On Friday morning, Ezekiel Thorne got back to his diary:

“October 12th, 

Typeface Case: I have retrieved the letter without any fuss and it is already stored in the evidence box. William is shining bright about it and promises to make the best paper analysis out of it. Also we’ve had a great talk about the M-s influence and Aaron promised to check if he could join their O. His newspaper inquiry did not bear fruit yet. Iolas was exceptionally happy last night, I think he’s in love, or, rather, some new lady is in love with him, but that does not do a thing for any of the cases. He’s got a vine stash somewhere in the club, in addition to that, and jokes constantly on “examining the labels for the typeface match”. I figure we keep him now mostly for the sake of eternal fellowship. I still do not have access to the Library, because I must fill the gap left by some of the S hidden work. On the other hand, I review these letters on the matter of anything related to the case of any oddity. 

Moon-beasts Case: No sign of the W still, now he disappeared even from this world. His servant bars me from entering the house for now because he has explicit instructions to wait for three days. What sort of stubborness is this? I must try to find another way. 

Murder has been committed by claws of a Wolfman, by all means. Constables explained that a murder there is a murder here, so there’s one lady less in Mystborough. She looked like a prostitute, with red petticoats and leather boots, all that, but that, of course, was her other self. I’ll know her identity by the means of the Hall today. And my investigation would go two ways: by day, in Mystborough, and by night – in that murky town. Not the outskirts, by the salons, meeting people. I am worried about that.

Speaking of the Hall, S was acting strange yesterday, though, I can swear I saw him sniffing around my table, I mean, literally sniffing! Is that where two of my cases merge? But he looks nothing like a Wolfman. Anyway, I carry this diary with me so it is safe to write that. 

On Movement: still a mystery to me, for the Wolfmen move between the worlds, if they do not appear in the mists? W told me that I should look out for the Werewolves coming out of the forest, but it doesn’t seem the case. The paw prints I found and saw were at best approaching forest, but they did not cross the border inside. And none of them were heading outwards from the forest. The case is very complicated and real.

Judith met me under the tree. Details are too intimate. 

As he wrote that last sentence, he blushed and fell into a short span of daydreaming. The images swirled in his mind: there he waits – she comes, looking quite mundane and flowery – no black dress so no one would guess I go to thee, my Love! – my dearest Queen, every day is a torment without you! – I want to tell you so much but I can’t, except that I’ve seen a beast in the town! – What? A beast? I thought thou wanted to see me, to kneel before me? – That, too, my Love and I kneel and plead to hear me – yes, speak my Knight and kiss my hands! – A foul beast, a man with a boar’s head, I saw him in the evening! – thou mockest  me, my dear! – nay, I speak the truth! – what do you want me to believe? – that you should not go out in the evening – aw my dear fool, I do not go outside – kissing her hands in delight – now arise and kiss me on my lips – and the sweet feeling of flower blossom warming his head.

– I must look silly now, – Ezekiel murmured and hid his diary into his frock. There were some glances, as usually, observing his blank look when he passed out into his mind travels. But today he cut them down by eyeing the assembly slowly in return. 

“S is not looking at me. And he’s not much of a worker today. Something got him distracted. Did I do it? Crushed his self-righteous position, and he went limp in will?”

Ezekiel continued to watch Fitzby from time to time, wondering, what is odd in man’s way of work this day? 

“He does not fill the letters in, rather, he sorts them and scribbles over them? Or writes something down into another letter. Is he forging these letters in case someone else gets them instead of him? Just to stall the work of others here and even in the London office? Such a vindictive pig!”

That’s when it dawned upon him: the pig, the BOAR! S-whatever Fitzby was the Boarman! But the next moment doubt took over Ezekiel. 

“Just a wild guess. How do I prove it? I guess, I need to, uh, consult the Inquisitor about such a probability”.

After the dinner, he wanted to proceed watching the suspect, but… 

S was gone. 

– Outrageous! – head clerk rummaged through the pile of papers left in disorder on the bureau of the missing clerk. – He just disappeared without any explanation! 

– Maybe, he’ll return yet? – mutteres someone. 

– That does not solve the problem of him not asking my permission to leave! I am going to sack him right away! 

“I do not think he’s afraid of that anymore”, – thought Ezekiel, trying to figure out, what is it he should find on the bureau? As soon as everybody moves away.

– Er, Honourable Bale, do we need to take more of his responsibilities now? – asked Mr Thorne in a meek voice. 

– What? Ah, yes. Please, be so kind. Share them and fill them in. We do not have S for now, my whole system is ruined! 

– We’ll find another clerk, posthaste! – screamed someone. 

– Yes-yes, of course. But for the time being, all Mr Fitzby’s tasks are yours. 

Ezekiel got to the bureau first, since no one in particular wanted to get more work. Quick roaming of the pile has made him collect a pack of letters that felt damp as if from sweaty fingers of former S. 

“These should be recent”. 

But other than that, there were no curious papers on the desktop. 

The remains of the day flew by. Stashed letters did not give a slightest hint as to what the supposed Boarman was up to. So Ezekiel has decided to wrap them together and quietly steal them to give them to the Inquisitor. That was his own humour there. But anyway, the letters could not have stayed in the Town Hall, if the Boarman could enter the building through the Mists. 

“Pity, that James did not teach me how he traveled the mists here in his robed form from there. I’d just walk here as the Inquisitor and study all I need. But on the other hand, it seems to me that these aspects are limited to the presence of the Mist anyway. And it is not going to be in the building…”

Drowning in thoughts, he decided to stay till the first mists and try to do some dull work he actually promised he would. As the sun set, and milky drags of fog filled the streets gradually, Ezekiel, who was alone in the room, wanted to hide the treasured letters, and quickly leave. 

All of a sudden, the infamous bookcase where S kept diverted correspondence, creaked, and opened slowly. Frightened, Ezekiel stepped back into the aisle between desks and watched, struck dumb with anxiety. Out of the darkness of opening doors and turning shelves (they were fixed on a false-door!) in the room stepped a beast with a boar’s head. It wore a dirty waistcoat and some remnants of trousers, under a layer of mud or something worse. 

– Fitzby? 

Grunt. 

– Stay away from me. I know who you are! 

Grunt. Grunt. 

– You won’t hide from me as soon as I… 

“What? What do I do? It cornered me!” 

No matter, was it intentional or just bad luck, Ezekiel was alone here with a beast from the other side, and it possessed somehow its shape and powers. 

– You want letters? Take your letter! – the lad played frightened, and it was quite natural. – They are over there, on my desk! – he pointed with a shaking finger, and this gesture was quite real. 

Only, of course, he lied about the letters in question. But the guess hit the target: Boarman’s dumbness could not see through such a simple ruse, and the monster, grunting, went to the table to collect his desirables. His hands weren’t ending in hooves but in some furry clawed three finger appendages. These were trying to grasp packs of letters and raise them to the beady eyes of boar’s head to examine. 

Ezekiel darted to the window, his only thought was to escape – he pulled the latch – heard angry grunt and screeching behind him – closer again – open wide he flung the pane – hooves – hooves – and the mists poured into the room as if they were a sea wave! – engulfing the lad.

Inquisitor has realized himself and jumped on the windowsill, turning on his heels to kick Boarman into his snout. Now the beast was suddenly frightened and fell back, pushing the tables in its way, screeching and squealing. It ran back to the bookcase and got inside it. Before the doors could close, Inquisitor followed. His mind asked the mists for a heavy stick as a part of his image, and it was provided immediately. At that moment he did not think he was risking anything. 

What he saw was a long corridor, leading somewhere in the depths of the Mist Hall! In real life, there was a big and empty square! And in the end of that corridor, there was definitely Fitzby running away! His human legs were somehow faster than sturdy boar hooves. Inquisitor ran after him for some minutes before giving up. The gut knew ins and outs and dissolved into unknown passageways. And what Inquisitor wanted to do was to exit through the usual door in Mystborough before going back into mists again.

“On the other hand, I could analyze those letters for a brief moment. And then see if I still could be admitted to the Library, as the work day is over.”

The Inquisitor took out the letters that were still there, although it wasn’t a frock but rather his cloak that held them now and leafed through them. He stopped, enlightened with a thought: 

“There is a Mist Library in the Mist Hall as well! And here, I can get access to it as a detective! Whenever I want, and not be suspected as Ezekiel in the real world!”

He ran through the letters again. All of them were from women whose surnames begin with S. Not one of them lived in Mystborough. And the language of most of the missives was not exactly formal. 

“Strange. I was not aware that the Town Hall let the farmers send their numbers in such a ‘friendly’ manner. Well, if they did give people some regulations, who’d verify those were still applied?” 

So, Mr Fitzby had some sort of intimate correspondence with women who had lived on numerous farms nearby. Obviously, he made a list of their names and addresses. But why? 

“Maybe, he was choosing a bride between them, maybe he wanted to hide between other hogs on a farm, maybe, his boar head wanted some apples, and made a list of all apple orchards. I’d better warn these women somehow – but how?”

