Professor Layton and the Book of Memory

by End of The Present World

A blank piece of paper in a strangely addressed envelope. Harmless, until it forces the Professor to recall a portion (& a person) of his past that he tried incessantly to forget. Tea time is forced to wait as Layton & crew investigate a suspicious tycoon with a shadowed agenda. Part I of a trilogy. Canon, apart from a few original characters. R&R intelligently. NOW COMPLETE!

32. CHAPTER 32: STABILNON

Author note: I'm hoping that people haven't forgotten about my story!

I apologize greatly for my absence. I've been dealing with many things, the biggest being that I was extremely sick for about the last third of a year with major intestinal problems. I was having severe bloating, constipation, screwed up bowel cycles, severe abdominal pain (felt like someone was gutting me like a pumpkin, or squeezing my guts like a tube of toothpaste every time I went to the bathroom…), and my energy levels were so shot I was pretty much begging for sleep. Doctors didn't care and just kept pumping me with medicines that gave me some WEIRD side effects. I had a colonoscopy that completely ruined me, a CT scan too…didn't find out anything, and I was still in pain.

So…..I had to solve it myself because I literally had NO life let in me, my brain was literally falling apart (I felt like I was going crazy), and I lost 15 pounds in 3 weeks. I weaned myself off the medicine (which gave me extreme withdrawal symptoms…It was like I was coming off of extremely crazy drugs). And it turns out—several hospital bills and sufferings later—that I can't eat/touch/be around gluten (found in wheat, rye, barley). Basically, that means I can't really eat anything because gluten/wheat is found in most food items nowadays because everything's processed around it. I can't eat out anymore, I have to prepare almost all of my food in advance, and it takes a LOT of thinking/preparation; not to mention, gluten free baked things (bread, cakes, etc.) are pretty gross…

I still need to get an endoscopy to see if it's Celiac Disease (where ANY gluten literally tears apart the intestine because the body starts destroying its own intestines), but I at least know it's gluten that makes me have the bad symptoms. So…..I've been really REALLY bitter about it, because I can't eat my favorite things anymore…..

And that's my life! I've had no time!

I'd like to thank the few people who have reviewed my story (but aren't members of fanfiction, so I couldn't reply). ALL of your reviews are important to me; I LOVE finding the review notice in my email, but I'd just like to thank those few since I couldn't write them directly. A few of you were brave and read the entirety of my story thus far in one sitting! Impressive!

ANYWAY! This chapter has important elements, but there are a lot of just plain fun things added in too. It's very long so I suggest reading in chunks. Any questions or discrepancies you notice, PLEASE let me know. I kept having to go back and read it over a ton of times, and while being sick, it has been difficult to write/edit. It may be difficult to understand….I may need to rewrite this chapter, because I'm really not happy with how it all came out.

Dreaming of wheat,

Kelsey

---

CHAPTER 32: STABILNON

An abrasive wind played with locks of hair and tightly fitted winter caps, chafing the rosy cheeks of the morning's inhabitants as it rushed through alleyways and around cottages, under cold stone bridges and over semi-solid streams. It was almost a sarcastic joke, some bitter levity to break up the early monotony before the real show at sunrise.

The blazing disc of sun finally separated from the ocean horizon, burning the water's surface. It quietly bled out reds and oranges and yellows, all in one cold, rippled pool. Salty spray left the air with the smell of docks, wharfs, and sea spirit as the waves crested and broke on the gravelly shore. A few little moored boats bobbed up and down in approval of the new day with each rise and fall of the ocean swell; upon each rising of the sun, they begged and prayed to be removed from the frigid water, but their owners left them to the tides, forgotten and lonely despite the winter season.

An uncharacteristically cold winter season, indeed.

Away from the coast spanned farmland and field, barns and livestock dotting the frosty grass like spots on a cow. Grain silos stood as raised battlements against the fleeting darkness of the Western sky. The shining metal bullets reflected the sun blindingly, a testament of the oncoming morn. The dairy farms and grain mills were already hard at work, as they already had been for hours. They hoped for a hot, noon sun to obliterate the layer of frost that blanketed the ground, and they scoffed at their strange weather.

