DISCLAIMER: So, Professor Layton. Didn't own. Don't own. Never will own.
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"Professor, I don't think this is a good idea."
Layton looked up from the book he was reading whilst Luke was helping Rosa gather and clean the dishes from that morning's breakfast of eggs and sausage. It had been Rosa who'd spoken, her voice unusually monotone. Layton marked his place in the tome and closed it, giving the maid his full attention. "Whatever do you mean?"
She didn't look at him. "I know what's out there, Professor. I've seen what the Devil's power can do to a man. It isn't something that people should go around tampering with, least of all you." She turned to face him. Luke paused his drying of the plate he was holding to stare at her outlandishly. "If you go to that bank today, it will bring nothing but trouble, you can count on it."
Layton said nothing in reply. Luke's eyes traveled from Rosa to the professor and back, slightly unnerved by the near-palpable tension in the air. He finally turned away to continue drying the dishes, setting the plate down and reaching for a glass. The older two stayed in their stare-down mode for a second more before Rosa sighed.
"I know you're only curious," she said, turning back to the sink with sponge in hand. "I just don't fancy the idea of you two getting hurt."
At this, Layton chuckled. "My dear Rosa," he said, his fingers tapping on his book lightly. "The worry is appreciated, to be sure, but superfluous. The scene of the crime is perhaps the safest place to be, for what villain strikes in the same place twice?" he reasoned, trying to quell her arguably baseless fear.
She shook her head, scrubbing the dirty dishes a little more forcefully than normal. "It's not that I'm worried over," she corrected, grabbing the bar of soap on the sink's edge to revitalize her sponge's cleaning capabilities. "If you go there, you won't be able to just leave the case alone. You'll be sucked into all this mess, and I've a terrible feeling something otherworldly is at work here."
Luke, who had been doing his best to keep his mouth shut, couldn't do it anymore. "I don't know about you, but I don't want a pyromaniac—or wizard, whichever tickles your fancy—roaming around the streets of London," the boy said, balancing a plate on top of a rather tall stack of them. "What if he burns down Parliament? Someone has to stop him before something like that happens!"
Rosa looked at him with a weary smile. "Child, that's what the Scotland Yard is there for."
"Yes, well, the Professor's helped them out with other cases too! He could do the job better than three fourths of the inspectors out there."
Layton wasn't really listening to the two anymore, instead letting his mind wander as they debated amongst themselves. He knew that Rosa was right; if he went down to the bank today, there would be no way he could leave the case alone. It was an intriguing concept, on top of the fact that this Don Paolo needed to be caught as soon as possible, before anymore needless destruction could happen. He just couldn't help himself.
His whole life, everything had always had a reason behind it. A solid, rudimentary reason. If it rains, the ground gets wet. If the ground gets wet, plants will continue to grow. Thus, if it rains, the plants will continue to grow. This was simple, basic logic, Layton's ultimate weapon. Everything happened for a reason, and could be understood and proven time and time again accordingly. Everything.
That being said, the existence of anything like witchcraft would not be possible. Or would it? He'd never read a thing in any history book of his that suggested factual existence of such a concept. But what if it was? What if it really did exist, an unexplainable and certainly unscientific power? Would anything ever make sense the way it had before again? Would it falsify logic as everyone knew it forever? What if logic was just a ruse, a fraudulent claim that so-called brilliant men before him had just pulled out of thin air to explain random natural phenomena? The very thought was unfathomable to Layton.
He was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the wooden cabinet closing, Rosa having just put all the dishes away. She and Luke had apparently come to a consensus of some sort, for neither of them was currently talking anymore. The man shook his head almost indiscernibly. Either way, he wanted to see for himself whether any of this was true or not.
