The Mysterious Affair at Gremble Arms

     Tyra Magena - a communications engineer in need of funding

     Kiyoshi Paco - Tyra’s guest

     Aidne Lilith - a treasure hunter “with morals”

     Jeri - Aidne’s guest

     Jake Kugar - the Guild of Explorers’ aging spokesman

     Cherry Sunday - a gifted young adventurer who craves true excitement

     Mme. Florence Soffleberg - an explorer from an older generation

     Mr. Apollo Rutherford Blom - an overcritical armchair adventurer

     Baxter (?) - an explorer, presumably (forgot to ask)

     Dalton Oritz - one of the Guild’s most promising recent recruits

     Minerva Moss - concierge and owner of The Gremble Arms Hotel

     Sabina Ali - a porter

     Archer McAllister - a porter

     Jasper Dijon - a chef

     Piotr Wodowski - a valet

     Franklin O. Burke - the hotel’s previous owner (deceased)

     Cecilia Crane - a maid (deceased)

     Mabel Cole - a maid (retired)

     Note to self: Keep this list on you at all times, you’re gonna need to keep coming back to it tonight!!!

     Note to any representative of Neovian law enforcement who might end up reading this in the days to come: Okay, I know how this looks. But I think you’ll agree, once you’ve read the rest of my notes, that absolutely none of this was my idea.

     Kiyoshi felt like an underdressed scarecrow, and, judging by his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him, he looked like one too.

      “Can I put my arms down?” he asked, attempting to turn his head towards the tailor’s last known location. He was stopped by a pair of feathery hands clapping him over the ears and wrenching his head back around to face the front. In his reflection, Kiyoshi could now see the Lenny’s beaked face, shadowy under the brim of his top hat, looming above the much shorter blue Shoyru’s shoulder.

      “Have I told you you can put your arms down?” asked the Lenny in his slow, deep voice.

      “…No?”

      “Then kindly stop squirming around like a salted Slorg and allow me to take the last of your accursed measurements. Sir.”

      Kiyoshi tried his best to hold still while the tailor worked, but the Shoyru had been standing in the same pose, half-naked, in the back room of a dark and stuffy shop for what felt like hours. The serpentine, irregular snik sound of the measuring tape and the occasional brush of feathers over his bare skin had built up to a diabolical kind of torture, and with no end in sight, he was finding it difficult to avoid feeling restless. He slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other as a compromise. The Lenny, consummate professional that he was, said nothing, but the next time the tape snapped alarmingly close to Kiyoshi’s ears it felt a little like a warning.

      Kiyoshi realised that he was about ten seconds away from losing it completely.

      “Tyra,” he said loudly, hoping she was still waiting for him outside the fitting room. “Are you sure I can’t just wear my normal clothes?”

      In the mirror, Kiyoshi caught the tailor’s critical glance at the fitting room’s sole chair, upon which rested a beat-up aviator jacket and a pair of torn, muddy pants. The abused garments had been folded by the Lenny so neatly Kiyoshi could only assume it had been done mockingly.

      Tyra’s voice drifted in from the other side of the door. “We’ve been over this.” Tyra, as one of his oldest friends, was typically understanding of his aversion to the world of fashion, but he could tell by her tone that even her patience was being tried today. “The gala has a dress code. You have to wear dress clothes.”

      “You’re making me wear a dress?”

      “Okay, now you’re just being intentionally obtuse. Be a big boy and let the nice gentleman finish his work.” Kiyoshi heard a shuffle of fabric outside the fitting room. “I’m gathering a few pieces off the racks that we might be able to alter for you.”

      “If I might humbly suggest, Miss,” the Lenny called, frowning at his tape measure, “it may be simpler to create an entirely new, bespoke suit to accommodate Sir’s… unique proportions.”

      “No, I…” If Kiyoshi didn’t know Tyra so well, he might not have caught her momentary pause. “I’m afraid we’re running late. We need it for the Guild of Explorers gala tonight.”

      The Lenny sighed discreetly. “Very well, miss. Then, while you’re waiting, you might try to locate a jacket that already comes with openings for the wings. My partner at the front can help you.”

      “Thanks.”

      Kiyoshi heard her footsteps moving away. The Lenny pondered Kiyoshi’s skinny shoulders for another moment, then whipped out the tape measure again.

      “Are you Prigpants or Swolthy?” Kiyoshi asked with restraint as the Lenny’s feathers tickled the inside of his elbow.

      “I am Prigpants. My associate is named Swolthy.”

      “Mr. Prigpants,” Kiyoshi said, “you’ve measured my arms six times. How many sleeves is this thing going to have?”

      The tape measure snapped back into its case. “I must consult Mr. Swolthy on best practices in this instance. He fitted a little Korbat boy for a suit last week.”