A city barely a city, a village hardly a village, although the population was befitting of one. What the place lacked in populace numbers it made up for with work ethic. As a rural community, agriculture was a way of life rather than a profession, and quality was of utmost importance. Traditions were deeply rooted in the local psyche, and local pride even more so. The citizens were quiet, but not when it came to defending their way of life. To be frank, they may have been a bit bullish when it came to such things. But it was a rare event to get into verbal (much less physical) altercations.

Life went on as it had every day, in every season since the village's founding, centuries ago near the start of the fledging country, but recently the weather was as confusing as it was just plain cold. It wasn't common for freezing winters, or snow, to make it this far south, It was an unexpected turn of events…

Just as much as the boiling rumors about oil refineries and off-coast drilling. The locals didn't want to be put on the tourism map. Or removed from any map, which might literally be the case if the area was overcome by highways and suburbia and whatever else followed big money enterprises.

A hidden gem of the American south, a diamond in the rough along the Atlantic coast. Not many came in, and hardly anyone went out, as the residents were private anyway, and most who came to visit ended up staying. Such was the quiet, pleasant life in this place:

Stabilnon.

The neighboring city's airstrip welcomed a single plane on the brisk morning. Its tires weighed down on the tarmac and scraped away the fleeting frost, and once it stopped, the passengers received the permission to unbuckle and depart the vessel. Each went on their own way from there, most likely never to meet one another again.

Mere minutes later, after a brief travel by car (which was quite bumpy and gravely, considering the cobbled and rough roads, if they could be called roads), the top-hatted professor and his disgruntled traveling partner exited their taxi and removed their luggage outside of a cozy-looking hotel. The driver smiled, took the fare, and accelerated the grumbling vehicle forward until it turned a corner and was out of sight.

It was the quietest that the entire journey had been; only a few brown leaves fluttered against the building's foundation, cartwheeling away with a whirlwind of flurries, and a few people just ahead were laughing outside a tiny breakfast café.

Laura stretched her bare hands to the pastel sky and smiled. "Finally. That plane seat was beginning to fuse to my behind. Did you know there have been people who've been restricted to their couches and their skin and the fabric fused together?"

"Lovely," Layton grumbled, warming his hands to distract himself from the disturbing images flooding his visual mind. "I must say, the stale cabin air was giving me a headache. The crisp air now is quite welcome." He looked around, grinned to show his approval, and gestured to their luggage. "Shall we secure our lodging? It's quite chilly out here."

"Yes, rather strange, since I thought the southern United States wouldn't be so…frigid."

The solid oak door of the entrance squeaked a bit on its hinges as they walked through into a warm, homey lobby. The carpet was a dark red, as deep as fall apples, and the walls were a creamy ivory plaster above chestnut wainscoting. The lights cast a golden glow over everything, like cookies baking in an oven, giving the space a snug and inviting feel. In the air was the scent of roasted nuts, making both the Professor and Laura's stomachs churn with hunger.

On the room's right sat a wide, heavy desk made of dark wood. A prim and proper young woman with high cheek bones stood hunched over the desk, busily writing something on a large notebook. The pair approached, and the Professor cleared his throat to garner the clerk's attention. She looked up, startled, and whisked away her papers and pen and smiled, pretending the articles were never there. Her cheeks flushed, and Laura smiled inwardly at her embarrassment.

'She's probably bored out of her mind…'

"Good morning, and welcome to the Patron of Stabilnon, the oldest running inn of this part of the low country," the girl rattled off in a warm voice. Laura immediately jumped at her accent. She forgot people from the United States sounded so different. The girl's twang was undeniably American, but had an even sharper edge than from the standard accent she'd heard on television. It must have been the southern influence, she suspected, although she didn't know a thing about it. She looked over at the Professor, who seemed unfazed. Perhaps he'd heard enough American accents in his day.

Layton tipped his hat and nodded to the clerk.

"Thank you, miss, for your kind welcome," he said softly, chuckling at the girl's surprised gasp. "Yes, a bit different than you're used to hearing, I'm sure… I suppose we're evenly met on that matter!"