The professor stood up, the chair squealing as it ground against the floor backwards. Luke looked up at him and smiled brightly; he knew exactly where they were going now. The boy walked over to his usual chair to pick up the brown bag he'd left on said chair and sling it over his shoulder while Layton made his way to the living room so he could put his book back in the bookshelf. Rosa, who was heading up stairs, presumably to dust by the feathery duster in her hand, said nothing. She knew where they were going just as well.
Layton looked back a final time before exiting his home, Luke trailing behind him like a diligent little puppy. The two began their course toward the bank, walking to the east along the side of the road. It wasn't going to be that long of a walk, only maybe ten minutes, but nevertheless Luke reached into his bag and pulled out a slightly worn-looking thick book and a pen, flipping to a page he had dog-eared to keep his place.
"Luke, be careful," Layton warned, seeing numerous bumps and ledges in the path that could trip the boy up if he didn't pay attention. "The road has a lot of obstacles that you may not notice if you're distracted."
Luke was only half-listening, reading the page he was on intently. "Oh, Professor, don't worry about me," he reassured, not taking his eyes off the book. "Don't you know, I'm great at multitasking!"
Not five minutes later did the boy stumble, nearly losing his balance altogether and falling face first into a pile of horse dung. The boy coughed, his face red from embarrassment as he put both the book and pen back in his sack. Layton chuckled. "Now that would've been a rather nasty fall."
Luke pulled his hat down, partially covering his eyes. "Yes, well, I was on the verge of solving a puzzle I'd been thinking about all day, but that lousy ledge made me lose it," he frowned, crossing his arms.
"Oh dear, now that is a shame. What puzzle?"
Luke cleared his throat. "It goes like this: Three is five is four is magic. Why is the number three the number five? Why is the number five the number four? Why is the number four magic?" he scratched his head, frowning. "I don't understand. How can three be five? It makes no sense!"
Layton admittedly had to think for a few moments before the answer came to him. He laughed heartily. "Maybe you're just going about it the wrong way," he suggested playfully, holding his index finger in the air.
Luke didn't look enlightened, but seeing as how Layton had already puzzled out the answer, he took on a determined stare and started to scribble things down in his book. After a minute, Layton peeked at it to check his progress, only to find Luke struggling with complex-looking formulas that even Layton didn't recognize.
"Professor, this is not working," he whined, erasing everything furiously.
Again the professor laughed. "You're just looking at the numerical value of the numbers, Luke," he commented. "Maybe that's not what you're supposed to do; think deeper."
And so Luke tried again. He scribbled a three, a five, and a four on the paper and stared at them for a moment. "Three is five is four is magic..." he thought aloud, his pen touching his chin in intense thought. "Three is five is four... Three is five... Wait a minute."
He suddenly scribbled three words on the paper: three, five, and four, all next to each other. He then put equals signs between three and five and five and four. From there, it only took him a second. "Oh, of course. Three is five because there are five letters in the word three, five is four because there are four letters in the word five, and four is magic because there are four letters in the word four!" he exclaimed, triumphant.
Layton nodded. "Yes, that's exactly it. Excellent deduction, dear boy," he praised, looking back in front of them. "And not a minute too soon, either; it appears we're nearly there."
Luke looked up. About thirty meters away from them stood what remained of the bank, its charred frame looking especially decrepit and dreary. There were a few carriages that sat to the side and a load of law officials near the building, some investigating and some talking about something to one another. One man stood out from the rest, not wearing the traditional constable's uniform. The professor and his young ward made their way toward this man, who was amongst those who conversed in a small crowd.
The man looked up when he heard them approach. He had short, dark hair hanging lightly down to the middle of his forehead and a small rectangle-like mustache of the same color. He wore a black coat buttoned up to his neck, where one could see the collar of an undershirt along with matching pants and thick brown boots on his feet. His expression didn't look surprised to see him. In fact, it looked more like he'd been expecting the man to show up. His head dipped slightly in recognition, a gesture which Layton promptly returned with the tip of his hat. This man was one of the more important people in the Scotland Yard, Inspector Chelmey.