Upon that thought Inquisitor left through the bookcase, not knowing if he’d be able to open that portal again, and…

…Ezekiel said his goodbyes to the keymaster and the guard of the Town Hall as he carried away the letters successfully into the mist-clad streets. 

The night ought to be long.

Deep in the Mists, after midnight, the Inquisitor recollected that strange earlier encounter he escaped tightly. Walking around the outskirts in search of the missing Watchman instead of sitting in his Monastery and studying the evidence, he brought the image of Boarman before his mind’s eye.

“It appeared as if from thin air, that is, fog. And disappeared the same way after trying to run Ezekiel – that is, me – down. Meaning, when I turned my head to see it, there was an empty square and fog crawling. But there should’ve been the Town Hall! I have observed the size of its misty counterpart”.

True, the Mist Hall amazed Inquisitor. Apparently, everything had bigger size in the fogs, because not everyone was allowed there, so some real houses were actually engulfed by mist-manors. Monastery, for example, surely took space of six houses on Ezekiel’s street and the one built back-to-back to it. He wondered already, could he accidentally walk out of the mists into someone’s bedroom?

“Apparently, something akin to that happened with the Boarman. It used the overlap of towns somehow and hid inside the Mist Hall. Does that mean it knows the insides of the hall well? Could he be an employee? Are the clerks the same here and there? Why is the town hall in the city of dreams actually bigger than in the real one at all? I think it is not about the paperwork… ”

And that was when he saw the tracks he’s been hunting for – wolf paws. He drew the pattern of steps for the memory and began to scrutinize them. 

– It has two feet! Well, it walks on two feet. 

Inquisitor followed the tracks – those weren’t disappearing anywhere – and found several places, where the wolfman went all fours. The other pair of limbs had paws with longer toes, er, fingers. So they could be considered sort of a hand rather than a paw. 

“Anyway, this is not a Boarman. How many of these beastmen could there be? I thought I was hunting only the wolves?” 

Following the pawprints led him to a place where they have ended. Was there a portal? Or simply a dry piece of road where there was no wetness stronger than mist to make marks? Inquisitor knelt and crawled, feeling the pavement with his knees through velvet breeches. He also compared his maps of Mystborough and the Mist-town. Yes, he purchased one and dragged into the mists to see if he could bring an object between reality and reflection, and another has been given to him by the Watchman. 

– James’ house is nowhere near that. Yet the “Nimrod” club is not so far. Damn! 

“Again these hints at the guilt of someone of my friends!” 

The forest looked like a dark wall around the town in the distance. Inquisitor felt a chill in his heart when he thought of the Watchman perishing in the hunt on werewolves or wolfmen. He could just walk down there to the edge of the trees and die there, ambushed by the beasts! 

Having the tracks cut off and the logical assumption of a trap waiting for him as well, the hunter couldn’t’ve moved anywhere. So he decided to sit right there and think. He’s been trying to calculate, build schemes and rationalize his possible actions. All of that felt dull and empty except for the process of thinking. Finally, he came up with a conclusion, that two of his sides of curiosity are dangerously split: intuition and impulse are left for the real Mystborough, where he doesn’t have the evidence, and his cold intellect works best in the mists, but does not help much. 

Upon that, he sought the nearest portal to reality to give freedom to intuition. He did not plan on wandering around provoking burglars and beasts while he was unarmed and powerless, he just wanted to think a little bit – no, not think – to feel the case. So Inquisitor stepped into the portal…

…and Ezekiel hid in the alley, looking worriedly at the thick whitey fogs gathering around him. 

“Never been alone in the town at two in the night, come to think. And boy I feel sleepy here, unlike in the Mist-town. Now, the tracks. What should I do with them? But I can’t see them here – the road does not exist here, there are houses and alleys and even whole streets! But they are not similar to the outskirts.”

Fog grew denser and colder. Gaslights were already out and the silver moon, while only half of it, gave much of the luminosity to the streets, making the mists a silvery sea. 

“Intriguing! In the Mist, the Moon is full every night. The Moon! Maybe, it would show me the missing pawprints? If these are moonbeasts?”

Ezekiel rushed to the portal as if he’d drag some of the feeling of the night with him into that other world. Blackened walls of alley drew upon him, some window glimmered – and a thick odour of damp leaves caught in his nostrils. A shadow crossed the foggy street before him. A shadow with a head of a wolf. But it surely stood straight like a man. Mr Thorne has omitted the portal and sneaked out of the alley, looking down the narrow street where the other side was so close he could see the porches in the fog despite its thickness. Wolf specter ran several more paces and then, pile of leaves rustled and it was gone. To much rejoice of Ezekiel, who did not have such heart for arrest of wolfmen as Inquisitor did, but he’d not admit that to anyone, even to himself. 

So as he retreated to the portal…

…Inquisitor looked around over the empty pavement, and, frustrated by not seeing any wolfman there, sat down on the edge of the town and imagined the running beast, black silhouette floating in the fog, only head seen, the moonlit houses and sleepy streets, all these barred windows on the ground floor and curtained ones on the first and even second ones. Moonlight… the Hunter’s Moon did call for transformation in mere humans to become beasts – was that what they desired to be? Strength, raw freedom from the law by hidden identity? 

Inquisitor suddenly understood he really had that confrontation with his Mr Thorne side – intuition couldn’t’ve been trusted at all! Only calculation and diligent work of pen on paper. But on the next moment he realized that exactly these things Mr Thorne did hate. 

– Am I now in a Stevenson novel? Or was he right that much of the zeitgeist? That we all are double-decked at the very least!  The beasts, why would they want to become beasts? Why is being a human wrong to them? 

For a moment that one enchanted by the night Ezekiel appeared and looked at the stones of the street again: there were silvery marks. 

They weren’t exactly  left by a wolfman. They were the highlights. Astonished, Inquisitor had followed them for several minutes and found out that there are many tracks that lead to the forest and back again. But how, if the wolfman he just saw in the real Mystborough did not appear here? 

– Can they be invisible here? – After seeing several dead ends of wolf tracks, Inquisitor felt the conviction to go near the edge of the forest to look for the Watchman, for it was there where they led.

And all he saw there were just more pawprints, for now, real ones.

– How is a dirt patch possible in a town that is nearly imaginatory, and why is it on the border of the forest? Which looks like a flat wall from here, by the way. 

It was obvious – he’s found some kind of gate. But hesitated to go there alone. So he documented the prints and decided to call upon the help of Constables. 

But then he’d found something even more disturbing: shoe prints in the dirt, cut off after a few paces in the direction of the forest. 

– Oh no, did they grab the Watchman? 

Pondering this, Inquisitor ran to the nearest constable station. There were four of these, one for each corner of the town. He stopped seeing the shiny steps, guided by logic alone, and feeling loneliness in a vast and dark world, where, perhaps, only a dark and mad god reigns.

Station looked ghostly, outlined by white bricks, and seen from afar. There were two Constables outside, Inquisitor had prepared his patent to be checked and approached them in a fast but confident gait. They should’ve been the same people who were the officers in the real world, so they could recognize Ezekiel. That’s why he changed his outfit to a different one, somewhat of an XVIII century carnival spy with white bautta concealing his face.

– Good night, gentlemen, I have come to ask you for help. My employer, the Watchman, seems to be missing in the forest! – he produced his papers which have been reviewed carefully before the older Constable, whose face wasn’t concealed and indeed seemed familiar to Inquisitor, said: 

– I am sorry, Sir, this is all dire news, but we have a murder to deal with.

– A murder? 

– Yes, a murder in the Mists is a thing that exists, alas. But this one is most foul. In every aspect. Please, join us in the investigation. 

When they arrived at the scene, of course, what he saw there was the body of a young woman, torn by the claws of a giant wolf.

Next day Ezekiel woke up worried. Neither his “Nimrod” conversations last evening, nor his nightly activity brought him any more content. He decided to start a diary and that is what he has written that morning:

“October 10th, 

Typeface Case is going slowly, no new clues. Yesterday we talked about the usual rubbish instead of sharing insights. Set the next meeting for tonight. 

No signs of W. again, although he said he felt better after we’ve talked. 

To ask him: 

• Why do I not get tired in the Mists?
• How does the time here and there relate?
• Are our bodies the same here and in the Mist?

NB: as the I. my thinking capabilities are my higher. I now understand how much more emotional I am in the real world.” 

“So, in order to properly evaluate the situation, I need to wait till the mists set in and go to my Monastery. But what can I do till then?”

Of course, he could have not avoided work. So, while walking towards the town hall, Ezekiel tried to assess his knowledge gathered so far. He came up with a conclusion that he is surrounded with people who know he ought to be invited to the Mists, but is not yet, and that, possibly, his invitation depends greatly on how he performs in the town hall.

“I suppose, the building must be perfectly in the same place and shape over there, although it looks differently.”

He stopped before the old brick facade of the structure in question and gazed upon its solitary tower. Golden maples rustled around the small square belonging to the hall since the time immemorial; they looked like laces of Gallant age on the cuirass of dignified bearing of the town hall.

“There, to the left, are the windows of our bureau. Such a nice view of this street, actually. But what could I use that for?”