      “Great,” Kiyoshi said.

      “I’ll be back shortly. Do not, I beseech you, please, do not move.”

      As soon as the fitting room door closed behind Prigpants, Kiyoshi let his arms flop to his sides and wiggled them aggressively until the feeling came back into his fingers. He arced his back in a stretch, wondering if Tyra was back yet.

      “Tyra?”

      No response. He eyed the pile of old clothes on the chair, then glanced at the mirror, bouncing on his heels. He was getting bored of staring at himself like this, shivering away in a T-shirt and little else. It would only take him a few seconds to strip back down when Prigpants came back, he reasoned… besides, he needed to talk to Tyra, and he couldn’t very well do that without pants.

      Scarcely a minute later and feeling much more like himself with his old clothes on, Kiyoshi cracked open the door and peeked out. “Tyra, you still here?”

      “Just a sec,” came the call from beyond the fitting room hallway, and a moment later, Tyra came teetering around the corner. The Split Aisha was laden with an assortment of hangers and draped fabric, the bundle so expansive that at first she struggled to make it through the doorway of the fitting room. Dumping it all on the chair that had until recently been occupied by Kiyoshi’s shameful rags, she immediately began to present her finds.

      “I know you don’t usually have reason to wear clothes like these, so I grabbed a bunch of different things for you to choose from,” she said, efficiently sorting through the hangers. She pulled out a jacket made of some kind of very shiny purple fabric. “This one’s kind of flashy, but it matches the dress I’ll be wearing and it would probably look nice with your skin tone. Don’t look at me like that. Alternatively, you could keep it low-key with a classic Neovian suit like this”—she held up a stiff-looking brown tailcoat and pants—“which is kind of boring, but it’s closer to your size already, and you could always wear a nice lilac vest or necktie to spruce it up.”

      “Wouldn’t it be more low-key to not wear these dumb dress clothes at all?” Kiyoshi grumbled, feeling at once overwhelmed and hyperaware of the last time he had attended a function for the Guild of Explorers, which had, of course, been before he lost his job with them. “I really don’t want to stand out tonight.”

      “Kiyoshi, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m trying to help you. Nothing will make you stand out more tonight than showing up in this.” Tyra gestured broadly at his current garb. “I’d be surprised if they even let you in the front door.”

      “They’re adventurers. They’ve seen worse.”

      “They’re Guild adventurers. If they seem rugged, it’s because the Guild designed them to look that way.”

      When he didn’t say anything in reply, her expression softened slightly. “Look on the bright side,” she said. “It’s a masquerade.”

      He knew she was right about all of it, but now that the gala was mere hours away the eventuality of showing his face—masked or not—at a Guild event had begun to settle like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He nodded glumly and picked up the brown tailcoat like he might pick out his own set of dungeon irons.

      Tyra was quiet for a moment. “I do appreciate this, you know,” she said. “Normally, I’d never dream of dragging you to one of these things. But since Jeri’s already going with Aidne, I… couldn’t really think of any other option. It’d look weird if I showed up on my own, since we all get a plus one. I’d look like some kind of shut-in. And I really, really need to make a good impression tonight.” The confession seemed to sap the life from her, and her shoulders slumped. “If I can’t pull in some more funding for this project, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

      “I know.”

      “I was stupid to work so hard selling all the other Guild members on these communicators before I had a finalised schematic for them.”

      “You weren’t stupid. You knew you’d figure it out, and you did.”

      “Yeah, but only thanks to you. The mote battery will work, but for me to make it work is going to take time. And time is expensive.” Tyra picked through the pile of clothes until she found a length of purple cloth that Kiyoshi assumed was a necktie of some description. He wondered if either one of them would have any idea how to tie it. “My lecture series is fully wrapped up now, so I can’t count on any more honorariums to tide me over. And I still have to go through the whole process of getting certified by the ethics committee, since motes are kind of, you know, alive.”

      “Wait.” Kiyoshi gave her a blank look. “...Are motes alive?”

      “I have no idea,” Tyra groaned. “But whether or not they are, I still have to prove that all these electric motes are entering the machine willingly and staying of their own accord. Somehow. Here I was, thinking I was just developing a novel power source, but now it turns out I’m building tiny mote playgrounds. The MAZE unit—“

      “Maze?”

      “Mote Attraction Zone and uh…” She waved her hand tiredly. “I’ll figure out the other letter when I get more funding. Anyway. It’s going to work. I just need some wealthy old adventurer to sponsor me.”

      “We’ll get one tonight.”

      “I hope so,” she sighed, “otherwise you and I are both gonna be living in a tent this time next month.”