Chelmey and Layton had been acquaintances for some time now. A few years back, one of the professor's students was suspected of committing the murder of a former lover after the two forcefully split up. The authorities, namely Chelmey himself, informed him of this, and he did begin to notice said student exhibiting strange behavior like flinching when spoken to or constantly having a guilty look in his eyes. He was eventually able to convince the student to confess to his crimes for a slightly modified sentence (from a death penalty to forty years behind bars) and ever since then Layton has been a welcome asset to the Yard with their more... puzzling cases. Luke had even come along once, the professor having unknowingly taken him to a play masterminded by the playwright Jean Descole to kidnap the then-Prince Henry II (who loved plays with every fiber of his being) for a fine sum of ransom money. The boy noticed the ground beneath his seat looked funny, telling one of the prince's servants who passed the message on, and Henry was moved two seats to the right, resulting in the kidnapping of one of his couriers instead. Descole had been arrested for treason.
"G'morning, Inspector!" Luke chirped, in a jolly mood; the boy loved a good crime novel, and visiting the scene of a real crime was like taking a small child to the park and gifting them with a huge lollipop.
"Good morning, Inspector," Layton repeated his pseudo-apprentice's words a little more formally.
"'Ello, Layton," Chelmey answered, pausing his conversation with the rest of the officers. "I 'ope you weren't looking to make a deposit this mornin'."
"Oh, no, Inspector," Layton replied, smiling faintly at the other man's humor. "I was merely reading the day's paper and I couldn't help but notice our friend Don Paolo has struck again. I take it the inspection is going well...?" he trailed off, his eyes wandering over to the half-a-dozen constables spread across the scene, observing their surroundings carefully.
"If you've read the paper, then y'know just about as much as we do," Chelmey sighed, glancing back at the group of men huddled and talking behind them. "The men that were 'ere, they all say they've seen him shoot the very fires of Hell right out o' his 'ands. It's downright madness, I tell you!" he threw his hand into the air helplessly. "We're still trying t' calm them down, and we haven't found a shred o' evidence suggestin' 'e rigged the place before'and. I'm at a loss, Layton."
Layton hmm'd, taking the information in, not surprised at the lack of solid evidence. "Well, the day is still young, Inspector," he said after a minute, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a confident smile. "I'm sure you'll make sense of this case yet."
Chelmey sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I 'ope you're right."
Behind them, coming from the ruined building, two men approached. One of them was noticeably short, only an inch or two taller than Luke. What little hair you could see from under his long blue hat was a deep shade of brown. His eyes were small and beady on his plump little face, and his garb was that of every other constable present, the whole blue uniform nice and wrinkle-free. His big, fuzzy brown mustache covered his mouth, making his expression ambiguous. This was Inspector Chelmey's right-hand man, Barton.
The man behind Barton was of average height, at least if you didn't factor in his abnormally big, puffy black hairdo. He wore an outfit similar to Chelmey's, with the exception of black boots on his feet. His chest was abnormally large, making him stand out, presumably as an athlete or an extremely fit guy. This man was another of the Scotland Yard's finest, Inspector Grosky. Both men were also Layton's acquaintances.
"Good day, Mr. Layton," Grosky greeted as they came in close. "And hello, little Luke! I hope the day finds you two well," he said before turning to Chelmey, a serious expression not at all foreign on his face. "Alright; I have good news and I have bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"
Chelmey rolled his eyes. "I don't bloody care, Grosky, just get on wit' it!" he growled, his patience obviously wearing thin.
Grosky nodded. "Right. I suppose I'll start with the good first, then." He cleared his throat. "The good news is, we've finished our search of the establishment," he said, almost proudly.
Chelmey sighed. "And?"
Grosky paused for a moment before deciding to continue. "Well, the bad news is that we didn't exactly find anything useful," he went on, folding his arms across his burly chest.