"An Englishman! A genuine Englishman, here in this inn! With a top hat even! And I'm on duty! Lord knows I needed a pick-me-up!" the clerk stammered, beaming from ear to ear. If she were made of glass, her face may have cracked from the force of her smile. "I'm…I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that, it's just—"

"It's quite alright, young lady, it's not every day you get foreigners such as ourselves in your lovely hotel. I'm hoping you still have vacancy?"

"I…yes, yes, we do." She pulled out the pad of paper again, and almost dropped it. "Could I have a name to put down to secure your room?"

"You can put it under mine," Laura spoke up suddenly. "Laura Haris. One 'r' for 'Haris'. Yes, it's curious, isn't it?" She smiled as the girl crossed out 'Harris' and replaced it with the proper spelling.

"Oh, and will you be requiring one bed, or two?"

The Professor felt his face get warm, just as Laura shouted out, "TWO… Please."

The clerk eyed her carefully, judging her every move, but almost with an air of approval. "Alrighty!" She fished out a key from a clutter of keys and key rings hanging from a hook on the wall, and handed it to Laura. "You can stay as long as you need to. You'll be charged per night whenever you stay past 10 PM. So, for example, you'll be charged tonight at 10 PM for one night, and you may leave anytime tomorrow before being charged again at 10 PM. That way, you won't be rushed and you can enjoy your morning and afternoon. By the way, we offer breakfast from 5 AM to 10 AM, and then lunch until 3. Dinner starts at 5. We have awesome cranberry muffins, cheese and grits, and the best boiled crawfish this side of the Dixie Line, if I might make some suggestions."

Laura politely nodded.

'Grits…?'

"We also have free coffee and tea 24/7 in the café. Whenever you're finished with your stay," the girl continued, "just check out down here. Your room is on the third floor, and it's on the right when you reach the top of the stairs. If you require an elevator, there's one straight ahead, or an older one down the hall to your right. Please watch your hands and toes with the sliding gate on that one... It's a bit old-fashioned compared to this nice one behind me. If you would like help with your luggage, I can call over our bellboy."

"That's quite alright, miss, we can handle our baggage," Layton assured her. "Is there any local guide or information pamphlets for visitors?"

"There are several informational guides and papers in your room, sir. Should you need anything else, just holler to any of us down here, and we'll be glad to help. Enjoy your stay!"

They thanked the girl again, and walked around the desk towards the stairs. Laura had already ascended to the top and was awaiting the Professor, who finally arrived huffing and puffing, dragging his bag by the handle.

"You sound like a retired train," Laura quipped. "You should have gotten that little luggage trolley they had by the lift. You do know I move quicker than you, and my legs work poorly."

"I suppose I really should have packed lighter…"

"Or exercised more often," Laura whispered, which turned the Professor's head with a questioning look. "Nothing." She inserted the key and turned the knob to their room.

Sunlight flooded the floor, and the ocean was viewable from the window. Beautiful sights of the ocean were easy to tote as a perk of staying at the Patron since the hotel was the tallest building in the village (standing seven stories tall); it was like a skyscraper in comparison to everything else.

"Ooh, this is quite posh, I must say," Laura mused, walking slowly about the room. "A bit stuck in the 20th century, but it's very well-kept."

"I couldn't agree more. It fits my style," Layton sighed while admiring the wall sconces. "Rich in tradition, I must find the local historian or a museum curator…"

Shaking her head at the comment, Laura looked at both beds, side by side and completely alike, like identical twins, as the Professor stowed his baggage away in the closet. "Hmm, yes. I'll take this one."

"All the same to me. You're the one paying for our lodging, you get to make the decisions."

"I suppose…" She grabbed a pamphlet off the night stand and flipped through it for a bit. "Apparently, this place was founded in 1794. Interesting. I'm surprised this little town is still around! The buildings are mostly originals!"

"I suppose America does have a bit of history under its belt," the Professor chuckled. "There's most likely a lot of charming customs and stories hiding in this place. I'll need to take a look at all the structures here. I'd be jealous if you came here on your own."

Laura cleared her throat, giving him a pointed, admonishing look. "I thought you came along to protect me. Or did you let go of your chivalry back in London?"

"I…well, you know…"

"Hmm. That's what I thought. You're a brute after all."

"Now see here!"