      The creak of floorboards in the hallway and the drone of a voice nearby alerted them to the return of Prigpants. “Young sir, I must collect the last of your measurements posthaste. The shop is closing in under an hour—“

      They both turned as Prigpants stepped into the doorway and froze. His monocle dropped as he took in the state of the fitting room and his recalcitrant subject all at once.

      “Leave,” said Prigpants.

      “Okay,” said Kiyoshi, trying not to sound too relieved.

      “Wait!” Tyra appealed to the Lenny, even as Kiyoshi moved into the hallway. She quickly grabbed a handful of clothes from the pile, and the Shoyru couldn’t tell if it was at random. Tyra turned her most convincingly apologetic Puppyblew eyes in Prigpants’ direction. “Can I at least buy these as-is?”

      Evening always fell quickly and heavily in Neovia, and it was clear tonight would be no different. The gathering gloom of twilight was rapidly deepened by heavy grey clouds bullying their way in to block out the starlight, bringing with them a biting chill and the promise of snow. Inside The Gremble Arms Hotel, however, guests arriving from the outdoors found the lobby pleasantly warm and inviting—if a little grim in its decor. While Tyra checked them in with the Concierge outside the column-flanked double doors of the ballroom, Kiyoshi found himself unable to break eye contact with the stuffed Bearog heads leering down at him from a plaque on the wall. He was pretty sure they were fake. Pretty sure.

      “Here we are. Tyra Magena,” said the Concierge, an older White Draik with a kindly face. Unlike the guests, the Concierge and the rest of the hotel staff remained unmasked this evening. Laughter and music spilt out from the open doors nearby, and the Draik hummed along with the tune as she worked. Her simple black dress, which seemed to function as a uniform, was nonetheless an elegant match for the glossy Crokabek quill pen that she now used to make a checkmark on her guest list. “And the name of your plus one?”

      Tyra and Kiyoshi both stared at her, unmoving, caught unprepared by the routine question. Tyra cleared her throat. “Um, he’s…”

      She trailed off, and the Draik looked at them sympathetically. “I’ll just say plus one. Any weapons to declare this evening?”

      “No,” said Tyra in a somewhat clipped tone. Kiyoshi knew she was annoyed that the gala’s strict ban on weaponry meant that she hadn’t been allowed to bring her prototype comm, which the Guild had deemed untested and potentially dangerous.

      The Draik ushered them forwards, and Kiyoshi felt a flutter of something almost like stage fright as he got his first look at the ballroom. Most of the interior walls were panelled with decorative full-length mirrors, creating the dizzying illusion of endless space. The only interruptions in the mirrored surface came from a handful of doorways and a collection of arched, stained-glass windows set into the wall opposite where they now stood—windows whose elegant botanical patterns were no doubt specifically designed to glitter in the soft, romantic light of the crystal chandeliers above. Also glowing in the light were the silverware-laden round dining tables that currently took up much of the floorspace, not to mention the heavily bedazzled outfits of the neopets mingling between them. It was like walking into a giant jewellery box.

      As they paused on the threshold of the ballroom, Kiyoshi overheard one of the other guests in line behind them. “You can tell they’ve tried to make it look like the old one. Same wallpaper and everything. But everyone knows Gremble Arms isn’t the same as it was before the fire. No, when they rebuilt it, I think they trapped something in here. Something from that time. You can feel it, can’t you? A presence—“

      “MISS TYRA MAGENA OF NEOPIA CENTRAL,” the Concierge cried at the door, in a voice so overly loud Kiyoshi and Tyra both jumped. A good number of masked faces turned curiously in their direction.

      “AND GUEST.” The Draik swept a courteous bow to the two of them, then bustled back to her station outside the ballroom. As Kiyoshi and Tyra awkwardly entered the open space together, Kiyoshi craned his neck to peer back at the guests still waiting to get in, but he couldn’t tell who had been speaking before.

      “Tyra,” he started, “did you—“

      “Here comes trouble,” Tyra said ominously, and Kiyoshi didn’t have time to ask what she meant before he found himself bodily removed from the floor in a crushing bear hug.

      “Kiyoshi! Tyra! It feels like I haven’ seen you in bloody years!” exclaimed the mass of colourful fur and velvet that was presently constricting him. “Guess I’m makin’ up for lost time, c’mere you little…” The pressure around Kiyoshi’s torso grew, and from the sounds of Tyra’s muffled protests next to him he gathered that she was being subjected to the same treatment.

      “Alright, Jeri, let ‘em breathe,” said another voice from nearby, sounding amused. “You gotta be careful with these bookish types. They’ve got delicate bones.”

