The carriage arrived in front. The horses were adorned in silver bells and gold-stitched blankets, which protected them from the cold. The decorations on the carriage reflected the little sunlight that penetrated the mists hanging low in the street.
The footman climbed down and opened the door to a comfortable-looking cabin. The red cushions on the seats looked soft to the touch, and in the middle stood a pedestal on which drinks could be served.
"Good eve," Killian said to both the gentlemen handling the coach. He made eye contact with the coachman first. He nodded and turned his gaze to the horses in front of him. Killian could barely make out that the carriage was drawn by two horses through the thick mist. He stared down the road, trying to pierce the fog and see what loomed inside it. His eyes turned to the step that the footman produced from the back of the carriage and set up in front of him. The footman looked at Killian and motioned with his hand for him to enter the vehicle. The coach shook and shuddered as Killian set foot inside and sat down on the luxurious padding. The cushions were indeed as soft as they looked.
"Let's hope the fog clears up soon," the coachman proclaimed as he helped the footman up the boot. "I'd hate to drive like this at night. Where to?"
"To Wakefall Square," Killian answered him. "And get me there before nightfall."
"To Wakefall Square it is," and the crack of a whip set the vehicle painfully slow in motion. The wheels rattled on the cobblestones, and the wood creaked with every shift in movement.
About an hour passed, and the carriage arrived at Wakefall Square. The square is named after the twin town of Wakefall, which in turn was named after the mysterious family that founded the city.
In the centre of the square, the Library of the Cycle can be found. It was housed in a colossal cathedral older than the city of Ashmere itself. The sharp spires could be seen from far outside the city walls. The black stone that was used to build this imposing work of art is of unknown origin.
The library was kept by the Twilit Monks, who were devotees to neither the light nor the dark. They stood watch over all the knowledge produced or passing through the city of Ashmere.
Killian caught himself in his train of thought, wandering off. The place he meant to go to was just across the street from the cathedral; a small antiques shop. Killian entered the shop, and a quaint little bell announced his arrival as the door opened. From behind the counter, a small, aged woman emerged. Her thin, silvery hair stuck like a spider's webbing to her face, on which you could read her years. The dim lighting in the shop, produced by old rusty lanterns, made her face light up with this golden-brown hue. She cracked a smile. Her lips curled up to reveal the lack of teeth. Those were once replaced by carved Purple Hearts imported from a distant land long cut off from The Cycle.
"Why, if it isn't Mister Archer. How're you and yours?" The lady asked.
"I'm well, Miss Burns. How's business?" Killian answered her.
"Haven't had many customers lately. Probably this fog that's hanging around the city. People can't see their Godsdamned noses. What can I do for you?"
"I'm sure people will find their noses once the season passes," Killian smiled at her, but she didn't seem to care for his humour.
"I came to collect a curiosity which has been introduced to you not too long ago. It is a lantern of some sort."
Miss Burns raised her head with an inquisitive look in her eyes.
"What's this relic to you?" She asked Killian in a quiet and demanding voice.
"You might think me overdue for the asylum, but I think this 'relic' might have some interesting properties."
He held her stare for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Miss Burns joined him, and as the laughter died down, Killian produced a small pouch from his coat. In it were several gold coins. Although not the usual currency, gold was widely accepted for its versatility. People would melt it down to make jewellery or, as Killian often used it, as an alternate version of the Drathwydion Tender.
"What do you intend to do with it?" Miss Burns asked Killian.
"I have a collection of antiquities, and I've heard this lantern is like none other in the city. I would give a fortune to get hold of this piece to add to that collection. You do take gold for payment, don't you?" he asked as he emptied the contents of the coin purse on the counter. Miss Burns watched the coins slowly drop one by one, making the glass panel on the counter ring with a sharp clink. She took one of the coins in her long, bony fingers and examined it. The dim lights could not make the coin shine as it should have.
"I am willing to sell this lantern," Miss Burns said as she turned back towards Killian. "But on one condition."
"I am a very generous person," he said with a smile. Miss Burns' expression did not change, and she kept her stare directed at Killian's face.
"This relic must never be displayed publicly, never be lit, and most of all never be touched with your bare hands."
"This is preposterous! I am to never light a lantern? An object designed to illuminate the path of men?"
Miss Burns looked at Killian with such intensity that it almost frightened him. He took a step back and very lightly brushed against a suit of ceremonial armour. The imposing stance the armour had on the stand startled him. For a moment, he thought he saw shadowy tendrils creeping through the slits of the visor. He turned back to Miss Burns and slowly started to nod.
"Business is business. I will do as you plead. May I see the lantern before we make this transaction final?" Killian asked her.
"Naturally," she said and beckoned him to follow her through the drapes hanging in a door opening behind the counter.