"I thought," Laura interrupted, too hungry to care about his argument, "that we'd get a bite to eat, and go exploring. I have a strange feeling about this place. It's as hidden and secluded as a recluse, and I came all the way from London to suck the oil out of it. It's a strange target. Seems a bit…curious and completely out of the way. And it's about as curious as why I'm going along with it."

The Professor smoothed out his wool pullover and sat on his bed, facing Laura just across. "That reminds me. I was doing some thinking on the way over. During all this, I never once bothered asking, at least, I don't believe I ever did. What exactly do you suspect of Leopold? Any certain motives?"

The question caught the young woman by surprise. Was she sure of the answer herself? "I…I'm not completely convinced of any one thing, I suppose. I told you that my original task was to engineer machines used for excavation. And then, now, oil? I don't really like the change of agendas. And Leopold just became…odd. His demeanor became more…motivated."

"Then why did you stay on board with his plans? And you know, you didn't bother taking this to the police. You came to me first." He looked at her thoughtfully as she averted her eyes to the pamphlet in her hands.

"Well, as for 'staying on board', it was…a bit of security, for one."

"Security? It hardly seems sec—"

"I needed something to do, and I needed the money. It was my job," she shot back coolly. Her annoyance was starting to seep through her crumbling façade of a temper. "I couldn't sit at home anymore with my demanding parents. You know how they are. Each and every day they interrogated me about my future, what I was to do with myself, et cetera, et cetera. And I found this position, it pays well, so…"

"And you've suspected your employer of something dastardly, yet continue working for him?"

"I'm not sure, that's the thing!" Her voice reached a sharp tone, one reserved only for when she was purely incensed. "What have I been telling you? I have no proof. I merely thought it was odd that he changed goals, and then I found him playing around with the Book of Memory, and the rest is history! Isn't that enough to claim as suspicious? That's why we're here now, to find some clues…hopefully. And I came to you because Scotland Yard isn't going to listen to a girl for suspecting something. They have enough on their plates concerning crimes that have already happened, not things without evidence."

His face as set as stone, Professor Layton gazed at her intently, hiding his interest. Whether it was the hunger, jetlag, or stress, he didn't know, but his words seemed to have struck a nerve with Laura. Perhaps a few nerves. This fact alone piqued his curiosity, but he had to mask it.

"You didn't need to answer the question specifically, Laura," he said after a few seconds, treading the minefield carefully. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and folded his hands. "I was just curious about your thoughts. That's all."

"My thoughts. That's all," she parroted.

"Yes, I wanted to take your suspicions and feelings into account. Many things—even investigations—can start from an evaluated feeling, even if it isn't rooted in fact at first. Instinct and intuition still matter, as they play a large part in what goes on around us, and we should be in tune with—oof!"

The wind had almost been knocked from his lungs and he'd been pushed back in an arc several degrees from his original position. His mind momentarily went blank, his conscious struck blind. When his senses returned, he felt warm, soft fabric wrapped around his neck, and realized Laura had launched forward and thrown herself about his shoulders. She was half on the bed, half leaning into his torso. He felt his skin immediately grow hot as she squeezed him tighter, and if he could have seen himself, his face was most likely tomato-colored. He chanced to continue breathing, even though he was mortally afraid he'd break some unwritten rule about how to handle a distressed woman.

"Umm…err, Lau…ra?" he spluttered, his voice dredged in discomfort.

"I'm sorry," she moaned sadly, her face buried in his right shoulder. Her breath warmed through his jacket to his skin, giving the Professor goose bumps all along both arms. "I don't know why I snapped at you. I thought you were starting to think that this is all just some stupid, unfounded speculation and you'd give up on me and the investigation…so…I got a bit worried."

"No, I…it wasn't that at all…I…"

Layton was finding it rather difficult to speak. He'd forgotten the feeling of being embraced, especially by someone important to him. Or…someone who used to be important…? He still couldn't accept how to handle that, but whatever was happening now, it wasn't just a congratulatory hug from someone at the University, a slap on the back in passing, a hand shake that was meant to convey some friendly message. This was deep. This was warm.

And it really didn't help that he was receiving it from a young woman, one he quietly (but admittedly) found attractive.