Ezekiel came closer slowly, hesitating to enter. He had about ten minutes to loiter, so he strolled a bit to his left, examining the pavement and decorations of the walls.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never looked much on the very building where I work, and lo! Here is some interesting brickwork. These white outlines, they look like they are pointing at some bigger wings added to it… and there, in the pavement, some stones are thinner and form lines together!”

He circled for another minute, forgetting why he ever came here, searching for more lines, restraining himself from crawling over the stones.

– Mister Thorne! – echoed familiar voice. Lad turned to the sound and saw Hon. Bale sticking out of the window. – What are you doing there? Did you look at the clock?

– Ugh, sorry, Honourable Bale! –  Ezekiel held onto his hat as he ran to his duty.

“I am sure there are some mist-portals all around the town hall!”

– I won’t fine you for that little incident, for it is obvious to me that you were enchanted by this nice warm day, but I insist that you stay for ten minutes longer today.

– Yes, Sir. 

Ezekiel felt some ice melting even in that small reprimand. If he’d been a regular clerk, following the lead of his esteemed father, he’d be genuinely happy to work himself twice as hard and receive honours before leaving for another department, after such a shift in relations with his supervisor… but he wasn’t. Looking Hon. Bale in the eyes, lad was guessing, does the man consider his invitation to the Mist or his depth of enlightenment upon the matter – and smiled gleefully. 

– I do not think I have so much chores for today, I must admit. 

– That is very honest of you to notify me. Mr Thorne. I’ve had this thought of sharing some of Mr Fitzby’s chores with you. As it appeared to be, he was hiding quite a lot of his daily work in that big cabinet he is sitting near to, and only census letters were processed in full. It was you, whose inquisitive mind has brought my attention to the matter, so the reward goes to you.

Ezekiel has felt all of a sudden why they call him Honourable.The man was very shrewd, cunning, and spoke in double entendre so masterfully that lad could just feel a hint of a trap, but could have not decided if there was one indeed! 

“Does he know my other self? Was he the one who issued that patent, really?” 

– Golly! Such a… indecent chap!

– Yes, so now I need someone to examine these papers we’ve found cast aside and fill the books if needed. 

Ezekiel agreed to do this job with growing anxiety: what if he’d find more mysteries for “Nimrod” club? And then, he thought how irrelevant their small investigations are now, when he knew about the mists. While keeping silence about that before his friends, watching them following useless tracks…

But if the rules of the game are like that, he’d have to play along for now. Not knowing who really knows what he knows, telling secrets to everyone was not too wise. 

Digging through the packs of papers and letters and catching wicked glances from S made Ezekiel feel himself a hunter though. What if the Typeface Case was not pointless, after all? 

“I have a feeling that mist is only one layer of mystery in this town, and, maybe, not the most mysterious at all!” 

At the end of the day he was rewarded by one letter dated August, 1888, and it has been written in that other typeface he saw in the letters before. So there was some sort of pattern! Not willing to steal, he made a copy of the inscription diligently, but put the letter away as well, so it’d not be thrown away. He might have locked it in the bureau, but the bureau did not have locked compartments. 

“Before I go to the club, I should write Judith and bring the message to the oak”.

“My Love, my Queen Briar! 

I feel trapped in my duties and cannot escape them, but I hope it is for our future good life together. Cannot imagine not seeing you for several days, lest a month, so please, meet me at this place tomorrow at seven. If you can’t go, please at least send a missive with a trusted servant at my lodgings.

My heart is in your hands, 

your Knight, 

Ezekiel.”

– That would be enough till we meet, in case someone intercepts the letter, – whispered enamoured lad, sealing the letter with wax. Nevertheless, he was aware of Fitzby watching him so he hid both papers of importance in a minute the irksome colleague was not watching.

At the end of the day, amazingly, nothing did happen. Ezekiel told his goodbyes to everyone and first went in the direction of his home. 

But in fact he began to think about the lines in the pavement, how did they reflect mist-portals? And who could’ve used them? 

When there were no other pedestrians on his street, he took an alley and sunk in the shadows, going alley after alley until he crossed the edge of the park. 

Something strange did happen. Like he walked into the mists, but this time it was not a vision that was altered, but…smell? He smelled damp leaves, although they in reality looked dry. Vision blurred and trees seemed dropping more of their foliage, and at the same time it was growing richly and fiery upon the branches. Ezekiel trod carefully, as he heard some light footsteps, so soft they could be actually… 

Pawsteps. 

He turned around frantically. Some fuzzy silhouette passed behind the trees. A big wolf? A wolfman? Fair enough, something akin to that. But what now?

Ezekiel wanted to get to the tree posthaste. Fear drove him back to the relative safety of the alley for a moment, and then he realized that the beast, whatever it was, could also get to the old oak! 

Which made him dart for it as well! But he did not feel the smell of dampness anymore and the park looked quite mundane now. So, when he arrived under the shade of the tree of meetings, he saw nothing suspicious. Letter he put into the hollow and covered with leaves. 

“If only she receives this tomorrow – I can’t wait!”

After looking around, he left for the club.

– Ezekiel, how are you? They are talking about you buing “The History of Mystborough”! Is it for the investigation? – William Peakridge was alone at the club and very eager to talk. 

– Yes, quite possibly. I have evidence for you. Here, a copy of a letter I couldn’t bring with me, but…

– What do you mean by this, couldn’t bring? A copy is not an actual evidence, my friend.

“Why is he so serious about that?”

– Of course, I believe you, but we need a real letter eventually. 

– Why? – Ezekiel couldn’t hold his thoughts to himself for long. 

– Because there could be more to the letter than just the Typeface.

– But what? 

– Can’t you see? The letter? What is the most distinctive about letters? What makes them exist? 

– I gather… ink?  

– Well, that, too. But in the first place?

– The paper! 

– Correct! Also, if we are to apprehend some secret brotherhood, then we’ll need the very letters.

-Wait-wait, now you are talking of some arrests here? 

– I… uh… have reconsidered. There could be a crime attached to it after all. 

– Do you have some proof? Or is that just a hunch? 

– I do have a proof. Had my servants to the antiquities traders, and they’d brought me a diary that was for sale as a curiosity book. It holds some account of thefts happening around Mystborough around year 1772, and the dates are written with that face of script that you’ve shown us on a bookpage. I bet the paper would appear quite the same. But do you know what is odd? 

– What? – Ezekiel felt that the mind of the Inquisitor is not with him at the present moment.

– I have browsed some newspaper archives, in the town hall, by the way, and there were no such thefts in several dates I have picked to compare. 

– Weird… 

– Yes it is. So I logically assume there is a secret criminal society we are hunting for. Or maybe, there are several of them, and they are using these Typeface codes to communicate… but what is the cipher? 

Ezekiel shrugged helplessly. 

– So please, get me that letter. As soon as it is possible. And all the others you could find. And… Did you get into the Library? 

“He is annoying me now. Why? I’ve always followed his lead in our adventures, and now I want to tell him to bugger off. I want to give out the orders in my investigation! But he really does so much with Typefaces I can’t even lay a finger on. Guess, I’ll have to stick to my mist inquiries.”

– No, Will, I am heavily watched now and can’t move other than to the dining room at given time, and out of the building at the end of the day.

– Sheesh! Why is the legislature so medieval? And why does it have to begin with the town hall? Lunacy! I swear, if I ever want to grow to power, I’ll do it from my factory and not waste time on bureaucracy!

– I do not have much choice, I’m afraid, – Ezekiel could think of several choices already, but he decided on lying.  

– While disagreeing with you, I’ll have to settle with you denying your hunter’s instincts, my friend. But I am sorry, I realize that I incite you against your own father, a thing I’d never done myself.

“What is it about him lately? Did he become a wolfman, perchance?”

It gave Ezekiel a cold shudder. Indeed everything pointed out to the club: proximity to the forest, all the sightings of wolf shapes, and the very name of the club suggested… 

Or – William just got an invitation to the Mists as well. That’s why he’s acting up, he’s going through the same transformation as Ezekiel. But his mist-self is sort of a hunter. Inquisitor sighed, longing for both the sunset and the coldness of Monastery to think about all the cases. 

– I’ll figure something out. You are right about the hunting spirit, verily! And while we are at it, where are our friends? 

– The pack mates? They should be here shortly with their own game. 

“Pack? Game? Is my first investigation over and I came on the trail of my own friends being the wolves of mist town? Damnable!”

Choosing sides without knowing exactly the details of the sides yet – poor Ezekiel! 

He sat in silence, and in some quarter of an hour the two appeared. Iolas fell on his sofa, looking decadent as usual, and Aaron very serious as usual. 

“No possibility they could’ve been the werewolves”. 

After a long meaningless but pleasant chat, Mr Thorne has persuaded himself finally that at least two of his friends are alright, and that the Typeface Case is not as straight dark as William wanted it to be. Fitzpatrick promised to have some odd newspapers presented soon as he had successfully bribed the typographers to roam through their own museum of print, closed to the public. And Mr Candlewick has discovered a “thread of vine labels that bore the same typeface, thus related to the case”. It seemed that he had already interrogated one of the suspects, and dozed off on pillows. 

