Unexpected Company

I nodded in satisfaction, pocketing the bundel of notes with a nod of thanks. "Thank you for your understanding," I said politely, masking my relief at having negotiated a better deal.

As I turned to leave the shop, I couldn't help but smirk inwardly. It was a small victory, but it reassured me that I could navigate the unfamiliar waters of Babel with more than just luck. My social skills and keen eye for detail had proven invaluable, allowing me to secure a fair price for the brooch that now funded my journey into the heart of this enigmatic city.

The bustling streets of Babel stretched out before me, a maze of twisting alleys and towering structures adorned with intricate gears and steam vents. The air was thick with the scent of coal and machinery, the constant hum of activity echoing through the labyrinthine pathways. People of all walks of life hurried past me—mechanics with grease-streaked overalls, aristocrats travellibg in carriages, and traders haggling over exotic goods from distant lands.

I paused for a moment, taking in the sights and sounds of this vibrant city. It was simultaneously familiar and yet vastly different from my hometown of New Albion. The architecture here was grander, more ornate, with towering clock towers that chimed the hours and bridges that spanned wide canals filled with bustling steamboats.

"Babel," I murmured to myself, the name unfamiliar yet resonant. I wondered how the things had changed in these hundred and so years i god knows where. What had transpired during my unconscious state. The mystery of my journey weighed heavily on my mind, but I pushed it aside for the moment. I needed sustenance and a plan.

My thoughts turned to my immediate needs—I had no money left except for the coins I had just acquired. My stomach growled in protest, reminding me of the importance of a good breakfast. I scanned my attire, noticing that I was dressed in luxurious clothes—coat, trousers, and a vest—but lacking the high hat that would complete the ensemble and perhaps lend me a more respectable air.

I sighed inwardly. The brooch had been my only valuable possession, the one that prevented people from dismissing me as some freak when i asked some strange questions, and now it was gone. The only thing remaining was a small pin that had belonged to my uncle, a token of our shared history and the cryptic letter that had brought me here.

With determination, I set off in search of a place to eat, my eyes keenly observing the movements and interactions of the city around me. Despite the initial setback, I felt a glimmer of hope. Babel was a city of opportunities, and I was determined to make the most of my time here—to uncover its secrets and perhaps find answers to the mysteries that had brought me to this strange and wondrous place.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greeted Jesper as he pushed open the heavy oak door of The Clockwork Tavern. The interior was dimly lit by flickering gas lamps that cast dancing shadows across the polished wooden tables and brass fixtures. The air was thick with the murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses, creating a cozy yet bustling atmosphere.

Jesper made his way to the counter, noting the diverse clientele that filled the tavern. Mechanics in oil-stained overalls sat alongside elegantly dressed aristocrats adorned with intricate pocket watches and velvet coats. A group of traders huddled in a corner, their conversation animated as they discussed the latest shipments of exotic goods from distant lands.

The tavern keeper, a burly man with a thick beard and a stern countenance, glanced up from polishing a glass behind the counter. His gaze fell upon Jesper, taking in the young man's Victorian-era attire and the absence of a high hat that marked him as different from the usual patrons.

I met the tavern keeper's stare, sensing the unspoken message in the heavy gaze—a silent demand to either order something or leave. I straightened my posture, determined not to be dismissed as a poor basterd.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon enveloped me as I pushed open the heavy oak door of The Clockwork Tavern. The dim light from flickering gas lamps cast dancing shadows across the polished wooden tables and brass fixtures, creating an atmosphere that was both cozy and bustling. The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses added a lively undertone to the air.

As I made my way to the counter, I couldn't help but notice the eclectic mix of patrons. Mechanics in oil-stained overalls chatted with elegantly dressed aristocrats sporting intricate pocket watches and velvet coats. A group of traders in a corner animatedly discussed exotic shipments from distant lands, their voices rising above the general din.

The tavern keeper, a burly man with a thick beard and a stern demeanor, glanced up from polishing a glass behind the counter. His gaze swept over me, taking in my Victorian-era attire and my conspicuous lack of a high hat. The silent message was clear: I was an outsider here, and I needed to either order something or leave.

I met his stare with a mix of defiance and unease, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. *Is the clothing not enough?* I thought, *Do I need a top hat to be treated with some respect here? Damn it!*

Determined not to be dismissed as a poor interloper, I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat. "Good morning," I said, trying to sound as confident as possible. "I'll have a cup of your finest coffee and a plate of eggs and toast, please."

The tavern keeper's expression softened slightly, a small acknowledgment of my effort to fit in. He nodded curtly and turned to prepare my order. The clatter of dishes and the hiss of steam from the coffee machine filled the silence between us.

While I waited, I couldn't help but fidget, acutely aware of the curious glances from other patrons. Snippets of their conversations reached me—discussions about the latest inventions, debates on politics, and tales of daring exploits in the city's underbelly. The diversity of voices underscored the complexity of Babel's society.

When the tavern keeper finally returned with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of eggs and toast, I felt a wave of relief. I thanked him warmly, trying to mask my discomfort with a polite smile. The aroma of the coffee and the warmth of the food were a welcome reprieve from the chilly reception I'd received.

As I took a sip of the coffee, savoring its rich flavor, I attempted to blend in with the regulars. My attempt at casual conversation felt awkward, but I pushed forward. "I hear your coffee is quite renowned," I remarked, hoping to strike up a friendly chat.

The tavern keeper's grunt made it clear he had no interest in conversation. I cursed myself inwardly for my clumsy attempt at small talk but resolved not to be easily discouraged.

"Quite a lively atmosphere you have here," I tried again, gesturing to the bustling tavern around us.

The tavern keeper merely nodded, his attention already turning to another customer. Feeling slightly defeated, I turned my focus to my meal, relishing the simple pleasure of the eggs and toast. The rich, savory flavors were a comforting distraction from my earlier discomfort.

Suddenly, a voice from my left startled me out of my thoughts. "Yeah! It is indeed a lively weather today," the voice chimed in, carrying a hint of amusement.

I glanced up to see a tall, muscular man settling himself beside me. He wore a long black coat and a tall top hat, his presence commanding immediate attention. He rested his cane on the table before removing his hat, revealing sharp, penetrating eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

"A lovely weather to visit a graveyard, is it?" he remarked, turning his gaze directly onto me.