During Sancho's escapade, Alonso and the old man Yogi slowly navigated through the bustling city streets. They narrowly avoided contact with those transporting goods to different stalls and people with suspicious facial coverings, much like that of Bon Bon, to avoid any potential theft. The deeper into the city they got, the more they realised that this place was truly a land fit for thieves to thrive in; the tightly knit train of people, the infinite expansions of alleyways and side roads, and the total lack of policing. They ceased to notice a single person who wore clothing representing any lawful authority: perhaps the idea of justice simply did not exist here.
Upon entering the heart of the city, Alonso began asking people for directions to the plaza, gently grabbing onto passing shoulders and stepping in front of people. Yet, no one stopped to answer. It was as if they were surrounded by walking corpses. Occasionally, they would be responded to with profanity and judgmental remarks, which caused Yogi to have to hold Alonso back from replying with force.
'I've never seen anything like it: it's as if we aren't even here!' cried Alonso irritably. 'Honestly, how hard is it for someone to stop for a moment and give directions?'
'It seems as though the poor people here have become desensitised to friendly interaction. I suppose it isn't too hard to believe that, when forced to live in such conditions as these, one becomes used to focusing on oneself and disregarding others.'
Alonso sat on Yogi's words, but struggled to fully internalise the idea, as something else clouded his mind. He always praised himself for having good judgment over others, successfully analysing small intricacies in people's actions and deducing their personalities quickly. Yet, he found himself struggling to put his finger on who this old man was: he spoke freely and seemed as though he was not withholding anything detrimental; nevertheless, his words were constantly spoken with authentic experience behind them, instead of wisdom alone. He was, still, a complete mystery to Alonso.
'Can't you use your projection to find the plaza?' Alonso asked.
'I'm afraid not. I tried to search for it earlier; however, I was met with an unusual interference. I know not why, but my Central Introspection cannot settle down in one place: it is constantly moving, as if trying to look for multiple things at once.'
Alonso shook his head, 'at this rate, we'll just have to keep walking around until we find the plaza ourselves-'
'Am I right in thinking you are looking for the city plaza?'
Alonso and Yogi searched around, trying to locate the man who just spoke. They were standing only a short way from the path, yet people still swarmed them from all directions. Yogi's gaze was more accurate as his eyes were the first to finally settle on a man leaning against the wall of the adjacent building. In a sea of people with ripped, filthy clothes, this man looked as if he could own the city. He wore a long, black trench coat with grey pleated trousers. A matching bowler hat sat atop his head, obscuring his face.
The man emerged from the shadow of the building, lifting his head to touch the sunlight. As Alonso turned to meet him, he was quite taken aback by his smart clothing and finely cut moustache. Furthermore, a specific aspect of the man immediately alarmed Alonso: thickly layered bandages were wrapped around the right side of his head, covering his eye, forehead and ear. It was much too large to aid a simple cut or burn: this man had no doubt suffered from something extreme.
'Do you know the way, Sir?' asked Yogi.
'Why yes, I do,' he said politely, stepping closer to the pair. He raised his arm and extended his index finger, pointing towards an expansion of the city from across a bridge. 'You'll find it over there: it's the soul of Merris!'
'Merris?'
'Oh? You must be travellers if you do not know Merris. Santa Grenin is split into two districts, you see: to put it simply, Merris is where the wealthy live, and Surlue is where the poor live. It is quite cruel, indeed, to have the two so close; it truly makes for a terrible view. Yet, what can one do? We must all live somewhere.'
Alonso couldn't believe the man's arrogant tone; he was clearly indifferent to the lives of the poor and thought only of himself. 'And which do you belong to?' he asked, although he already knew the answer.
'The wonderful Merris, of course. I am merely here on business, but I must say, I think my stay here has lasted far too long.' The stranger looked at them closely: Yogi's look was flat, incomprehensible, whilst Alonso's eyes burnt with suspicion. This brewed a mixed concoction within the man's mind; his stomach churned, and he swallowed loudly. 'Unless you have proof of citizenship in Merris, you won't be able to enter. However, I like the look of you two, and I'm willing to be a reference for your stay.' He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped away the accumulated perspiration on his forehead.
'Is that so! Well, I must say, you are quite the stand-up man. Please, tell us your name.'
'Henri Jenkins; and who is that I share the luxury of a splendid day with?'
'I am Yogi, and my companion here is Alonso.'
'Mr Yogi,' Henri said, pressing the old man's hand with a smile. 'And Mr Alonso,' Alonso was not so quick to take the man's hand; his hesitation lasted a while, his expression never changing from its stilted one of uncertainty. Finally, he shook it, but only to present himself as natural and to preserve his identity; yet, Henri's smile seemed somewhat fake this time around. It was clear to Alonso that he was merely performing for them.