Ezekiel arrived at the house of James Carpenter very late, and the waves of first mists engulfed his shoes. He was expecting that, because he intended to dive into them this evening earlier. But first he needed to know if he’s going alone again. 

– Master is not at home, – answered the servant. – He went away in evening business. 

Somehow, Mr Thorne felt wrong, but all he could do was saying goodbye and going to the next aim of his incredibly busy night. 

The Town Hall. 

He prowled around it in search of portals that could lead it inside. Of course, he could just ask the keymaster to let him in, but that would raise his suspicion incredibly. 

– I wish I could sense or calculate them and go inside right here! But, well, I’ll just have to wait till tomorrow and…

And at the moment of him speaking to himself some pedestrian on the other side of the square – obviously not noticing him being watched – stepped into the thick mist and disappeared! 

– Damn! 

“There are portals, after all!” 

Ezekiel ran over there and all he found was like some shape of a porch lined up in the pavement. 

“Is this… an actual door to the hidden town hall?” 

He also knew he could just go to his portal and see these doors with his own eyes after a ten minutes of walking.

– Oh, I am being so silly! Of course I could just go and see it and memorize all the doors! 

“On the other hand, doors inside the mist are not the same as portals. So let’s take note of this place. How should I measure it…”

As he turned around, all of a sudden, he saw a huge boar head before him, and it sat tight on a manlike body. Head grunted and the monster rushed forward!

On Tuesday, Ezekiel has been bored since the morning, and started recollecting all the dull events of yesterday, October 8th. Firstly, his night of delicate mysteries in the town of fogs turned into a rather monotonous walk to the nearest outskirt and from there – around the town. Of course, he was amazed by how big that dream realm was, even bigger than Mystborough (because, no matter, were the rulers strict or not, even those who served, could have palaces for their fancies). But other than sightseeing, nothing did happen that night. 

Then there was morning, and he did not feel tired at all, as if he was not walking for several hours down the streets of darkened town. 

And then there was a very dull day during which he worked diligently and quietly, which caused noticeable astonishment of Hon. Bale. Ezekiel was not acclaimed, yet nor was he reprimanded. It was a perfectly normal day. In the evening he went to the most respectable bookseller and purchased the “History of Mystborough 1800 to this day” book collection, which comprised 88 volumes, since the newest of them was about the year 1887. That should have provided the most positive gossip about him now. And he wanted to check these books for some hints as well. 

– If I consider them all a lie, then, perhaps, by inverting what is said there, I could dig the truth up.

Thus, he spent the evening reading, and in the night donned his Inquisitor suit and made another round by himself. There was no trace of Watchman, strangely.  

“Remembering the boredom when bored, makes this state a physical entity. I wonder if there is a world made of dullness? Powered by really droning people, engaged in more droning? Dullboreugh.” 

Ezekiel had some questions about the Mist he forgot to ask the Watchman when he could. Anyway, he wanted to see if his new friend is alright, so he’d visit his actual house this evening. And then go to the club to hear news on the Typeface Case, in which he had three other people involved and then skedaddled from it himself. 

Suddenly he has heard a literal grunt, as if a pig got in the room. Nobody seemed to notice it, but when he turned his head in direction of the sound, he found himself in peril of laughing out loud.

That was S snoring, asleep in the workday.

“Now I got you!” thought Ezekiel and went quietly to Hon. Bale’s bureau. Just last week he’d not do it. But today he decided to be as petty and vindictive as every clerk would be.

“Is that my mundane aspect growing as my mist-self sharpens? Golly, I enjoy thinking in terms of the Watchman…”

– Honourable Bale, Sir. I am not sure how to tell you this, but…

– What? You came to tell me you have changed your mind? 

– No, Sir, I think, Mr Fitzby is not feeling well. 

– What do you mean by that? 

– He is asleep, – Ezekiel tried to look confused and ashamed.

– Well, not even I have that privilege during the hours, let us proceed and observe, if you are not mistaken. 

Head clerk leaned in his chair to see S, as if trying Ezekiel’s words on being truthful. He frowned. 

– Yes, it does seem he is asleep. 

He left his “throne” and stepped down into the room. Solemn silence befell around. S grunted and snored. He did not know it yet, but he was doomed, all of a sudden. Ezekiel secretly rejoiced, as he saw his enemy’s reddened face and heard his yell of surprise and terror.

At first, nothing much happened except for the arrogant clerk to be put in place. But then, as Ezekiel went on working and posing as a model official, he began seeing his colleagues rising and approaching the head clerk’s bureau with some complaints. Their glances on Mr Fitzby hinted they were snitching on him. Ezekiel has closed his eyes and tried to overhear, and once he could swear he has heard the words “I’ve seen him asleep during the hours, too”. 

Mr Thorne smiled: he had started an avalanche. 

Little did he know then, how big it would appear to be. At the end of the day, he was confronted by S. 

– Your daddy won’t save you from my wrath, little clerk boy, – said he, grunting again. – Did you think you are ahead of us all here? That you can despise this job we love, this job that gives us status? 

– And by “us” you mean you alone? – Ezekiel snarked. Loud grunt.

– You… you… spoiled brat! I have come to my position honestly! I do not have a well-doing father not in this world and not in…!

“…not in the mist one, you bastard? You do not know if I am going to be invited or not, but you are there already! And you fear me – why?”

– I did not want this job…! – anger took over Ezekiel but he quickly understood that every word could be used against him now. – But I have understood the importance of being earnest in it!

– What?…  – S gasped. 

– I have said enough. 

Ezekiel left quickly, wondering why all these occurrences took place on the exit from the town hall. “As if some concentration of bile suppressed by daily routine for hours finally gave way.”

Luckily, he had Carpenter’s address on his calling card. Much to Ezekiel’s relief, his new friend opened the door of his small house, adjoined by a tiny garden. 

– Welcome, welcome! I take it, you were worried about my disappearance last night… 

Unlike Mr Thorne, James did have a servant, sturdy fellow of military demeanor. But now he was bringing tea and biscuits.

– Please, forgive me that I have left you to our own exploits, but I’ve been suddenly struck by a deep maladie… 

Ezekiel waved his friend’s concerns off and assured it was nothing. Also he decided against telling something about his small victory in the workplace or questions on Mist’s mechanics for now. 

“Better let him spill his heart”, he thought.

– I want to share with you my story of coming to Mystborough. It will take some time, so please relax and have your first tea. I assure you, it is not going to be the last one till I finish my story. 

“He’s far more worried in his usual state, than in mist-self. I wonder if those aspects really come into contrast with time.”

– Fifteen years ago in Birmingham I fell in love with a lady of higher station than mine, and to much surprise of everyone, she accepted my proposal. To her, kind and benevolent, a pleasant and decent gentleman was quite enough for a husband, and I could also make her laugh. Also, if you ever asked yourself, why is my surname so plain – it is really due to the fact that at least eight generations of my family were carpenters. 

– Including you.

– Yes! I have provided my future wife with a nice wardrobe for herself and some dinner tables for her picnics for the poor. And that is how we got along, actually. She was – is – a lady and she took very seriously the main commandment for ladies “Be kind unto everyone”. Her public service in Birmingham was widely known even before she came of age. Or course, these were the times she spent her family wealth, but she did it wisely.

Ezekiel noted the warmth in Carpenter’s voice. 

– I’ve been joking that she married me as a part of her charity once. And that was the only time she gave me a slap. “Don’t you disrespect my husband!” she said. And then gasped and apologized for being imprudent. She loved me, with a feeling so crystal clear that… 

He looked at some plant to his right and said quietly, while hiding his eyes thus: 

– …that I felt too sober with her more and more often. 

Gazing at Ezekiel again, he darted for his tea cup. 

– I cannot deny, we did so much charity together, it has been a lasting bond and mutual respect.

“I’ve heard these words recently…”

– But as I grew older in our marriage, I grew passionate for her. As in…

– Lusting, – Ezekiel caught himself on a notion that he’d never seen Judith naked yet, both of them being true to matrimonial laws and traditions. 

– Yes. I desired her not only in a mild-mannered and sophisticated way she enjoyed much. I wanted to give her a good… er, time, as if she was a girl of my class. 

– And she denied you. 

– Not entirely, but she denied the burning of blood and tingling of flesh. What am I doing? Telling these secrets… ah, I guess, it won’t hurt, and you are not a gossip, my friend. 

– You know I am not one. 

– Good, sorry. We danced on the balls and then shared our bed merrily. We’ve roamed the whole Birmingham along with some countryside – but never further. I craved travels! Wanted to beat the untrodden roads! She was drawn to safety and society. Nine years passed like one day, in quite the similar activities. Was I happy by that time? No, maybe, content. 

Ezekiel found out he wasn’t as logical and calculative as his Inquisitor mist-self. He just felt worried for that couple who supposedly parted one way or another and now the teller of the story has come to that culmination to break his heart as well.

