Puzzle 009

Layton awoke with a vast crowd surrounding him on all sides, staring down at him with various looks of concern and interest. For a moment their faces blended together as his eyes came into focus and the dull pounding behind his head slowly churned its way up behind his eyes. The left half of his face felt warm and thick, and blinking felt difficult. Brenda kneeled to his right, her petite hand gently probing his painful cheek. Her attention varied between Layton and a commotion outside the circle of the crowd.

Instinctively, and predominantly out of habit, Layton felt for his familiar hat squished against the top of his head. He sat up slowly, allowing Brenda and Flora to aid him (though as little as possible; a true gentleman accepts the gracious offers of ladies but never wishes them unnecessary exertion). Upon standing his head swam, and an extreme case of vertigo threatened to put him back on the ground, but Layton held his balance and stood properly. Those nearest him in the crowd showed their concern and momentarily held him in place until Layton courteously waved them off, thanking each one. As they dispersed, the Professor, Brenda, and Flora saw through the crowd.

Inspector Chelmey, an already towering figure, stood toe to toe with Clark, who fought off a much smaller Barton behind him. The three spoke at once, trying to yell over the voice of the other; Chelmey tried to recite Clark's list of rights available to him, Clark shouted his opposition to whatever he was accused of, while Barton desperately tried to wrap handcuffs around Clark's large wrists. Layton watched the three verbally wrestle with one another before slowly making his way towards them.

"Excuse me, Inspector," Layton nearly shouted. "What seems to be the issue at hand, sir?" The Inspector, Barton, and Clark stopped on cue. Taking advantage of the quiet, Inspector Chelmey spoke first.

"Layton! Layton, we found the man who abducted little Duke," declared Chelmey, gesturing towards Clark. The bearded man's jaw visibly hung open in incredulity, unable to speak due to the insane stupidity of the situation. "You said the kidnapper claimed to the boy's father, and when we saw the commotion we apprehended the rogue!" Chelmey's face set in stone with the assurance that he finally solved a case without the help of another person, specifically Professor Layton. Despite the occasionally foolishness in which Chelmey allowed himself to become the victim, he truly had a strong track record worthy of a Scotland Yard detective. With the help of Barton the team solved more cases together than many of the detectives in the country. But right now, Chelmey's information obviously erred.

"I'm sorry, Inspector," Layton grinned. "This really is Luke's father. But thank you for putting a bit of distance between us. I'm not sure how well my face would hold up to Clark."

Chelmey looked at Clark. "How do I know this is not an imposter of some sort? Clive pretended to be Luke; who's to say this one is not equally as sly?"

Before Layton could reason the situation for Chelmey, Clark growled his frustration. "Because I'm the bloody mayor of Mist Haley, thank you." Both Barton and Chelmey looked towards each other in panic, frozen in place. To shake them of their reverie, Clark turned over his wrists to allow Barton access to the keyhole. With the handcuffs loosened Clark massaged each of his wrists in turn and straightened his coat.

"Right, well, sir," Chelmey stuttered, his eyes cast downward. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for Barton's unfortunate….erm, mix up. Poor lad, he gets a tad excited sometimes." Barton dropped the handcuffs in surprise, unable to formulate a coherent sentence before the Inspector spoke again. "Well, now that all that business is settled, do you have anything new to report, Professor Layton?"

Despite the seemingly humorous moments the group shared, a rift still existed between Clark and Layton. Brenda sidled next to the two and laid a loving hand on Clark's bicep to keep the man's anger and irritation at bay. Together for over fifteen years, half of which in matrimony, Brenda knew how to best calm her husband and anchor his emotions. He would never hurt her; in fact, every instance he accidentally stepped on her toes while dancing at their wedding Clark apologized profusely.

Professor Layton clasped his arms around his back and nodded. "I have some new information, Inspector. Last night Luke's captor appeared at Tower Bridge; he had Luke, and Luke was safe for the most part. Unfortunately he still has Luke, but if anything we do have a lead." He retrieved the folded map from his pocket. "These times represent a series of puzzles; upon solving the puzzles the captor promises Luke's safe return. Unfortunately, Inspector, I fear I must ask Scotland Yard to remain somewhat distant."