Chelmey nearly facepalmed. "Oh, well isn't that just the 'ighlight of my day," he said, his tone dark. "Without evidence, how do we convince the city that none of this rubbish is believable? Or better yet, how do we even know that for ourselves?"
Barton adjusted his hat, thinking it best to cut in here. "We still haven't been able to bring those who's minds are mislead back to their senses yet, sir," he informed, his voice squeaky.
"Ah, yes," Grosky agreed. "They stand by what they say, unwilling to listen to reason." He shook his head. "Those of the Scotland Yard, too... Depressing to think that our subordinates are so tempted by these tales of sorcery and magic."
Chelmey sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Aye, that it be. It's almost as if they've been brainwashed, or had a spell cast upon them, ey?"
Grosky tutted. "Now now, Inspector Chelmey, not you too!"
Layton had been listening intently the entire time, and found this to be a good place to step in. He cleared his throat, and all four of them, Luke included, looked at him. He smiled. "Excuse me, Inspectors," he began, being as polite as ever. "Would it be any trouble if I were to conduct a search of my own along the premises?" he asked, fully aware that such a question asked by anyone else would have been completely futile.
Chelmey threw his hands up in the air for the second time. "Do what y'like! Who knows, mayhap you'll have better luck than this lot," he said, shaking his head.
Tipping his hat in thanks, Layton made his way toward the burnt building before Inspector Grosky could pout at Chelmey some more, Luke following closely behind him. Nearly all of the officers there a few minutes ago had regrouped near the two inspectors, leaving the scene free to be examined.
Stepping over a pile of debris, they both took a panoramic look around the area. All one could see was burnt pieces and piles of wood and ash here and there, with most of the core structure of the building intact but severely charred. The ceiling had fallen in during the course of the fire, making it difficult to find a path to walk into what once was a building on. It all still smelled distinctly of smoke, and Luke had to stifle a coughing fit. Looking at it all, one would never have guessed that this mess was supposedly the work of witchcraft; it just looked like any old accidental fire gone severely wrong.
"I don't see anything, Professor," Luke said, looking back at Layton after surveying the area. They were slowly walking deeper into the place, over the piles of burnt wood. "It looks like any other fire, doesn't it?"
As much as he'd been hoping to find something (call it a curiosity for all things illogical) that suggested anything out of the ordinary, he could see nor feel nothing denoting a supernatural force at work here. "Indeed," he replied, never taking his eyes off his surroundings.
Things went on like this for some time, professor and apprentice wandering around and staring at this and that, examining different rooms and even digging in piles of rubble ("Luke, stop that. Even when looking for clues, a true gentleman doesn't get dirty."), looking for traces of abnormality. After nearly forty minutes they'd scoured the entirety of the area and mutually decided to cease their hunt. While their search had been fruitless, Layton couldn't help but feel like he'd missed something.
On the way back to Chelmey to report his findings, or lack thereof, he noticed that most of the other officers had left the scene, leaving only the two inspectors and Barton plus a few other nameless constables on duty. Suddenly a thought struck Layton, and he was very eager to be on his way.
Chelmey noticed them first, beckoning them over with a wave of hand. "Find anything useful, Layton?" he asked when they came within ten feet of them. Grosky and Barton turned toward the duo expectantly as well.
Layton tipped his hat in apology. "I'm afraid I wasn't able to find anything either, Inspector," he said. Grosky and Barton's faces fell, but Chelmey looked unsurprised and only grunted in response.
"Hmph. When even the great Layton can't find any evidence, you know that it's a bad day," he sighed, wiping his forehead, which had gathered a small pool of perspiration, on his sleeve. "Well, that's just peachy."
Layton hmm'd in response, having nothing to say in reply. After a few silent moments of standing there, Layton decided to take his leave. "My thanks for the opportunity, Inspector, but we really should be going," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Luke shot a forlorn glance at him, as if to say 'awh, professor, so soon?', but said nothing.
Chelmey grunted in reply. "Yes, yes."