"Laura, it's quite alright, I'm not giving up on anything, especially not you, so you have nothing…to worry about…"

Deciding that she'd disobeyed her standards for quite long enough, Laura released her grip and pulled away, ending her awkwardly contorted hug stance. The Professor looked on as she resumed her former position opposite him. She might have had a tear in her eye but he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was just the light.

'Is she really that in need of my help…that she fears losing my participation in all this?'

"Okay, are you ready to get something to eat? I'm famished! Surely we can enjoy some sort of brunch, and some tea for you," she blurted out, trying to hide her evident embarrassment. Her nervous laugh closed the conversation, even though the Professor had a plethora of questions.

They left the room, Laura locking it behind them. They'd already descended the stair cases to the ground level, but Layton didn't realize it; he was drowned it thought. Laura had seen to it that they were seated by the waiter at the little café, unbeknownst to him. He was in a limbo of thoughts.

He didn't want to worry the girl any more, but…that was just it. Was she truly worried just now? Something wasn't right with the whole aura of the past five minutes. Through all they had investigated, the past five minutes were the most telling. No hard evidence, but intuition didn't always need hard evidence to spark. His was a fire started without kindling—a spontaneous combustion of finely honed instinct—and it was now burning strong.

They sat down, Layton cocked his hat, and he smiled, seemingly nonchalant and unnerved. He let her order them tea and a light meal, and nodded when she'd make small talk observations about their surroundings. He'd learned how to multi-task in his time; it was nothing to carry on a mundane conversation with one person, and carry on one of his own interiorly.

'That was…incredibly uncharacteristic of her. I can't say I'm complaining, I…quite enjoyed that… but the fact remains: that was completely out of the ordinary, and more importantly…out of character.

'I'll have to keep an eye on her. Perhaps she's going mad. Or maybe she's just opening up and doesn't know how to show it? We've been on that road before…maybe I should just go with the flow, and enjoy her advances in silence…

'…'

'Or maybe there's something she doesn't want me to know.'

He eyed her darkly from underneath his top hat as Laura carried on about meteorology, or…some kind of '-ology'; her jargon was testament to that much, but what was she going on about…?

More pressing, perhaps ten years to stew in contempt could have really made her cynical enough to conceal information, whether it was harmful to him or not. Didn't she still trust him? He thought she did, as it was through her prompting that they were met once more. Although, he always thought he'd met his match in Laura. Out of all of his adversaries and enemies (whatever the opposing person considered themselves to be in relation to the Professor), he'd never met one who truly bested him, one who could rip him apart emotionally and put him back together again, one who really challenged him…

…or one who understood him well enough to become dangerously manipulative.

"Hershel? What are you thinking about?"

He snapped from his thoughts, filing them in some metaphorical mind folder, and was met with a pair of questioning brown eyes.

"What do you mean?" he replied, forcing a grin even though he knew it wouldn't abate her suspicions.

"I'm not stupid; you're buried in thoughts. And you can't answer a question with a question," she groaned, waving off the conversation momentarily as their food was brought to table. A few bites in to their sandwiches (the only things Laura trusted to taste good at the moment, although she might have been hungry enough to eat anything), she took a large sip of water and cleared her throat. "Anyway, I realize that I…um…was a bit odd back in the room… I'd like to apologize for that. If that's what you're thinking about, I—"

"No, that's not quite it, well—perhaps, a bit, but…no! No it's not! Stop laughing, Laura…"

Defeated, again. He realized it, and sputtered some inaudible comment before finishing off his food without another word. Laura, on the other hand, almost choked on her water.

"I swear, if you don't stop with your red faces and tense little grimaces, people are going to think you're constipated… Oh, no more comments? Hmm. Okay. Have it your way then, Professor."

"It's Hershel."

"I'll request for some laxatives at the nearest druggist when we go out."

"You will do no such thing."

"I will." With a sobered sigh, the girl handed their bill to the waiter, who walked off to apply it to their room charge. "Okay. Now that that is all settled, stop the teasing and the cheekiness, will you? I just might…fall for you or something completely inane like that," she murmured into her hands, feigning to warm them as they made their way to the hotel's exit.

"W-What did you say, I couldn't quite hear—"

"I said stop flirting with me because you're an annoying, grumbling old man and I'm going to do important things now like explore!"