Chelmey furrowed his large eyebrows. "Why on Earth would we do that, Layton?"

"Because now it's personal."

After moving Clark and Brenda into Layton's room for the duration of their stay (Layton resolved to sleep on the sofa), the Professor told the story of his tea with Clive. The tears that streaked down Brenda's face as he spoke tore through Layton's very soul. Luke was her baby boy, her only son, the child she created with the man she loved. Unable to hold the little boy close reduced her to almost nothing. If not for Flora, Brenda did not know how long she could keep her composure.

With Layton's story finished he sipped his tea to calm his nerves. This situation was different from all his other adventures with Luke. Beforehand he kept Luke close and never let the young man stray farther than a few dozen feet or so. The distance he felt now shocked his system, causing is hands to shake and his stomach to knot itself. However, what Layton felt paled in comparison to the feelings Brenda and Clark faced.

Flora busied herself once again making a late supper for everyone to keep herself occupied. While living in St. Mystere, Flora hardly ever cooked due to the servants that did much of everything for her. After moving in with the Professor she practiced cooking as much as possible, experimenting with various tastes and textures. When old enough she wanted to go to some sort of culinary school, focusing on making various foods involving cucumbers. Thanks to Luke and his voracious appetite she could always find someone to try her latest cooking concoction. Even if whatever she created tasted just a step above disgusting Luke always at least tried her creation just to humor her.

Like Clark, Brenda examined Luke's room with the same muted and sad expression as her husband. All the letters she wrote to him stayed tucked away in a drawer she did not bother looking through; she knew the contents of each letter and she did not want to unknowingly invade her son's privacy in any way. A few of his toys and trinkets Brenda recognized either because she bought them or Luke wrote about them in his letters home, such as his favorite stuffed bear that threatened to rip at any given moment or an odd spinning top Luke found on one of his adventures. His room at Layton's resembled his room at home with similar furniture placed about, even some of Luke's books matched his shelf at home. Since he now resided in a dormitory at secondary school he shared a room with five other boys giving him less of an opportunity to style the room as he wished. According to his letters, he now spent much of his time in the dormitory fashioning together various mechanical devices to pass the time between studying for exams including small flying toy car powered by elastic bands. Layton received the chance to try the device when picking up Luke and tucked the car into his travel case for safe keeping until he could place it on the boy's desk at home.

While the Triton's spent some time together in Luke's room, Layton sat at the dinner table pouring over the map once again. He scratched through the first time from his meeting with Clive this morning and drew another line to the next puzzle. If anything, he would not need to travel very far for the next puzzle; only three blocks away down and just past Knighten Street. In fact if they stayed on Wapping High Street and continued eastward they could find the desired location yet still remain close to Tower Bridge. It was a working plan, a small and shaky one perhaps, but a plan nonetheless. Many of the times did not stray far from the Tower Bridge or its main road but despite every shape and figure Layton drew he could not work a discernible shape from the seemingly random occurrences. This frustrated him to no end.

Flora stood at the kitchen frame and remarked she would have supper ready in a few moments. Layton then collected all his scribbles and stuffed them into the various pockets for later use. He had no system for his pockets just like he had no system for his workspace, unless one could deem "chaos" as a method of organization. With the main table cleared, he sauntered back down the hallway to alert his guests but stopped when he overheard their conversation.

Brenda sat on the edge of the bed with Clark, his large arms wrapped around her small shoulders. "You really must apologize to Hershel," she spoke into his neck. The warble in her voice did little to hide her fear and the simple fact that she even bothered to think of the Professor nearly melted him. Clark kissed her forehead and pulled her even tighter against his chest.

"I know I do, my dear, my anger was certainly uncalled for. But Clive literally sat a foot away from him and Hershel did nothing. Nothing, Brenda." Layton agreed with that much, but what could he do in the given situation? He did not have the heart to harm another human, and even so if he tried anything they would be no closer to finding Luke whatsoever. Clark continued to growl as if he were a dog chained by a leash. "This whole situation would be different if Clive did not give him a blasted puzzle to work through. We may lose our son over a puzzle."