Grosky offered a bit more of a goodbye. "Take care then, Mr. Layton," he said, and Barton gave him a little salute.
As the professor tipped his hat in return, he couldn't help but ask one final question, directed at Inspector Chelmey. "If I were to need to find you later today, Inspector, you would be at the Yard, correct?"
Chelmey raised an eyebrow; he knew Layton well enough to know that this wasn't just an innocent question. The man had a plan. "Yes, I suppose I would be," he answered, after which asking a question of his own. "What are you up to, Layton?"
The professor smiled, holding an index finger up and pointed toward the sky. "Just going to take a walk around the city, Inspector," he replied, turning around to walk back the direction they'd initially come from. Luke looked a little confused, but followed obediently.
Chelmey shook his head while Grosky chuckled. "Alright, Layton, but mark my words; if you find anything useful, you 'ad better bring it back to me post'aste!" he almost growled, and Luke could imagine the man shaking his fist behind their backs.
"Oh, of course, Inspector," the professor replied as they headed off.
Luke turned around for a moment, waving a hand in the air. "G'bye, Inspector Grosky!" he called. The boy liked Grosky the best of the trio, though they'd only met a few previous times.
Grosky waved back at him. "Take care, lad!" he responded. As Luke turned back toward his front, the burly man chuckled. "What do you think he's up to?"
Chelmey stroked his chin rather thoughtfully. "Knowing Layton, probably out t' get answers. Whatever it is, I'll bet you we'll have some kind o' contact from him by the end o' the day, you can count on it."
Meanwhile, Layton and Luke rounded the corner successfully. The professor had taken on a determined expression and walked with a spring in his step, much to Luke's curiosity. The boy looked up at his mentor with an eyebrow raised. "So, professor, where exactly are we going?" he asked, pretty sure it would have something to do with the Don Paolo case.
Layton smiled down at him. "I think you may be able to harbor a guess, my boy," he replied cryptically, his pace not slowing a bit and nearly requiring Luke to jog just to keep up with him.
Luke looks to the sky, thinking. "Okay, erm... His house?"
"Whose?"
"Don Paolo's, of course."
"Dear boy, if we knew where Don Paolo resided, then he'd probably have been caught by now, would he not?"
"...good point, professor."
About a dozen incorrect guesses later, they were a few blocks away from the charred bank and nearing a final corner. They were on the home stretch now. Luke frowned, sighing and crossing his arms in a huff. "Professor, I don't know. Please, just tell me! I'm going to die from the suspense!" he cried, his voice only half-sarcastic.
It was then that they turned the corner and their destination came into view. Layton chuckled at his young companion. "I don't think it's necessary to tell you now, is it?"
Luke's face conveyed his expressions clearly as they went from concentration to confusion and finally over to realization. "Oh, of course, the site of the first fire!" he exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pouted. "Why didn't I think of that...?"
Layton laughed. "No need to fret, Luke. Now then, I believe a split search of the place is in order?" he suggested with a smile.
Luke's face broke into a grin. "Absolutely!" he whole-heartedly agreed, following the professor closer to the charred remains of what was a very nice, big house located just outside the northern part of London, where those much better off lived. "But, professor, didn't the Scotland Yard already investigate over here?"
Layton winked. "Of course they did. However, a gentleman makes a habit of double-checking things," he said as they came upon what was left of the front door. The house had been, and still was, a three story house, but had been burned so badly that Layton felt uneasy about the prospect of going up there to look around. "Now, you take a look around this first floor and I'll see if I can find anything worth mentioning up these stairs," he told him as he approached said stairs.
Luke looked at the stairs doubtfully. "Alright, professor, but you be careful, okay?" he replied as he heedfully stepped forward, bright brown eyes already scanning the area.