– Worse than that. We began to quarrel. Over everything, starting with the charity: I have yelled at her that she gives her poor beggars more of her soul than to me, her honest husband. And she calmly and coldly answered that this was not the case and I have no right to raise my voice at her if I am to be considered a gentleman. Those words usually enraged me, but I never even thought of hitting her. 

Empty cups were refilled and in that song of flowing tea, James made a pause in his story.

– Also she adored schedules. Her whole life’s been scheduled and written down and carried out in a timely fashion. 

– And this annoyed you? Why? Do not carpenters love measures and precision?

– You’ve got that one right! That’s it! That’s why we came together: I’ve been a person like that, measuring and measuring everything. She loved me for my scrupulous approach to life. But when I started to talk to people while solving matters, you know, kind of where you need a grumpy man to talk and not a lady…

– Suppose… – Ezekiel started his second tea cup. 

– That’s why I began to understand there is no such thing as calculation in life. It is all gamble! Especially social life. And I did my best to protect her even from knowing such things. 

“Now it sums up” – said Ezekiel to himself in Inquisitor tone of voice – “Why he became exactly the Watchman, to protect others from unneeded knowledge!”

– That’s when the catastrophe happened. She’s been nagging at me more often for not living up to schedules, and I’ve been keeping silent about how much chaos I engulf from the life that surrounds her. But once, on a gloomy night, somewhere about All Hallows’ Eve seven years ago, I could’ve not hold my tongue and gave her a tantrum describing how bad people around her are, and how often did I have to cover her delicate lifestyle with myself, soaking all the moral damage from these people, and that she did not appreciate that. And then Abigail said “Damage? I see, James, you have been badly wounded and cannot fight on my side anymore”. I went on, telling her that with such passionless love full of service to the homeless and impoverished, she has started to mistake me for her butler. 

– Golly!

– Yes… and advised her to better get her one, if she’s so fond of obedient men, build up to follow schedules and protocols of ladies’ assemblies. She did not snap back. She stood with silent dignity and then asked me to sleep in another bedroom. The next day she was all politeness and dignity and asked me for the sake of our love to leave her but to make it a tragic story of me going away in business affairs and being robbed and killed or missing. 

– And so you did. 

– It took a week to put that act up. I’ve been drinking in a pub, that’s where I heard about Mystborough. As if some higher power directed me here at a convenient time and place. 

He sighed.

– She gave me some money to start with and promised to send me anything I wanted to be sent to me of my belongings. We’ve parted warmly but it all seemed so false to me… 

– I can imagine! That cynical plot of tearing love apart is worse to me than the actual death of someone truly passionate about their beloved! – Ezekiel nearly jumped onto his feet. 

– I won’t torment you with details, my friend. All I want to say is that I haven’t asked her for more money or even for things I left behind me. I wanted to feel dead to her. 

“He wanted to feel dead to himself”. 

– I’ve been devastated. I walked the nights of Mystborough in hope to find some burglar whom I’d fight to test myself – should I die or should I live? 

– And then the Mist has taken you for its own. 

– Yes. I’ve been noticed not by criminals but by one of the Constables of the Mist. I have forgotten to tell you earlier, since we weren’t heading to the very town yet, but there are such officers of the law as Constables there. 

– If there are Burglars, there should be Constables, by all means. 

– True, true. So one of them took me to their Sheriff, and on my way there, I have turned into the Watchman. Sheriff, who is in this life a Mr Gardener, the grocer from Willow-street…

– A grocer?!

– Yes! Not everyone retains their station from here in the Mist, there are rare exceptions stiil. So, the Sheriff has invited me formally, albeit my invitation had happened by means of arrest, if to think. He never explained this phenomenon or his decision, but anyway, I’m here – and there. 

– I am glad to know your story, Mr Carpenter! But I have a feeling you’ve told me it is not just to ease your heart? 

– Once again you are correct, Inquisitor. On that table there is a letter. In it I have expressed my undying love for my wife and the envelope bears her address. I need you to help me to make a decision. 

– What kind of decision? If you love her – send it right away! Sealed With a Loving Kiss!

James laughed loudly and cheerfully. 

– Mr Thorne! You amaze me! Life is so simple for you due to age, and this is good! You have really solved my case by reminding me of who I was back then when I loved her for the first time… 

– Let us go to the post office at once! 

– No, they should not see us together like this. Never! – Mr Carpenter has changed his mood all of a sudden. – I’ll ask Mathew to mail it if I can’t do it myself tomorrow. 

– So glad I could help you, but now, please, excuse me, – said Ezekiel, looking at the time.

Two investigators bade each other farewell “till the Mists” as the younger of them ran for his club meeting.

Ezekiel nearly slept through the church service, being rudely awakened each minute by his father sitting near him. Immediately afterwards they  went to “Cannon and Orchid” to have their breakfast and talk.

– Son, I will not say you have disappointed me, because I hated clerk’s work myself when I was your age. It was the only way to follow my dream to become a worthy individual of high importance. And as you know, I am just one step from the House right now. 

Child nodded under the heavy fatherly gaze. 

– But what did annoy me, and not worried, but annoyed me, is that you have begun to stick your nose in these delirious things your mother loved to collect. And it grieves me to remember, where that innocent hobby led her! The Bedlam!

Ezekiel sighed. It has been the ruin of his childhood. That scene of gloomy rainy day when his mother said goodbye to him and cast a final glance, when entering the belly of a dark-blue carriage. He has never seen her since. But she wrote a letter every month to her husband and another for her son. They were the most normal and heartwarming missives of daily activity and healing. Ezekiel came to think they are somehow falsified or written under supervision.

–  Thus, I hereby remind you that these and exactly these activities are considered on the brink of madness in the society. Leave them to poor old lonely peddlers of junk and forget the ways to their shops. You are not some Honoré de Balzac protagonist, my boy!

His boy nodded. But Inquisitor crossed his hands in disagreement in the halls of the mind.

– Madmen are shunned, Ezekiel. You are my only son and successor to my estate and name in the legislature. Be respectable. 

– Yes, father. I was confronted by Mr Bale. 

– Honourable Bale. 

– Honourable Bale. And he said he wants to talk to you.

– I know and I have postponed his visit till tomorrow, because I wanted to meet you first. I am not pleased with having such a man as your superior, but that is how it is. Mind that he’s very prone to spying and spreading the information. He hasn’t written to me the subject of our upcoming meeting, but I already know that it’s going to be about you searching the official and supposedly classified documents for your own indiscernible purposes. As there is nothing that could possibly bring you profit, the reasoning is simple: you are going mad! That is what the people talk about already. Now, put yourself in my position – my son is either a corrupt clerk and idiot who can’t cover his felony or a plain madman toying with letters!

Wilbur Thorne’s face has gone red. 

– I shall cut these rumours short, father, – whispered Ezekiel, hiding his eyes. – I have already promised Honourable Bale that I’ll cease my tomfoolery and concentrate on my work. 

– That is all I needed to know and I am thankful. Now, don’t be so gloomy over your torn engagement with Miss Fernworth. That girl is not for you, believe me. 

– But, father! 

– I know, son, love and everything. I was in love with your mother and still am. Yet the Destiny had judged otherwise. I bet you and Judith strolled the same parks we did with Annabelle. 

Nod.

– Still, love is not everything. Mutual respect and social goals build a lasting bond for life. And such a bond is not the wisest with Lady Fernworth’s daughter.

– What kind of Shakespeare story is this? 

– My dear boy, you always find some artistic connotations, just like your mother. In this case, you might be right, somewhat, it is a hidden family feud. 

“Hidden, like, it the mists?”

– I wish I could tell you more, but for now it is quite enough for you to stop trying to woo the heart of Judith Fernworth. 

They’ve talked and drank coffee with biscuits for some time, but Ezekiel apologized and insisted he must go home and sleep. 

– Do you feel unwell? You should get yourself a servant, my son. 

– I shall think about it, father, but I value my privacy. 

– Is there some other young lady you might be seeing except for your fiancée? 

Ezekiel blushed.

– No, Sir. My needs are modest and I want to lead a simple life for now. 

– Then, in a week, I’ll find you a good valet. They do not trespass on masters’ privacy and ease the life of young governmental workers. 

– As far as I know, none of my colleagues have personal servants. 

– None of them have chances to build a career in the town hall. At least. 

Ezekiel had awakened from a murky sleep when he had heard the Watchman calling him in it. He got dressed and went down. Naturally, the gray-cloaked figure stood in the gusts of mist before his porch. 

– Come, Inquisitor, I think I see your entrance just round the corner. 

And it was there, indeed. Swirling fog was ready to form an entrance in the alley.

– It should look somehow understandable for you and symbolize what you are.

– I daresay it looks like some medieval arch to me. Pretty sturdy and gothic, but made out of fog! 

– Where? Ah yes, now I see it, too. Aye, that’s your portal! Forward!

As he sped his pace, Ezekiel felt the Inquisitor aspect rising in him, saw a glimpse of buckled shoes and all of a sudden, archway was left behind. 

They stood in a courtyard. Perfectly square and paved, surrounded by columns, on top of which gothic arches perched. Solemn grayish tiled roof, a small turret. 