That was enough, Layton could not listen to another word. He rapped on the door to alert them for supper but gave no indication that he heard their exchange. "Clark, Brenda: supper is ready though I am not sure what Flora prepared." Brenda smiled at him and nodded, uncurling herself from Clark's embrace to stand and pull her husband along. At the dinner table, Layton helped Flora serve her newest creation (some sort of soup resembling thin chili) as Clark pulled back the chair and seated his wife. Once Layton did the same for Flora they sat in awkward silence save for the congratulatory remarks on Flora's cooking.

Clark spoke first, tossing his napkin into his lap and laying down his spoon. "Hershel, I owe you an apology for my actions today."

Apologizing for anything went against Clark's nature, and Hershel could see the internal debate the man had within himself. "I understand, Clark," replied the Professor through a genuine smile. "You were upset with me and I deserve your anger although my face did not necessarily enjoy its conversation with your fist."

And there it was, something to elicit a smile from everyone. Layton did not dole out jokes often but when the opportunity arose to diffuse the tension he immediately jumped at the chance. Brenda giggled first, trying to hide her smirk behind her table napkin, followed soon by Flora. Clark raised an eyebrow at their laughing then grinned across the table at Layton. It was the first smile Clark showed since his arrival.

Although the tension never fully dissipated throughout supper, the four could at least speak again like old friends. They discussed Luke's birthday and how the family would spend it, Flora discussed her cake design, and Layton told them of a book series he found for Luke to read at school. Even in Luke's absence merely speaking of him as if he were present lifted everyone's spirits. That is, until the clock in the hallway rang.

The Professor and Clark would go together while Brenda and Flora remained at the flat. In his discussion with Inspector Chelmey they agreed that a beat cop would patrol the flat during their absence for Flora and Brenda's protection, at least until Clark and Layton returned. Donning warmer underclothing the pair set out for the lower Thames.

At one point during the short walk Professor Layton stopped under a streetlamp and read the note he retrieved from the ancient bottle. Apart from his name the only word scrawled on the inside read "Prospect of Whitby," a well known public house on a corner of Wapping High Street and shoved up against the shore of the Thames. It was the only clue they had to work on at the moment but they were prepared for whatever challenge they would face.

Stepping into the warmth of the pub Clark unbuttoned the front of his coat and surveyed the room. Patrons lined the walls, drinking from mugs and glasses of various shapes and sizes to offset their freezing joints. They were only a few minutes early so Layton gestured for Clark to sit on one of the stools, joined only moments later by the keeper. "Anything I can get for you, lads?"

Clark shook his head but Layton tipped his hat. "Tea would be nice, if you have it. Please do not trouble yourself, though." A gentleman never imposes on others or asks for more than necessary.

"Not a problem, my good sir; can have a pot going within minutes." The gruff man nodded and pulled his hand from his pocket. "I'm in a bit of a jam though. I have this sliding puzzle, see, and as much as I try I just can't get the picture to line up. I've been so busy trying to reckon this one out that my drink orders are getting mixed up!"

Layton held out his hand to receive the small square of blocks. Within the outline were nine smaller squares with space for them to move about; this sort of puzzle required moving around the squares to reveal an image in the center but such a feat was often easier said than accomplished. Clark looked over Layton's shoulder as he moved a row of squares here, a single square there, turning the game piece over and every which way. The more Layton solved of the puzzle the easier they could discern the image that slowly pieced together so reveal an overflowing mug of ale. Finally, just as the pub keeper placed a pot of tea in front of them, Layton slid the final square into place. As he did so the back of the game piece fell apart in his hands, scattering the small squares all over the bar top. In his embarrassment Layton did not notice the scrap of paper that Clark snatched from underneath the mess.

"My sincerest apologies, sir," Layton gushed, his cheeks turning red. "Please allow me to pay for the replacement of the game."

"Well, now that you solved it I can stop thinking about the stupid thing. The tips alone should cover the cost of the game!" The keeper suddenly zoomed off in another direction to fill an order, the obvious relief on his face becoming an air of determination.

As Layton sipped his tea, Clark unfolded the scrap of paper he retrieved. "Hershel," he interrupted. "Hershel, I believe we have our next location."