'Now that we are acquainted, let us go on!'
Upon approaching the bridge, the sudden change in aesthetic and living conditions was made very apparent. A wall of houses suddenly appeared; they stood with regal, pompous posture, all lined with finely crafted details and additions, unneeded, yet present nonetheless. This abrupt change in atmosphere was incredibly jarring, especially when viewing it from the other side. Prior to these buildings stood shacks and derelict structures, too shrivelled to be granted the names of 'houses'. They were filled to the brim with families and strangers, all huddled together wherever they could fit. They lacked showers inside, and stoves were available to only a select few. The broken windows and cracked walls allowed for the night's deathly chill to enter uninterrupted, attacking all those inside. Rats, cockroaches and who knows what also lived amongst the residents. Yet, they were still considered the lucky few.
Those who were not blessed with the luxury of living in these shacks were forced into finding shelter amongst the filthy streets and alleys. Bodies littered every path, some barely clinging to life, others already deceased due to disease or malnutrition. Beyond the bridge stood a life of bliss and comfort, one that others could only imagine as they closed their eyes in death.
Alonso and Yogi did not speak until they passed the bridge to opulence; their mouths had been sealed from the horror that lay at their feet. They both felt great disgust at the conditions of this city, Alonso unable to fathom the sheer willpower these people needed in order to remain sane. Words could not truly describe this scene.
Once they crossed the bridge, the pair felt almost guilty for being able to bathe in this warm, inviting ambience, whilst turning their backs on the masses of poor souls. Alternatively, Henri took a large sigh of relief once he stepped foot onto the stone paths of Merris.
'Ah, it does feel good to be back in safe, clean lands.'
'Don't you feel even a little sympathy for all those people?!' Alonso asked, trying desperately to keep his head.
Henri turned to them. He initially showed a face of confusion, unable to comprehend this word, 'sympathy'. Not wanting to reveal himself as such an indifferent person, he quickly put on that same fake smile and laughed nervously. 'Of course I feel for the poor souls; it is truly a shame what they must go through, yes indeed.'
As they walked on, Alonso whispered into the old man's ear, 'Be careful, Mr Yogi, there's something about him I don't like.'
'I agree with you, Alonso. His imperious nature is made more evident with every word. However, I do suggest we stay calm until we reach the plaza.'
'Please excuse me momentarily, gentleman,' Henri said as his step quickened towards a man on the opposite sidewalk.
They watched as he approached a man dressed in a splendid and formal longcoat, which was lined with shiny gold buttons to conceal the rest of his body. Its deep blue finish was mesmerising, complemented by his dark trousers. He was standing in place with his arms crossed, hiding his white-gloved hands.
'You don't suppose-'
'Yes, I think that's a police officer,' answered Alonso. Disgust filled him in a second as he quickly realised the full repulsiveness of this city. He wished his hypothesis could be falsified, yet when he looked further down the street, he saw that another man was posted on a building corner, dressed in the same outfit. Then, another a little further along. Soon, he noticed that they had already passed two officers since they had entered Merris.
'We walked through all those busy streets in Surlue. We passed all those poor people who needed assistance, yet no one was there to do so: not one person with the authority or ability to help. Now that we're here, in a part of town where only the rich live, you can't go two steps without running into an officer. How cruel!'
'It is… unbelievable…'
Henri returned to the group and, when asked about his conversation with the officer, stated that he was merely clearing their entry into Merris, assuring them that they won't be asked for ID or certification of stay. However, Alonso kept his suspicions high, as he noticed the officer disappear into the shadows of a back alley, after ensuring that they had left.
The streets of Merris were spotless; the finely carved stone paths showed no sign of wear or weathering. Lamposts were distributed evenly apart, which set a romantic mood at night. And, most of all, it was quiet; compared to the noisy, headache-inducing sea of people in Surlue, this was like heaven, even while passing many people.
Henri saw the pair admire the houses on either side of them; it was hard not to appreciate their wonderful colours and architecture. 'They are quite the spectacle, are they not?' he asked. 'Every building in Merris is well looked after by its owners; the most common conflict neighbours engage in here is who's house is cleaner!'
Of course, Nero chose to stay here; it plays right into his grand pursuit of regality, Alonso thought to himself. Then, out loud, he asked, 'Are we almost at the plaza?'
Henri did not reply with words, but instead pointed towards a red sign in the distance; balls of light lined the outer rim of the sign, a clear mirror image of the very same one they had seen from Nero's window. It seemed as though the stranger had fulfilled his promise: perhaps he wasn't as bad as Alonso and Yogi had feared.