– What is this? Some kind of a monastery? 

– Looks like you’ve been granted a residence of your own already. You are the most marvellous free man of the mist I’ve ever seen. No one would question how it appeared here. Or maybe, it has been here for long but in some different form. Mists are shifting from time to time, so it does not surprise anyone if some building becomes different. 

– What if it crosses the road that has been there before? 

– And that is something that can’t happen, – they began to move into the gallery behind columns. – I’ve had several conversations with people who are the mist-architects, meaning, they are able to shape buildings into desired fashion, and they are adamant that there is some sort of map of empty spaces and walls. These must stay where they are, while in most other places it is optional whether there be a passage or a wall. 

– And they must be in accordance with our world? So that travelers would not have clashed into a wall while exiting a portal? 

– That is correct. It is rumoured that some burglars use these maps to drop through the illegal portals inside rich houses bypassing walls and then disappear again.

– Fascinating! 

– Yes, but you are not here for their hides. You must find wolfmen. As far as you’ve agreed to help me, and we are in the mists, here’s your patent to investigate and arrest, which basically makes you a citizen of mists for the time being. When you finish your investigation and bring the beasts to justice, no one would question the legitimacy of your existence here, despite not being invited by anyone. You’ll be deemed as one of the Called by the Mist. 

– And should I fail, I’ll be hunted down by the society. 

– Yes, and your mist person will be forfeited to you by the powers that be.

– Do you mean the Mayor? 

– No, my boy. I forgot to tell you in Mystborough that there are some enigmatic Overseers of the Mist. 

– Who are they? – his startled voice echoed under the gallery’s ceiling. 

– It is unknown. They are generally neutral to all the affairs and are the judges of the very admittance to having a mist-self. Also they are supposed to upkeep the passages. This abode of yours is literally their goodwill to you. That is why I am amazed that you, who knows nothing of the mist, is already a person of some renown here. 

– Paradoxical. But I am so eager to investigate it! 

– Your mist-self is awakening. Let us walk out of your cozy monastery for now, and go to the outskirts. 

The Inquisitor has pushed the heavy door into the passageway leading to the street. 

– I will explore it later, for sure. Feels that I have some answers to my hidden dreams and fears. 

– As every house in the Mist, every one of them, my friend. 

The street greeted them with lush colours of wall decoration and carmine roof tiles and tin, with gleams of many flickering lights which weren’t gas or candles. Yet it had that grayish tint to everything as if that was “painted fog”. Music sounded from salons behind high window panes, dancing people looked like silhouettes, swirling in delight. Rare coaches, some of which had mechanical (or even living, sheesh!) legs passed over graphite-dark pavement, as if wet from recent rain. 

– Ours is to observe, Inquisitor, so we’ll walk. 

– Understood. 

And they walked. In several houses from his doorstep, Inquisitor thought he saw a female figure appear in a dark alley, cross a small patch of moonlight and disappear as if drowned in the ink of the night. He shuddered. 

Because it was semi-naked lady in a tiny hat with black veil.

– James Carpenter, solicitor, – he read out loud what the calling card said.

It’s been well past noon on October 6th, Saturday. Pretty dulled by his monotonous morning work, Ezekiel sought some escape from the mundane world, and has been disappointed by more of its manifestations coming his way.

– No doubt, it’s from my father to teach me the ways of life. Oh well, I suppose I have to.

As Mr Thorne had no servant to hold his privacy, it was quite awkward a situation, where the visitor had put his calling card into a special tray and rang the bell. Afterwards Ezekiel went down, looked at the card and let the guest in. Or in the rare case, did not open the door and returned the card via other tray. But that was just once or twice and guests weren’t that important. 

But this time, even wrapped in thoughts of all the sudden mysteries and mishappenings of his life, he did not wish to turn that man away. So he unlocked the door and swung it open carefully.

– Yes, Mr Carpenter, do come in, – he started and then eyed the visitor.

The stranger wore a long gray cloak, resembling a robe. And it definitely had a hood. 

– I presume, you have recognized me, Mr Thorne. Or should I say, Inquisitor?

– Ah, yes, The Watchman? 

– The one and only! 

It took all his composure for Ezekiel to not run away in the face of understanding that the ghastly figure he had seen in mists and dreams, was in fact, a real man.

– My work as a solicitor is perfect for finding individuals such as yourself, – said the Watchman, sitting himself in the armchair in the drawing room, near the fire. After he took the glove off, it was revealed he had quite a hairy arm and back of palm. 

– Which is…?

– Individuals, who have found their own way into the mists. Ones, who weren’t introduced to the web of lies and hypocrisy by those who are already inside. 

– So, there is some Masonic Lodge in Mystborough, after all! 

– Yes, there is. And you can visit its manor freely, they even have sigil over the main entrance and inscription that they are Freemasons, indeed. But in fact, they are the least represented in that part of Mystborough which is more the mist than the borough.

Blood rushed to Ezekiel’s cheeks. Not only because of a feeling of shame he did not know that the Masonic Lodge of Mystborough is a known fact, but because there really was some other secret society! 

– What do you mean by “the mist part”? 

– It would be better to call it “the mist reflection”, because everyone involved has their life reflected in that small universe that exists beyond the mists.

– Beyond? Do you mean, one can enter the mist?

– Yes, and walk it through to see the other town that lies beyond. That is what I am willing to do to you, help you to get through safely and find your portal.

– Portal?

– Yes. See, there are strict entries and exits for everyone to the mists. I have been surprised to see you in dreams, though, because that one is…well… highly unusual. But we’ll discuss that somewhat later. For now, all that you must learn is safe passage. Not to get lost in real mist. Not to get hunted by beasts. 

– So there are werewolves there! 

– Yes and no. There are many reflections of the animal aspect, but they are not necessarily just wolves.

– Do they live in the mist as well? So there are human reflections and animal ones? 

James Carpenter sighed. It was not a sigh of annoyance, rather, uneasiness because of some topic. 

– Basically, it is so. At least, I do not know of other major aspects. Till this year I was sure that town or human aspect of reflection was the only one. Which is the mist one. 

– Wait-wait, please! – Ezekiel put his fingers together and rested his face on them in deep thinking. – Are those animals of mist or not? Are those reflections produced by mists only or not?

– And that’s a great question, Inquisitor! – The Watchman slapped his thigh. – I was right to come to you with that case! I do not know. I am not a native of Mystborough. Settled here seven years ago, when I heard of the mists phenomenon. I’ve made my inquiries and was invited quite soon. 

– Excuse me, invited?

– I have mentioned it previously, did I not? Alright, let’s go from the very beginning. Of all the towns of our county Mystborough is the only one that has this reflections aspect attached to it. That is why all the people outside who are unhappy with life they lead hope to get in here. Like I moved here.

– But how do they know? How did you know? 

– Rumours. They just flow. And somehow destiny makes them land on ready ears. 

Silence has fallen. 

– How did you investigate these rumours? – Ezekiel asked carefully after a minute of contemplating. 

– That does not matter much right now. Just asked some people and made up my mind to come here and see for myself. 

– And where are you from? 

– Birmingham. Now, Mystborough is distinctive for its mist that opens up travel between this world and some other, albeit rather small. But humans do not arrive there exactly as they are here. Rather, some hidden side of their soul takes shape and they have a set of new clothes, more confidence upon that side of soul and sometimes even some powers beyond human comprehension. Which is rare.

– Can they not have a new face as well? – Ezekiel wished to offer his guest some tea, and for the first time in life, he regretted not having a servant. 

– Theoretically, yes, but it is prohibited. See, that town, when you see it at last, and not just roam empty streets around it, it is a society. There are different houses in unexpected places, other laws of nature and colours of the night. But the main thing which is different – is the society. 

Ezekiel Thorne nodded. What he has begun hearing now sounded to him like something he knew forever but did not have a chance to recollect. 

– Runners from themselves – like me, I must admit – are seeking the society of others, and the levels of power, given by the freedom of your “mist-self”, are strictly controlled by persons that hold that power…

James eyed Ezekiel with a slight smile before landing the last charge:

– Here, in real Mystborough. 

Mr Throne started up.

– What do you mean by that? That it is not a place for free romantic dreamers, but another rigid structure of wealth and authority as it is here, led by the same people? 

– Exactly! Minus wealth – there is no money in the mist. Only willpower, imagination, cunning, whatever personal advantages and merits one possesses do have weight in the mist. Thinking is different there, decisions are made in other conditions, the aims are set with odd precision, but the influence rains upon the real town! 

Baffled, Ezekiel could not ask anything he priorly wanted to ask. Thus, Mr Carpenter went on:

– The Mayor Tarleton is the Mayor there as well. Most of the councilmen, all the lawmen and traders with their respective wives and sometimes households are there in high positions. I gather those who claim power here, dream only of bigger power and so they have it through power of mist reflection.

– I see… 

– Persons like these could have had different faces, but they are strictly forbidden to employ such opportunities when they receive their reflections. And when the reflection is given for the first time, you can’t change it for good, only alter a bit.

– It seems that I have stolen mine, instead of being given.

