Chapter 1 - Observation

Someone was following him.

No matter the time of the day, whether he was surrounded by a bustling crowd out in the boroughs, or alone in his lodging at night, someone was watching him, observing all his actions. Somewhere very close, yet just out of sight.

If Vern had to trace back this odd feeling, it started right after he got off the train and set foot in the city three days ago. But why would anyone care about his visit to Elmhurst? Hundreds of researchers and more than a couple Savants like him gathered here from all over the empire every day for the upcoming annual conference at the Symposium.

He had yet to do his duty as a civilian and involve the Kingsmen but he didn't have any solid evidence to back up his claims, and being locked away in some room under the name of protection wasn't his idea of a paid vacation.

Driven by the suspicion that maybe all the Savants were targets of this — surveillance, Vern had reached out to his colleagues, subtly enquiring about the matter in his letters. In response, they had either completely missed the hint or implicitly denied any such happenings.

Shaking his head, Vern cleared his mind and focused on navigating the streets. Now wasn't the time to reflect on his fruitless investigations. Elmhurst had its own charms that needed to be explored, like the famous toast at this coffeehouse by the cathedral. He wouldn't miss out on it, even if someone was fulfilling their voyeuristic tendencies at his expense.

The morning sun rose above the myriad towering spires, casting a golden glow over the shorter buildings that lined the street of this borough. The architecture of the buildings was grand and imposing, with intricate details and ornate facades complemented by high ceilings and grand entrances.

As the morning rush began, the streets quickly filled with people hurrying to their various destinations. Men in top hats and long coats made their way to offices and businesses, while women in proper dresses and bonnets hurried along the sidewalks on their way to shops or social calls. The droning of the steam carriages and calls of street vendors added to the bustle and noise of the city.

Despite the crowds, however, an air of formality and decorum permeated the scene, with people moving with a sense of purpose as they went about their lives.

Vern dressed to match the city's aesthetics in a crisp white shirt with a high collar, neatly tucked into his charcoal gray trousers tailored to fit. Draped over the shirt was an unbuttoned black single-breasted coat with about six pockets, its smooth fabric accentuating his lean figure. To rid himself of monochrome tones, he also had a golden chain that extended from the button of his shirt to a pocket watch resting in his trousers.

Blending right into the crowd, he advanced towards his noble objective, turning onto Carmen St. — and he felt it. Swiveling to the left, he looked straight at the window on the second floor of a house across the street.

Something shuffled in the dim ambiance of the room, before the blinds clamped shut and he stood there, staring at the now-closed window, blocking the people behind him on the walkway.

Feeling a little cold, he buttoned his coat and exited the scene with quick strides. Having made some distance from the place, he pulled out his notebook and pencil from the pockets and made another entry in the long list of his suspected sightings. Details about all the times he had been able to notice the stares.

They weren’t much to go on, and were as vague as this encounter, occurrences he would generally pass off as mere coincidence if they didn't happen so damn often. A simple count of entries spoke of a trend. The unwelcome trackers were either getting bolder by the day, or he had gotten better at noticing them.

But, well, the cathedral was right around the corner, and his deductions could wait until he had something in his stomach. Not like this was the first time it had happened to him anyway.

Weaving through the crowd, he got closer to the aroma of freshly baked bread that wafted from all around, and that's when he saw it. Another one in such a short interval!

Visible in the mirror of a store — about a few paces behind him, someone was looking straight at him, barely visible in the sea of heads and hats.

A chance!

He had never been able to notice one of them so close to himself, and there was no way he was going to miss this opportunity. Vern maneuvered in the crowd to mask himself from the line of sight of his supposed stalker, and, in but a few steps, slipped into an alleyway.

This alleyway, like most others, was just a shortcut that cut across two parallel streets. Keeping a clear vision of the flowing crowd, he pedaled backward. It was a chance to get a good look at his perpetrator and finally involve the Kingsmen with solid evidence.

A few seconds passed in wild anticipation as the throng of people just moved forward without the man crossing by the small opening. Until he did, and moved right past the entrance, drowning in the horde of people. Not very perceptive, are we?

It was a thin man with a pale face wearing shabby clothes that were too big for him. There was a fair share of destitute beggars in the city, and nothing about him struck Vern as odd. But whatever the case, he was sure that someone had his eyes glued on him ever since he left his place, and this guy was probably it.