Layton chuckled. "As you should be," he said as he took a first cautious step on the first step. Thankfully, it didn't make any noises or anything, and held his weight as well as any stair might. He tried the next, and it gave him the same result. He remained skeptical for the next several steps, but at step number twenty-four, just when he'd gotten more confident about it all, the step lurched and completely collapsed, taking the professor's foot down with it. He gave a rather ungentlemanly yell of surprise as most of his leg fell through the newly created hole, and as his body hit the remaining stairs hard, he was very relieved to find the others were stable enough to stay intact.
Luke gasped loudly from somewhere below him. Frantic footsteps followed, and stopped somewhere near him on the first floor. "My God―Professor! Are you alright?" he cried, obviously distressed.
Layton chuckled breathlessly; all the air had been knocked out of him from the fall, but he wasn't injured in any way. "Yes, my boy, I'm fine. Just a bit of a slip up, as it were," he assured him, experimentally tying to move his trapped leg. It moved without much trouble, so after a few minutes, Layton had successfully removed his leg and descended the stairs twice as carefully as he'd come up them before. He adjusted his hat when he reached the bottom rather sheepishly. "Perhaps it would be best to stick with the bottom floor for now."
So that's what they did. Well, that's what Luke did, anyway. While the boy continued his search of the house, Layton decided that he would search the area around it, on the outside of the home. He walked out of the interior and looked at the front of the house. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
He strolled around the perimeter of the building, looking at everything from the windowsills to the way the bricks had been laid all the way to the foundation around the house. Nothing escaped his attention, but at the same time he couldn't find anything worthy of mentioning. He had at least been expecting something trivial, like a book of matches accidentally left behind or a random pile of wood laying somewhere next to the house, but nothing of the sort could be found. Perhaps the professor had underestimated this Don Paolo, thinking him to be less intelligent than he actually was.
Around at the back of the house, Layton's hopes were brought up by a strange-looking hunk of metal lying next to the house rather suspiciously. Could it have been some kind of brand new contraption, tailor-made by Don Paolo to set the house on fire? After that, all it would take is some cheap trick like a firework to make one think that he'd shot fire out of his hands. However, upon closer inspection, it was only a metal bucket that had been warped by the heat of the blaze. Well, there went that conclusion.
On the last side of the house he looked at, he was pretty convinced that there really wasn't anything here suggesting a premeditated attempt at setting a fire. Even still, that didn't stop him from looking. And it was a good thing, too, for if he had stopped looking he may not have found a crucial clue: a big, clear glass jar cleverly concealed by a shrub that had miraculously evaded the fire somehow. It looked empty and pretty innocent, but then again, if it was so innocent, why would it be so smartly hidden like that? This prompted a closer assessment.
As he approached, he crouched over and gently reached in and pulled the jar out from under the shrub. The first thing he noticed was the top, which was reminiscent of a wine bottle's opening, was completely open, probably missing a cork of some sort. Like someone had left it there hastily, not thinking about it too much? Looking inside, he could see a very small amount of a clear, water-like liquid remaining inside on the bottom, though he seriously doubted that it was water. He brought the container close to his face and wafted air from the opening to his nose in an attempt to smell it. It smelled faintly gasoline-like, which immediately set the metaphorical alarms in Layton's head off. Kerosene.
That would explain some things. Layton stood up, holding the bottle carefully with his left hand and adjusting his hat with the right. Briefly he wondered whether the inspectors had already found this, but knowing Chelmey and his subordinates, they probably hadn't. He'd probably be happy with something concrete to base his theory off of, a theory more believable than witchcraft, anyway. He made his way back to the front of the house, where he'd reconvene with Luke.
Luckily, Luke was already in the front, looking around for the professor. He regarded the jar in his mentor's hand with curiosity. "What's that you've got there, Professor?" The boy asked as they met up, Layton barely stopping before he was on his way again, away from the house and toward the street from whence they'd come. "I didn't find anything in there, but I guess you did, seeing as how you're in such a hurry to leave. What is it?"