– Say not so. You have invented yours and the mist did grant you what you desired. But since you did not know of the town on the other side, you could have not invented your road there as well. Which is good for our cause.

– Why? 

– I am a very simple man, maybe, too simple. I abhor the situation that I have witnessed. The mist discovered me as The Watchman and I have felt the urge to protect the outskirts of that town. Partly because I hate to be in society here, and even more I hate to be in the society of the mists. 

– I can relate! Hypocrites making artistic lives unbearable here, and also strangling the world of free fantasy with their whimsical systems! Am I right? 

– Perfectly so. I’ve had my talks with many of the experienced ones there, and they testify that some twenty years ago Mystborough was different, romantic, and even the council looked more like hosts of a vine fair. Mist town was a popular place for fancy balls with dresses switching right in the middle of a dance! Artists and poets ruled the nights, but then…

– But then wealthy and boring people realized that by controlling the dreams they would gather more material power to conquer the real world. 

– And you are unbelievably bright, Inquisitor!

– Living to my name lately, I suppose. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must put the pot on fire, and offer you some tea. I live alone, as you can see. 

After a fond gesture from his guest, Ezekiel rushed to boil some water and summarize all that he’d heard. Before his mind’s eye, a lonely Watchman in a gray cloak was walking down the street which had houses only on one side, and on the other – dark emptiness and inky trellis. Wolf howled in the distance in that picture, and Inquisitor could not help but wonder: was The Watchman alone or were there other Watchmen? Who else of his acquaintances could have known about the mist town and kept silent? Did it have anything to do with typefaces? Could he introduce Judith to that world, so they’d be together in it even if they won’t… 

With a grunt he returned to the kitchen duty.

– Here, tea, lumps of sugar, please. So, does anyone in the mists immediately know the newcomer by their face? 

– Generally, yes, since newcomers are invited and brought by hand, literally. But since there is this desire for many to keep their identities hidden for some… frivolous activities, or just to forfeit their mundane selves and become other characters, there’s a law older than current power. And this law speaks of the sanctity of masks!

– Masks! Aha!

– Yes. Any person who is not top-rank in the society of the mist, is allowed not to remove their mask under any circumstances, unless they break a law, like, murdering someone. This world or mist world, it does not matter. ‘Tis no hiding place for scoundrels! 

James laughed. 

– That is where I want to return to the subject I have come to ask you for help. I need you to…

– Topple the lying society of the mist! 

– …no, not that radical. I need you to help me to hunt down werewolves. I suspect they are not natural animal aspects, rather some free roaming mist reflections of some people who decided to hide their faces with wolf skins. 

– How did you come to such a conclusion? – Ezekiel sipped his tea. 

– Because they do not feel like they are from the forest. To me, they are more like the readers of cheap novels who… had found their way in the mists like you. And, what’s more important – they have found the way to come in their wolfman form here!

Cup clanked on the saucer. 

– Really?! 

– I am afraid, it is true, and this means they could kill. I have shooed one that trailed you, in the evening we’ve met. Maybe, it’s that Hunter’s Moon. I do not know much about it. I have my own sources of knowledge about the forests and their ways around here. But I have heard the legend that on the month of the Hunter’s Moon, a breach of worlds is possible. Maybe you are marked by the sign of the hunter as well, Mr Thorne? That is how you did pass the trail into the mists and found me. 

– I am astonished by all the things that you tell me, and I feel I should agree! But please, answer some of my questions before. 

– Go ahead!

– Is my supervisor, head clear Honourable Bale, in power in the town of mists? 

– Yes he is, he is a judge there, and he is so pompous that he has got his title here from that world. It is not exactly forbidden, although blows the veil of mystery a bit. For an inquisitive person like you.

– Do you know something about typefaces of the dates? 

– Excuse me? 

– The dates. They have exact typefaces, and it is odd when they are… different… 

Seeing a puzzled look on Carpenter’s face, Ezekiel went into explanations and has shown his evidence. The Watchman shook his head in disbelief and said he never came across anything like this in the mist town. 

– Then, I am your man! Inquisitor Thorne. 

– Just Inquisitor. I suggest you invent a mask for yourself to not be recognized in town. Your outfit was grandiose for hunting purposes on the outskirts or fog forests, but you have your own face which you have to conceal. Like I conceal mine.

– So they do not know you are James Carpenter when you are the Watchman! 

– No.

– Brilliant!

– It is crucial for my survival, – his tone became the most grave one, – and for yours even more.

– How so?

– You see… Your father and Lady Fernworth hold high offices in the mists as well. And your betrothed Judith was invited this year after her twenty-first birthday.

Ezekiel gasped. James nodded.

– You were not supposed to know about it, ever, and somehow you have raised the suspicion that you might uncover the mists without being invited. 

– But my father… 

– …not powerful enough to bring you there yet. And you are not trustworthy enough to be invited.

– And they are right not to trust me! I shun their hypocrisy!

– That is why I need you with me on the outskirts. I’ll sign a patent for you which would count as an invitation. We have some freelancers like you or artistic kind who have just appeared in the midst of the town at night, probably, plunging amok into a hidden public portal, and then had them chastized and accepted through the recommendation of persons already in. My special position lets me hire you as my apprentice and assistant, since I have already notified the Mayor of the werewolves or the wolfmen. 

– Aye, I have seen a pawprint in the forest.

– Did you, now? 

– Aye, a big one! But I could not store it and it just disappeared. 

– Then you are already on the right track! That is quite normal for the mist wolfmen prints – they do disappear even if they step on real ground.

– But I’ve seen it during the day! 

The Watchman fell silent and deep into his thoughts.

– We shall start tomorrow. Tonight they have a big ball. I cannot lead you quietly in on a night like that. And I must investigate something on my own after some things you have told me. 

– Of course. Tomorrow, then? After the sunset, I presume? 

– Yes. I’ll come visit you. 

So, James Carpenter left Ezekiel’s lodgings, leaving the young man to ponder till deep evening on what he’d heard today. When the clock struck midnight, he sat at his window trying to hear the music and laughter of the obscured ball, and at some moment he thought he did. 

That was when he fell asleep. 

Around him the inky swirls have created a room as if it was drawn by a clerk’s pen. A bureau to decipher letters and book pages. A bed for two. And crooked walls, a caricature on a dwelling. 

Inquisitor approached the bureau and looked at the scarce treasures on it.

– I need a newspaper to examine.

– No, sweetheart, you need something different, – a silvery voice rang behind him. He’d turned around and saw a gorgeous almost naked woman, wearing just black stockings held by garters, and black corset that almost did not cover pale breasts. What was covered, though, was the lady’s face. Black veil from a tiny cylinder hat has turned her visage into inky scribbles. 

– You need me, just like that, – she whispered. 

Ezekiel shrugged in shame and awakened.

It was already the morning.

Ezekiel Thorne came to his senses at noon the next day, when he delivered the finals of his work to Hon. Bale. Everything before that was nonexistent. Some vague memories of running down the street – still in the prison of inky nightmares that reappeared even in the night – editing the books with no slightest notice of typefaces or whatever possible oddments – keeping sulky silence even when being asked a question – his supervisor putting another pack of letters on his bureau – these were omitted somehow, Mr Thorne… 

And now, all the paperwork done, lad has accepted a dry “Thank you” from the head clerk and proceeded to swallow his common dinner. 

– You seem crushed, my friend, – he barely heard the voice of MN, – forgive me to bother you, but did something happen?

– Yes, alas, my betrothal is going to be called off or postponed at best. 

– Dire news! Why so? 

– I have yet to be informed about the reasons and terms. Oh, Michael, it seems to me that the whole world is against me! 

– You might be right, – murmured MN, – but let’s not talk conspiracies in the nest thereof. 

Ezekiel nodded in understanding and dipped his spoon in the soup as if nothing had happened. And just in time, because Hon. Bale appeared over their heads as if from nowhere. 

– Since all of you did very well, or, at least, most of you did very well, I am hereby cutting you a slack for the rest of the day. Consider your daily normative to be set to three quarters today, so as soon as you finish it, you may leave.

– Hooray! I can already go since I did not have that many entries already! – exclaimed AB. It is worth mentioning that in mundane activities, all the tasks were roughly equal to those letters as well. But they could also be shared, which the head clerk did not hesitate to remind of: 

– So, trying to outwit me, Mr Chase? Have a special prize: fill up the number of entries with excess ones from Mr Fitzby, who carries out S tasks. 

He said that with a hint of warm smile, which meant he for some reason was in a good mood. The gathering laughed. Even Fitzby, although his laughter reminded of some boar sounds. 

– Now, now, tomorrow is half day anyways, and on Monday we start to work harder on a… 

He went on, but lost one listener. Ezekiel has calculated the remains of his daily task and figured out that he could be free in an hour. What would he spend the time till the fateful evening meeting on? How should he prepare? Have some more sleep? Be in a good mood? 

A bright idea has struck him upon halfway to his workplace. 

“I could try to meet with Judith!”