If not a confrontation, Vern could always have a better day with one less creep eyeing him. Hell, even better, he could circle around and stalk the stalker from a little distance to give them a taste of their own medicine while confirming his suspicions.

It wasn't every day you got to play with fire while having insurance to not die in a random ditch. Elmhurst was one safe haven during the conference month and likely the reason he had yet to faint from his nerves at this whole ordeal.

In every borough he'd been to, kingsmen dotted the roofs, staring down like executioners with their gleaming gear and sharp eyes. Just yesterday, from his very own room's balcony, he saw one of these punishers swoop down with their rope caster and sever the arm of some trigger-happy individual in the blink of an eye. Efficient and accurate.

Shaping up the exact details of his spontaneous plan, he turned around with a grin — and instantly froze up. A towering figure stood right in front of him, draped in black from head to toe. The top hat's brim obscured the stranger's forehead while a mask that covered all of his face, including the eyes, hid his countenance.

Vern backed up a little and looked the figure straight in its eyes. Wow, I fucked up. Did they get mad that I escaped them for a second? They have never confronted me like this. What changed?

"I've got a whole crew on my back, eh?" asked Vern without delay in a calm tone while his heart was anything but that, drumming like crazy. *"Care to shed some light on why I'm so popular?" he followed up, making sure his voice didn't waver.

No way they will attack me in broad daylight with hundreds of people just a few steps away. Should I shout for help?

He bit down hard and suppressed his impulsiveness as he waited for an answer. There must be a reason for this. They've had far better opportunities than this to get rid of him quietly.

A few seconds passed by before the figure moved, and Vern watched his movements with rapt attention, ready to retreat at a moment's notice.

The person in black pulled out a paper from their pocket and shoved it onto Vern's chest before turning around and walking away at a brisk pace.

Vern was dumbfounded but wasn't ready to let the man go just yet. He stored the paper in his pocket and chased after the figure, shouting, "At least tell me who you work for."

The figure exited the alley without a response and made for the right. Vern pursued posthaste, and when his vision opened up to the bright street outside, a somewhat crowded walkway greeted him, with no signs of the figure in black.

Scary bastards!

It was frustrating, to say the least. All he had to do was shout that this man was a thief, and someone on the street would have gladly played the hero.

But doing so ran the risk of harming his relations with their organization. And there was no guarantee that the figure would divulge anything useful even if he managed to stop them. His unwanted observers had finally initiated an interaction after three days, and he didn't want to burn the bridges without understanding their angle on the situation.

Vern went around the back of the cathedral to Carmen St., then sauntered to his original destination. Entering the coffeehouse, he beelined to a corner table and ordered the toast he was so eager to try not so long ago. Without further ado, he retrieved the paper and scanned its contents with a frown.

'CLC-307-23. May thee accept the gracious gift of eyes, ere the hour of reckoning befall thee. ~Yharl Bellin'

Vern knew a library book identification number when he saw one. It was simply the author's initials, section, and shelf number, but the message and name after that? Yeah, he had no clue.

What is this? A team of highly coordinated specialists monitored me twenty-four seven, all in an elaborate plan to scare me and deliver this threat? Gift? Is this their version of a stick and a carrot? If I don't get this 'gift of eyes' within some time, 'reckoning' will befall me?

As in, they will simply kill me if I don't comply and accept this gift? He had somehow managed to underestimate and overestimate the severity of this situation at the same time.

After a few minutes, a waiter dropped his plate of baked bread straight from the oven, lightly toasted to golden brown with butter melting over them in excess as fragrant steam rose from the plate. Vern took off his black gauntlet gloves and made quick work of the toasts.

Having sated his appetite, he took out his notepad and added the key points of the latest development to his entries. It helped him get his mental gears grinding.

The motivation of his invasive followers was still unclear, but involving Kingsmen right away didn't seem like the smartest idea. He had already reduced the possibility of his murder being their motive to under ten percent. They wanted something from him, and if reading a book could help him make an informed decision, he wasn't averse to the idea.

What if they were some invasive assholes that ruined the start of his vacation? If the scale of balance between benefit and comfort was tipped towards the benefit, he wouldn't mind entertaining their proposal.

However, he wouldn't work on something illegal. He already had a clear path to success with his apprenticeship and was on the cusp of plucking the fruits of his labor.

That aside, the amount of information he had gathered in three days was pathetic, and little could be concluded from it. He did have a clear course of action, though. I can check out the book today, but for the name, I will have to ask around or send an inquiry to Master.