Layton didn't directly answer. "I think it may shed some light on the mystery of this Don Paolo's methods. Either way, Inspector Chelmey is in for a visit."
-asdfjkl;-
Chelmey stared at the bottle on his desk with an evil smirk. "Oi, I see what y've been doing 'ere, Paolo," he muttered, and one could see the gears turning in his head, mapping out all the possible ways that it could have been used in Don Paolo's schemes. "Puttin' on a lovely show wit' all your fancy engineer's tricks and foolin' my men..."
Layton just smiled, not bothering to point out the absence of such a reagent at the most recent fire. Even if he had, the grouchy inspector would point out it could just have been Don Paolo being more cautious than before, and it was admittedly an plausible, if not acceptable, theory.
Grosky, who was also in the room, chuckled at his peer's behavior. "Do you suppose this'll quell the public's frenzy over all this witchcraft nonsense?" he wondered aloud, with his arms crossed and his expression triumphant.
Chelmey pushed his chair back from his desk with a sharp EEEEK sound. "O' course it will. Anyone with 'alf a brain could see that this is most definitely just arson with some kind of clever illusion as the medium," he assured, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets. "You made a good decision, bringin' this t' us, Layton," he grunted, nodding his head at the professor. "Y've done your part as a loyal citizen of London."
Layton chuckled and tipped his hat to the inspector in return. Luke, who stood next to the professor as he usually did, just gave Chelmey a rather disapproving look. "It was my pleasure. A true gentleman doesn't hesitate to help out in any way he can, after all," he replied with one of those trademark modest smiles.
Grosky saluted the brown-clad man. "And a true gentleman you are indeed, sir."
Layton laughed, the jolly sound that seemed to affect everyone around him in a positive way. "I suppose so. Anyway, Luke and I must be off. We have a few more errands to run yet," he said, tipping his hat yet again.
Grosky nodded. "Of course. Have a wonderful day then, Mr. Layton. You too, young Luke!" he dismissed them with a wide smile.
"Same to you, Inspector Grosky!" Luke returned the goodbye with one of his own as the duo walked out of the office and out into the main corridor. Chelmey barely took the time to grunt his thanks before Layton shut the door behind them. The boy then immediately took on a frown. "That man is unbelievable. Here you are, bringing them a vital piece of evidence out of the goodness of your heart, an' he isn't even polite enough to say a simple thank you?"
Layton chuckled. "There's no need to be so hostile toward him on my account, Luke," he reprimanded lightly as they exited the building altogether, walking down the street and weaving through the steady mass of people out and about at midday. "Inspector Chelmey is one of those people whose thanks is there, just unspoken."
Luke chewed on his cheek. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to say it once in a while," he huffed, looking at the various stands people manned, selling all sorts of trinkets and gizmos as well as foods of all sorts. The two stopped at a few of these stands, Layton haggling a few deals on ingredients he thought Rosa could put to good use and Luke finding a shiny black marble that he could add to his already-impressive collection. Once they'd finished their business and continued on their way back home to Layton's house, they both carried two bags each filled to the brim with groceries.
Luke was in a better mood, and he smiled up at his mentor. "So I guess that's another mystery's solved, ay, Professor?" he said, laughing at the fact afterwards with that adorable accent of his. "That Don Paolo man didn't even stand a chance, did he?"
Layton laughed himself, but at his young friend's innocence and naivety instead. He had a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach that this wouldn't be the last time they'd see the wrath of this Don Paolo and his unofficial witchcraft.
If only he had known how right he was.
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A/N: Was it okay? There are a couple of things in this chapter I'm a bit unsure about, but what the heck? Let's post it anyway.
And about a flaw in Luke's character: I know he's definitely OOC about his fears of the supernatural. And I feel kind of bad for doing it. But, and you'll just have to trust me on this one, it's like that for a reason.
Reviews are like candy; I just eat them up, and they leave a good taste in my mouth! So please be kind and leave one. And until we meet again~