Two youths had this secret meeting place where they used to exchange notes before coming of age, and had sort of a code: if there are no other means to connect – visit that secluded park or leave there a letter in the hollow of the old oak.

Also he could stay and research the letters that were still there on his table and under it – in case he missed something. He contemplated rummaging through the sacks and packs for several hours and triumphantly retrieving a single letter with odd date or other – but then he also imagined the suspicion he’d rise with others and Hon. Bale especially. “Why is he Honourable, really?” 

So he stayed with going to the grand oak. And to show that he’s not overly eager to leave, Ezekiel leafed through some of the last ledgers as if looking for the mistakes. What he was really hunting for were silly new last names he had to write in for hours. 

– I thought so… – he gasped in anguish. There very many “Yarnthreadprice” and “Yonderwell” and “Youngdogbark” which seemed just some nonsensical phrases connected together in fake names. Many of the names and places were made up this way. Why? To overload Ezekiel and impediment his inquiries? 

As he decided to check upon some of the supposedly false letters, the cart of the servant collecting the mail screeched and stopped by. With a hollow and tired face the old man mumbled “Can I have your correspondence, please, Sir?” and Ezekiel had thought of nothing better than to agree. Anyway, if letters were forged, the dates would be in perfect accordance with others. 

That was when he realized that new feeling – being not a clerk or a hurt enamoured lad but – being an Inquisitor, even without that outfit from his Gothic dreams. Ezekiel Thorne has felt it – the urge to investigate mysteries not knowing what is their worth if they feel worthy! That has meant more than just some paper with some ink on it. 

Ink… those inky vines, trellis of darkness – what as that? He knew not. So many oddities at once: these black writings on the matter of existence, the mists of real evenings, and the leaden fog in dream… were they all parts of one enigma or three different? 

Yes, yes, he should’ve gotten out of the town hall post haste! 

In half an hour Ezekiel has finished his chores and went to report them to Hon. Bale. Surprisingly, the head clerk had no objection. 

“Maybe, he doesn’t want me to stay over and sniff around”. 

– Mr Thorne, I have my doubts about you, but I have yet to talk to your father. He has not yet answered my message regarding when he wants to see me on your matter. I think you have time till Monday to set your mind straight if you want to serve the Crown here or not. 

– I take it, any governmental career is going to be closed to me if I choose to leave this place? 

– Finally, you are showing the gleam of light of understanding how things are done in the Empire. You have to earn your trust from the very low, step by step, degree by degree, without jumping any over. 

“Degree by degree. Something from secret orders? Does he hint at…? It can’t be!”

– Yes, Honourable Bale. I think I understand you perfectly. 

– Good, good. Then I expect you to do more thinking and be guided by that light of understanding that I believe I just saw. 

Not sure of the sincerity of the man, Ezekiel Thorne nodded and left for the park. 

He found Judith sitting on a tree trunk not so far from their sacred oak. 

– Thorne, my love! I felt thou wouldst come! 

– Briar, my own and only! How do thou feel? 

– Devastated. And yet, rejoicing to see thy visage, my dearest. Thou art well and thou love me still. 

– I do, Briar, queen of my heart, I do! 

– Let us make our own vows, here and now! 

He gasped at her boldness, unknown to any other woman, and fell on one knee, taking off his tophat. But before he made his proposal, Judith has put her hand on his head and said solemnly:

– Arise, as my knight and beloved, faithful to me as I am your faithful beloved and queen. 

Something did change at that moment, he knew that. Ancient oak rustled leaves although there was not much wind, and leaves began to fall around them. 

– Yes, my love, as you say, Your Majesty Briar the First and only! – he arose and they shared a kiss. Forbidden in any decent society, but a kiss of true love, wild and unruled. Swirl of golden leaves of oak has covered them from prying eyes.

Judith has eyed Ezekiel. She felt a surge of power she only dreamt of several nights before.

– Come, my dearest, let us walk the woods for some time, and I’ll have to get back home before they see us together. And you have a rest before your meeting at our house at seven. Do not be afraid, I can set things right this time!

And they have walked in the amber rays of afternoon sun. Ezekiel has been trying to find words to explain to Judith his visions of inky trellis and different mists and fog, and she has been trying to understand him and advise not to risk his life in vain. Soon the betrothed ones have parted ways. Colleen had kissed her knight with their eyes both closed and when he opened his, the lad saw only bushes around him and an empty trail. 

– Judith? Where are you? 

No answer. 

“Does she possess some powers as well that I have had no prior knowledge of? What is it about this town lately? It has always been so boring! Is it because of that Hunter’s Moon?”

“Yes”, answered some voice in his head. Or maybe, it was just lad’s imagination for no further conversation followed.

Ezekiel wandered around the park, guessing is he in the forest already? Not too far away was “Nimrod” club. So, maybe, this already was the forest around him. 

And then, he saw the pawprint. Like one of a big dog or a big wolf. A muddy patch, just like in a penny dreadful paper. Crossed by a… werewolf? 

– No, I must be dreaming! I should get some help immediately! Some measures, drawings, cast plaster in it! 

All the notions of love fleeting from him, Inquisitor ran to the club, cutting his path on untrodden ways. Rich odor of the woods has kicked in his nostrils. Anxiety has got him, some odd noises, animal calls were in his ears for some moments before he left the forest for the park. There was no time for that either! 

He opened the back door with his spare key and alarmed the servants. In ten minutes everyone was in the supposed place where the print of the mysterious paw should’ve been. But it wasn’t there! The whole mud patch disappeared! Another ten minutes of walking to and fro and one of the servants took his liberty to say that very possibly that it was just a wolf’s mark and then leaves covered it. Ezekiel had to agree – he did not want to be a tyrant who exploits servants to his whims. So they went to the club, where Mr Thorne intended to rest till the time to go to Fernworth Manor. 

William Peakridge arrived shortly. He and Ezekiel had a long talk on all the occurences. 

– My friend, I think I’ll have to cease my activities in the town hall, or at the very least, to cover them wisely since tomorrow, – sighed Mr Thorne. – So I ask you to carry out the Typeface Case all around. 

– I have foreseen that and after all you’ve told me, can’t hold a grudge for that decision. If you by any chance can be accepted to any Masonic Lodge within the town it would be great for our investigations. If there is not any such lodge, then you will win the heart and hand of precious Ms Fernworth. After the marriage, we’ll go on together. After all, is it not the most English thing to do – to obscure your real life with a respectable facade? 

He said that with bitter sarcasm, but Ezekiel felt hurt. 

– Aye, perhaps, you are right. It’s just… 

– Yes, I understand how you feel. To have it all clear and honest. But I’m afraid such places as Mystborough and all the county around it would just cease to exist if they’ll become open and outpour their souls into the common space. All this serenity and innocence would’ve been lost in clamour and chaos of individuals screaming for being so and so. Forgive me, but it reminds me of factories sometimes, so maybe, I’m seeing things akin where they are not. 

–  Factories? How so? 

– See, all the workers of a modern factory are assigned to their small tasks around the machinery. If one gets too individual, they get hurt. Badly hurt. Maybe, dead. So they adhere to the necessary code of conduct throughout the work day. But, by Mercury, what feasts they make on Saturday evenings! Everyone is different, it is almost a carnival. You know, the continental feast with masks and costumes. 

– Aye. And…? 

– And that is why I suggest that here, in these villages and towns, be they given freedom, folk’d want to have this carnival going on and on forever. So, dwellers of Mystborough choose to pretend not to crush the whole brittle system down. 

– Peculiar is that it is so complicated where they risk not their life and health as those factory workers? 

– Verily. 

They have chatted till half past six, when it was time for Ezekiel to go on his trial. 

He arrived at the doors of Fernworth Manor five minutes earlier, calm and confident as he could be. He spent a minute examining that building behind the iron railings, adorned with stone floral motifs. It was not gloomy at all even in the evening, and beamed some splendour of wealthy life which had no need for gargoyles Judith wanted to put there. Yet it was a power of sorts and it pressed upon him to walk in there. 

– Mr Thorne, I wanted to see you in person to tell you my decision, – Lady Fernworth sat in her armchair like Her Majesty Queen Victoria on her throne. – In pursuit of providing my daughter with the best husband, I have taken advice from several persons of standing to take your childhood romance with her into account. Me and your father had always had agreement on many delicate questions in affairs that my son-in-law must also handle well. Bitter it was to me to receive news of you dabbling in some lesser arts like journalism, or collecting oddities. Mayhap, it is good for a man to have a hobby, but I have also heard from a reliable source that these things impede your career in the career drawn for you by your father. And that is why I proclaim… 

“Damn that Bale! Damn that S!”

– …that your engagement with my daughter is postponed for a month.

– Postponed? 

– Yes, which means I can let you renew it on November 5th, year 1888 of our Lord, if you show no signs of your dangerous frivolities and keep up the good civil service. Until then, if an agreeable suitor for Judith appears and proposes to her, he might be considered as your rival, able to propose to her after the said date, if you fail your conditions. That is all. 

Ezekiel Thorne could not recollect how he got home. But the only hope he had now was their wild and pagan vows under the grand oak tree with Judith.