      Kiyoshi and Tyra were deposited shakily back onto their feet (Tyra doing her best to regain her composure by frantically smoothing down the many ruffled purple layers of her dress) and given their first good look at their assailant. Grinning from ear to ear and sporting a dramatic new Eventide colour, Jeri the Bori and his longtime adventuring partner, a red Zafara named Aidne Lilith, were dressed in suits of matching burgundy velvet. From their polished black shoes to their carefully tamed hair, they were both so meticulously groomed it might have been difficult to recognise them even without their masks.

      “Wow,” said Tyra, who seemed genuinely stunned. “You two look incredible.”

      “Likewise!” Jeri said, beaming at her. “‘Course, that’s nothin’ new for you. But I can’t believe you got him into a suit!" He gawked at Kiyoshi. "How long’d that take?”

      “Too long,” Kiyoshi said, feeling very conspicuous in his scratchy, ill-fitting brown suit.

      Jeri laughed warmly. “Well, you look right dapper.” He nodded, casting an approving look around him. “Everyone here does, really. It’s a smart-lookin’ crowd.”

      “Which is kind of impressive,” Aidne commented, her tone almost philosophical, “when you consider that in our day-to-day, most of us have a fashion sense that starts and ends with khakis.”

      Jeri snorted. “Yeah, but I’m willin’ to bet mosta these poor slobs had to get someone else to gussy them up for this. I know we did.”

      “Really?” Tyra asked, surprised. “Who?”

      “My friend Lani,” Aidne said. “Comes from a big, rich family in Meridell, so she knows all about this stuff. We brought the money—from the prize I’m here to officially accept tonight, actually—and she told us how to spend it.”

      “Granted, this wasn’t our first choice,” said Jeri gravely.

      Aidne nodded. “We wanted to go as half a Uni each, but Lani said it wasn’t that kind of costume party.”

      An amplified voice cut through the conversation in the ballroom. “Welcome everyone—“ The microphone screeched, making them all wince and prompting indignant cries from every corner of the space. “Sorry,” the voice said at a more reasonable volume. “Let me try that again.” A Blue Kougra in a simple black mask and tuxedo stepped onto the small stage near the band. “Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Guild of Explorers 22nd Annual Awards Ceremony and Gala. My name is Jake Kugar, and I’ll be your Master of Ceremonies for the evening. We’ll be starting right away with the dinner, followed by the awards ceremony and, uh…” He shuffled his notes. “…everything else that we usually do. If you’d all be so kind as to find the tables marked with your names, the first course will be brought out shortly.”

      The four of them discovered their assigned table near the front, shared with another two guests who were already seated. An odd pair, the young Pink Cybunny and the snowy-haired Purple Bruce were speaking animatedly to one another and didn’t so much as glance up at the newcomers.

      “I’ve been dying for a chance to show them off,” the Bruce was saying, letting the tip of her flipper dance along the edge of the chunky, extremely glittery necklace she was wearing.

      “Where did you get them?” asked the Cybunny with interest.

      “Oh, one of my little treasure hunts in the Lost Desert, decades ago.” The Bruce made a dismissive gesture. “They’ve been gathering dust in my bedside drawer ever since. You just don’t get too many good opportunities to wear diamonds when you’re an adventurer.”

      As Kiyoshi squeezed behind the Cybunny’s chair to get to the open seat between Tyra and Jeri, a movement in the mirrored wall caught his eye. He turned to look behind him, but was perplexed to see no sign of… what was it he had been expecting to see, exactly? There had been something in the reflection, he thought: just a momentary flicker, but he almost thought he had seen an extra person standing there with them. Maybe it had just been someone quickly walking by? Or maybe, Kiyoshi thought to himself, I’ve just spent way too long staring at mirrors today.

      “Well, in the end, I s’pose it all worked out for the best,” said Jeri with a melodramatic sigh as he flopped into his chair. “Aidne and I kept fightin’ about it.”

      Tyra’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Over who got to be the front half of the Uni?”

      “Over who got to be the back,” said Aidne.

      “It’s the objectively funnier costume,” said Jeri, in a tone that made it clear he was nowhere near ready to let it go.

      “Lani wouldn’t let me wear an eyepatch either,” said Aidne, “but at least she let me get the mask with the feathers.” Kiyoshi noted that the colourful Kateil feathers decorating Aidne’s mask and the gold trim on her cuffs and lapels did work together to suggest the vague impression of some kind of opulent pirate lord, an image that seemed consistent with his understanding of Aidne’s personal style goals.

      Jeri was the first to notice the glasses of enigmatically sparkling golden beverage that had been placed at each of their settings, and was so quick to grab his that a bit splashed over the side. “To Lani!”

      “To Lani,” Tyra laughed.

      “To friends who help friends not look like total dweebs at important shindigs,” Aidne said, and they all raised a glass to that.

To be continued…