However, the message had quite a peculiar word choice, suggesting that reading this book will give him a gift of eyes. As in opening his eyes to something significant? Vern had a hard time believing that.

As one of the youngest Savants recognized by the Coven for his significant contributions towards the advancement of civilization, there was little that could shake him anymore. But knowledge was not to be denied, and his stalkers deserved a benefit of the doubt for all their effort.

A long day in the library sounded tempting regardless, and he didn't have much else to do before the conference other than touring around the city anyway.

His next steps planned, Vern didn't dally any further, paid his well-spent three crowns, and left the establishment. There wasn't much contest as to where this book was located.

Elmhurst had a library to which one shouldn't miss paying a visit, even if they didn't fancy books. Just its beauty and architecture were praised by many as a symbol of the coven's superior aesthetics. Not that Vern cared much about that himself.

Eleonora's archive was one of the grandest in the whole empire, and Vern was looking for excuses to go there regardless.

He retrieved a city map from another of his coat's pockets and mapped a route to the archive. Looking at it, he'd need to do a lot of walking in rush hour and get directions from locals multiple times to get there. Or I could just get a carriage.

Vern stood at the sidewalk's edge and raised his arm, making eye contact with all the drivers passing by. His hand got sore in no time, and before he got bored enough to bring out and continue reading the analysis of this state-of-the-art energy amplifier he'd been fascinated with, a hissing sound intensified and died down with a sputter as a carriage stopped by.

"Where to, good sir?"

"To Eleonora's archive, please."

"I can drop you by the bridge across the scholar's place if that's okay with you. It's just a few minutes walk from there. You see, I can't cross the bridge without paying a full day's toll." Said the scrawny yet well-dressed man with an obsequious smile.

"How much would that be?"

"Three crowns, eight pence. The usual for this distance."

Vern just nodded and boarded the carriage, settling on the corner across from an elderly couple. In but a few seconds, the scenery outside the windows started receding, changing from packed streets to broader roads, passing by what seemed to look like a crafts market, then onto narrower roads with housing squares, and at last, one of those bridges that the city was so famous for.

This one, just like the others he'd seen before, was a feat of engineering. A myriad of thin cables ran above, and massive pillars taller than the thirty-meter gorge stood underneath. The whole thing was somehow wide enough to have four carriages pass side by side from one bank to the other, more spacious than most streets.

Vern still felt awed every time he saw one of these. It wasn't that these bridges had cutting-edge technology or something, but due to the fact that they were built about seven hundred years ago.

Why did he know this? Because anyone who didn't know about Elmhurst's bridges might as well be living under a rock. Whatever these bridges were made of was strong. Too strong, in fact, that even a team of Chaos fundamentalists failed to scrape more than a handful of dust from the bridge.

The vista outside the window ceased to retreat as the carriage screeched to a halt. He deboarded without much elegance and shelled out four crowns. Handing them to the driver with a nod, he turned around and walked across the metallic relic toward the archive.

Fancy balustrades carved in the sights of old gods lined the railings, and queer symbols ran along the wires, stretching all the way to the top if he saw correctly. Vern took out his notepad and started penning down these oddities like any other enthusiastic citizen.

Once the patterns began repeating themselves, he got bored of them and asked himself the real question. Was someone still following him? He didn't know.

Due to the habit he had developed over the last three days, Vern had been glancing back every so often, but had yet to register those dark shadows lurking around.

Not like he was always able to notice them, and more often than not, it was just his paranoia and hypersensitivity scaring him of dark shadows, which this city had an abundance of, for some reason.

Also, there was no way they got left behind in the dust from a simple carriage ride. He had quite a few of those since he arrived in the city, yet he never managed to really lose them.

However, this whole chain of events was too perplexing. Did they really just mean to deliver this note to me? Why wait three days? Did they have some condition set for delivery? Based on some performance metric for which they monitored me?

How hard could it have been to set up a meeting and talk like refined gentlemen? Even interviewing him was on the table if they wanted to test him or something. He'd have agreed in exchange for some compensation anyway.

But there's got to be more than what meets the eye. It wouldn't do me any good to underestimate this situation any longer. He did not have the information needed to understand their perspective nor why they were doing all this. So, for now, he would take it a step at a time and handle things as they came.

Then, before he fell into another cycle of recursive thoughts, the grand archive was already upon him.