The grating sound of a bell ringing from afar woke Irin very early in the morning. Irin rose and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to reorient himself.
After a few minutes, he stood up, washed himself, and dressed for the day.
The clothes the woman from Campton had given him still fit well enough to present him respectably. And respectability, he had learned, was a kind of social currency in cities like this.
He went to the wardrobe and retrieved the poster he had carefully hidden the night before. He opened it and stared at the address again before tucking it into his coat.
"Alright. I hope things turn out the way I want." He murmured.
When he got downstairs, the innkeeper found it surprising that he was up that early.
"Going out early?" she remarked without looking up.
"Yes, ma'am," Irin replied.
She nodded. "Be careful who you trust. It's not safe out there."
"I'll be," Irin smiled and walked out the door.
Even in the early morning, the city outside was already as busy as it would get. The streets were chaotic; the stores were open, and people were on with their business.
Irin followed the main road until he got to a junction leading to three different streets. He saw a woman covered in white wool walking towards him. From her appearance and the way she walked, one could tell she was a rich lady.
"Excuse me," he said politely. "Where can I find Wolf Street?"
She glimpsed him, then pointed down an avenue. "Go straight down there. Take a right turn towards the big hotel. Then turn left at the iron clock. You can't miss it. The smell from the street alone is hard to forget."
"The street smells that bad?" Irin scrunched his nose.
She laughed at his reaction. "No. I meant the smell from tanneries."
"Thank you," Irin said and followed her directions until he was standing on Wolf Street.
Well, the lady in white wool didn't lie. Rows of wooden racks, stacked with stretched animal skins, could be seen on the upper balconies of the houses on Wolf Street.
By his left hand was a group of men who were busy scraping flesh off a hide with a knife at the front of an old house. These men didn't look up even as Irin passed by.
"Oh, my goodness," Irin almost had a panic attack as a huge kettle boiler hissed, releasing thick steam that carried the odor of boiled flesh.
Irin pinched his nose the moment he perceived the pungent ammonia odor, which smelled like urine. This chemical was used to soften the leather.
Every few steps he took down the street, Irin had to duck away from heavy sheets of dried cowhide hanging from overhead pulleys like giant leathery bats.
Irin slowed his pace, looking carefully at each door he passed.
"No. 21… No. 22…" Then he stopped.
Below a plain wooden door made of oak, he saw the same poster he held, written in the same phrase, word for word, pasted on the door.
Irin exhaled in relief.
"Finally," he said under his breath, "this must be it."
The moment he opened the door and stepped inside, the scent of paper, wax, and ink gave his nose a welcoming relief.
The entrance had a waiting area with seats in the corner. Two shelves filled with dossiers marked with dates and codes stood on the right side of the door. Only the flickering green light from candles and gas lamps was the source of light in the room.
At the far end of the room was a well-furnished desk. And behind it was a girl who couldn't have been older than eighteen. All her attention was on a typewriter.
The clack-clack of the keys as she tapped the typewriter was the only sound in the room.
She didn't look up as Irin approached. She wore a white blouse with sleeve protectors pinned to her forearms to keep the ink from staining her cuffs.
"Good morning."
The girl's fingers froze. She looked up and smiled while maintaining professional neutrality.
"I'm Aubrey, the senior clerk for Vane & Co Investigation Agency. How may I help you?"
"I'm Irin. I've come regarding the job advertisement."
Aubrey gave a single nod and gestured toward a wooden chair in the waiting area.
"Please sit. Let me inform the boss."
She rose from her desk and disappeared through a set of double doors at the back of the room.
After several minutes, Aubrey reappeared, holding the door open. "He will see you now."
Irin stepped into the inner office. It was smaller, warmer, and smelled strongly of pipe tobacco.
Seated behind a desk cluttered with maps and a magnifying glass was a man with gray hair. A single monocle perched precariously in his right eye, magnifying a squinted, focused pupil as he scratched away at a paper with a long goose-feather quill.
On the corner of his desk, Irin spotted a small framed poster that read:
VANE & CO. INVESTIGATION AGENCY
"Uncovering everything mysterious."
The man paid Irin no attention. One minute passed into three. Just as Irin adjusted himself uncomfortably, the man dropped the quill into a brass stand.
The old man's eyes crinkled as a smile spread across his aged face.
"My apologies, dear fellow," he said in a harsh baritone voice. "A thought is a slippery fish; if you don't catch it on paper immediately, it swims away forever."
"I'm Edmund Vane."
Irin sat up and extended a hand.
"Irin," he replied, shaking hands with Edmund. "Irin Halgrave."
Edmund leaned back in his chair. "My receptionist tells me you've come for the vacancy."
Irin offered a steady nod in return. Though he felt the man's eyes cataloging every detail of his appearance.
Edmund Vane let the silence stretch for a long moment before he spoke again.
"It is a curious thing, Irin. In an age of machinery and steel, one would think the world is progressing, but we're all stuck in an endless circle of damnation. But the truth is, not everyone loves to work as a detective these days. Certainly not this kind of detective."
"People like the idea of detective work. They enjoy the stories. The clever deductions."
Edmund folded his hands. "But they don't enjoy the reality that comes with this type of work."
Edmund picked up a piece of paper and looked at it closely as he kept talking.
"The men who applied before you... They were sturdy enough. Excellent fighters skilled in alchemy, decent beast tamers, and powerful ascenders. But they quit. All of them. Only a few remained. They realized too late that our agency doesn't just deal with pickpockets and unfaithful spouses. We deal with the extraordinary."
Edmund Vane leaned forward with a serious expression on his face.
"If you don't have exactly what it takes, you will end up dead. And even for those who possess the power or the capacity to face what lurks in the dark, not everyone has the stomach to withstand it. It changes a man. It erodes the edges of what you believe to be real."
He waited a moment so Irin could understand the severity of the situation.
"Tell me, Irin. Do you have what it takes, or are you just a man looking for a paycheck in the wrong part of town?"