The strange events of Rue Ruine

Chapter III: Sienhgcmo

Raphael was eating a weird toast: he hadn't tried the local breakfast yet, normally he would just have coffee or skip the meal entirely.
It was made with egg and a milk cream that Zayra called "Béchamel", it was really good, compared to the national dish of eggs and a slice of toasted bread he sometimes had in the UK.
The past two days had been really tiring for both of them.
Raphael developed an hatred towards math, he even went as far as calling it “maybe the worst exercise of the human mind”
Zayra instead was absolutely shocked by the ignorance of his newfound tenant in the field of calculus, also he showed virtually no interest in his lessons, which offended him.

"So, have you made any discoveries about the lights?" Asked Raphael casually, after the strange events of that night the doctor spent an amazingly long amount of time locked inside the room at the end of the corridor.

"The lights? Oh the lights, yes!” He paused to sip a bit of coffee “No I haven’t, not yet at least" answered Zayra without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

"Does it say something about the... events of the other night?" Asked Raphael while looking at the copy of Les Ancienne.
"No but it does say sienhgcmo"

Raphael looked at him weirded out "Are you having a stroke?"

Zayra looked at him raising an eyebrow "What? No! It literally says sienhgcmo" he put the newspaper on the table so that both of them could see the first page title, proving that the title was indeed the word "sienhgcmo"
"Is this a joke?" Asked Raphael
"It’s probably a misprint the important thing is that the article says not to worry about the power outage"
"It wasn't a power outage and you know it!" Replied frustrated Raphael pointing his finger at the newspaper
"I know, I know... i'm just reading it" tried to calm him Zayra “we’re gonna get to the bottom of this” Raphael relaxed a bit but was still nervous "Who even prints this stuff by the way? I mean half of the articles says not to worry and the other half is useless information if not straight up unintelligible nonsense"
"I honestly don't know, I just read this because it's cheap” Zayra looked at his pocket watch “Don't you have a job to go to Raph?"

"Yeah yeah...I’m going, but you understand right? What the fuck is this?" Said Raph' loudly, taking the newspaper with enough rage to crumple it.
He got up, ready to go to work.
He took a last bite to the weird french toast and wore his black trench coat, then he grabbed a leathered suitcase and moved towards the door.
"And besides... What am I supposed not to worry about? Uh?" He stopped before getting out.
"I don't know Raph" shrugged Zayra at his question.
"Tell you what doc, the hell with that newspaper"
"Amen" said Zayra while resuming his read of the said newspaper
"Bye"
"Take care" replied not looking at him
“Thanks for the suitcase”
“Go to work” said annoyed
Zayra moved his eyes from the newspaper to the door.
He took his pocket watch and waited 40 seconds, the average time in which someone gets down the stairs, then launched the newspaper in the trashcan and quickly moved to the living room under the interrogative gaze of Mr. Jenkins.

"Don't look at me like that Jenkins"

Jenkins looked at him

"I cannot just tell him, I barely know the guy"

Jenkins licked his paws without breaking the stare

"I'll tell him one day…one of these days... sooner than later... Goddamit Jenkins, as soon as he gets back okay? You and those eyes"

Zayra then opened the window that led to the fire stairs and hopped on them.
He was about to leave when he looked back at Mr. Jenkins and said "Where did he take that suitcase anyway? He thanked me but I don't recall giving him anything"

"Mew" was the only answer he got.

He nodded and closed the window behind him.
Zayra went down the fire stairs as quickly as he could, skipping steps and making little jumps on the precarious installation until he reached the backstreet of the building.
He walked quickly out of there and went towards the outskirts of Marcalme; he crossed this path so many times that he felt that he could've done it while blindfolded.
He moved with haste but not fast enough to get the attention of the passer by.
He carefully avoided carriages and police officers, so that no one that would’ve recognized him could spot him.
After a while he got where he wanted: it was a tiny street, so far under other buildings that only a few rays of sunlight actually reached it to the shady hallways of that road.
He descended a flight of stairs and knocked at a door four times, then two, then three, then one while looking around to make sure he was alone. It opened slightly and an old man's face appeared in the space between the door and the doorframe.