anywhere in this shop. What about doors or trapdoors? I spent a minute looking around and thoroughly scanning the floor.

Nope, nothing to report.

Now that I’m looking for something, I realise how empty this shop is.

Despite my growing frustration, I refused to leave without anything that could confirm the old man’s identity. Hell, the conspiracy hungry part of my brain itched for proof of his involvement in the disappearing persons case.

How about his desk?

It was barren. However, there were some built-in shelves and a single drawer. The shelves were full of tools and documents that didn’t say much. I turned my attention to the drawer.

Bingo!

I picked up the notebook that young boy from earlier had been writing. That kid had called the locksmith “Alan Thatcher,” so I’m not expecting much. There was a page bookmarked by a pen. I turned to it.

Hmmm. While it looks like a boring old ledger at first; upon closer inspection… That’s exactly what it is, I thought, as I exasperatedly flipped through it. I analysed each and every page, going back in time. Nothing stood out.

Eventually, I reached page one. Still nothing. However, there was something written on the inside of the cover: Property of Allister Twain.

My smile was so wide, it hurts my face. Satisfied, I placed the ledger back where I’d found it and locked the drawer.

***

If there was one thing you couldn’t say about Sato Kugo, was that he was inefficient. No sooner had I locked the window back up, that the street urchins came rushing over.

“We found it!” one of them yelled, scaring the life out of me.

I shushed him loudly. “Keep your damn voice down! What do you have for me?”

“Sir, we managed to follow him home. I marked it on the map, like you asked,” the girl eagerly announced. “Here.”

She handed me the map. A crudely drawn, black line, depicted a path from AT Locks to a house a few streets away. "It's dark brown and made of bricks," she explained.

"And the house number?" I asked.

"Uhhh..."

This is going to be harder than it needs to be if she doesn't know, I internally groaned.

"Sixteen!" exclaimed the youngest boy, beaming with pride.

I beamed right back. I love you, kid.

I handed the children a gold coin each. They were gobsmacked by my generosity. “It’s only fair,” I chuckled. They thanked me profusely, before dancing off, singing about riches and fortune. I smiled as I watched them leave. Then, the shadow of responsibility curtained over my face. I’ll go tomorrow night, before the old man returns home.