Dedicated to @Mimicke for the pretty cover *o*
Uploaded: 15 June 2013
Last edited 25 July 2013
The train was only supposed to stop for an hour, but nothing ever turns out the way that it's planned.
Sewell stood on the train platform, staring idly up at the ceiling and contemplating that sentiment. He was only vaguely paying attention to the things going on around him. The noise, the crowd, the people running to and fro, the atmosphere of general chaos, the man lying dead under a train.
That was the reason for the delay. Sewell would not make it to Vale today. Slowly, the commotion pulled him away from his musings and back to the platform. He couldn't see the man, but he could see several people trying to extricate his body from under the train. The conductor was covering his nose with a handkerchief. The scent of blood and sweat and horror whirled through the air. These people could offer him nothing. There was no point in staying.
Outside the station, the crowd dissipated, and the noise of the gossip became no more than whispers amongst bystanders, which was of no interest to Sewell. He made his way through the painted cobblestone streets, weaving around people in brightly colored silks and painted faces. This was a crowded city. There would be food here.
He noticed it while wandering through the bazaar--a scent that smelled like regret. Food. He inhaled deeply, gauging the direction from which the scent came. He followed his nose.
Sewell found the scent lingering around an inn somewhere near the center of the city. A large building of yellow brick. Fairly new. He gave it a good look over before entering.
Inside, the inkeeper sat on a low bench by the enterance. He was a large and portly man, dressed in gold and scarlet. His face was plastered in red and white paint, the white bleeding into the red in places, turning it a sickly pink color. He gave his potential costumer a suspicious stare, but still rose from his seat to greet him. Sewell towered over him.
"If you're seeking accommodation, Mr. ehhh..." The innkeeper waited for a name, but Sewell only nodded for him to continue.
The innkeeper cleared his throat, "Well, I have a small room suitable for one person." He waddled over to a podium where he kept a large, leather book. He flipped it open and began scanning the pages. "Yes." He nodded to himself. "How many nights?"
"One."
"Name?" The innkeeper reached for the quill.
"Sewell," he replied dryly.
The innkeeper waited for a last name, the quill dripping ink as it hovered over the page.
"Just Sewell," he said with a hint of irritation.
The innkeeper wrote down his name in runny, bubbly letters and shouted for someone to come over. He gave Sewell a sideways glance.
"I require payment in advance."
Sewell reached into his robes, pulled out five gold coins, and dropped them into the innkeeper's open hand. He sealed them in his palm just as a young woman arrived from the back room.
While Sewell was accustomed to the occasional suspicious stare, he had never seen someone react to him as this woman did. It was shock, bordering on disbelief, as if seeing him standing there should have been impossible. She stopped short of her master, eyes wide, mouthing the words, it's him. As if she recognized him from somewhere.
Her attention soon snapped away from him as the innkeeper snapped at her, "Ina! Attend to our guest."
The innkeeper stowed away his money and waddled back to his bench. Ina, eyes still wide, gave Sewell a quick bow.
"Just one moment, sir." She scanned the book for his room and it took her a moment as she fumbled for the key.
"This way please, Mr. Sewell."
She led him up stairs, and by her unusually quick pace, Sewell knew that she was still shaken. But her state of mind didn't concern him and even his curiosity was lost as he caught the dense smell hanging in the air--definitely regret. Somewhere below, someone opened the door of the kitchen.
His room was on the top floor, four doors away from the stairs. Ina unlocked it for him.
"The lavatory is just at the end of the hall, see?"
She pointed as she pushed open the door. She then reached into her light pink robes and pulled out a yellow, folded paper. She passed it, along with the key to Sewell. Her hands were shaking.
"Mhm."
"And if you require anything else, please come and find me." She bowed again and hurried down the stairs.
Sewell pocketed the key and unfolded the paper, along with the reason for the girl's surprise. It was a pencil sketch, deeply detailed, of the incident at the train station. There was the man under the train, the conductor, the crowd, and Sewell there in the center--the only one to have been colored in by the artist-staring at the ceiling. Except that the artist hadn't drawn the ceiling, so the paper Sewell seemed to be staring up at the real one.
He narrowed his eyes and even gave the paper a sniff. There was no magic in it. No signature either. Just an address and a time. This was interesting enough to hold his curiosity. A fox-like grin creeped its way across his face. Dinner would have to wait.