"No, you…said… Nevermind…"

They walked out of the hotel in silence, Laura smiling victoriously, Layton feeling like a sheepish youngster who'd just been chided. The warmth of the building was instantly siphoned from their bodies when the door shut behind them. Both pulled on their gloves and Layton pulled his hat down tighter over his ears. Laura suggested they do a bit of light shopping for souvenirs, but the Professor found more interest in requesting a meeting with the resident historian. Rolling her eyes wouldn't help, so Laura decided to go off on her own way while he made friends with the history of the place. He could give her the abbreviated version later.

"Or…maybe not so abbreviated, at the rate he talks," she laughed to herself.

When the two of them met up later, there wasn't much to share concerning any findings. Neither one of them said it, but they didn't really have much fun spending the day apart. The shopping was cut short when Laura made her way too far west and instead took a long walk around a rather elaborate dairy farm, which she felt compelled to tour, but found out tours were closed to the public until next April. Similarly, the Professor was unable to go on a historical tour due to the museum curator taking a sick day, so he visited a small tea parlor and spoke to the owner about the differences between English and American tea culture. The day had been a bust investigation-wise, but perhaps it was for the best, as Laura began to really feel the difference in their time zones.

"I'm quite fatigued," she said weakly as they finally returned to their room. It was only 6:30, but the sun was already half asleep, and the day had its toll on their energy. The Professor, thinking they'd get a bit hungry before the night was over, purchased some light refreshments.

"Jetlag getting to you, or is it the cold?" he asked with a smile. "The plane ride was tiring in itself." Digging through his bag, he pulled out two packages of already-popped popcorn and some candied pecans and offered them to Laura. "If you're hungry."

Tossing her coat and belongings against a wall, she shook her head to the food and threw herself onto her bed, ignoring Layton's channel-surfing of the old television. It surprisingly had cable, and he was amused with the American setup of programs. He left it on something boring (Laura thought) and went to the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. His plaid flannel pants and loose cotton T-shirt looked cozy, and Laura decided to change her own attire, forcing herself to gather new clothes and make her way to the bathroom.

The Professor was sitting against a pile of lavish pillows propped up against the headboard when Laura emerged in her own pajamas. She could have fallen asleep then and there, but her stomach growled. Layton must have heard, because he laughed and held out a bag of the popcorn.

"Fill yourself up before you turn in." Ambling over, she plopped down on the bed's edge and took a handful.

"Why popcorn?"

"It looked rather tasty, and the kind lady at the store let me sample. Kettle corn, apparently." He watched her eat a few pieces, then go back to her own bed. She sat there, chewing solemnly.

"Aren't you tired?" she droned sleepily.

He stared straight at the screen as if he didn't hear her, but responded between crunching, "I suppose a bit, but I'd like to relax before falling asleep. It's not often I get to do such a thing."

As much as she agreed, the darkness soon gripped her eyelids and forced them shut, and that's all she knew of the evening.

The next day found her curled up and smashed into all of the pillows stuffed at the headboard of the bed. She looked like a covered egg in a nest of cotton.

"Pry open those eyes, Laura, the day's already begun," the Professor called out, possibly from the bathroom. It sounded far enough away to be the bathroom, but Laura didn't know. Her eyes lazily fluttered open, then snapped shut again as the dry, heated air stung her eyes.

"Ungh…"

"We had a lazy day yesterday, so we should probably continue our trip more seriously. What's on your agenda?"

"Sleeping."

"Laura…"

Peering through half-open (or was it half-closed?) eyelids, she yawned before giving an explanation of schedule. "I'm meeting with a few engineers tomorrow to go over some things."

"Things?"

"Stuff you wouldn't understand, but…I'll try to give it simply. Preliminary drilling started a little more than half a year ago, to test the quality of the oil. I got the all clear on that from my geology engineers, and my drill design was already sent over last month. Since I need to monitor the construction, I'll be out on the spar platform…that's where they drill. Out in the ocean. But that starts next week. Nothing today, just a generic meeting tomorrow…just…a generic one…" She flopped unceremoniously back against her pillows.

"Well, that gives us some time to explore the town properly, so…rise and shine."

One tossed cup of cold water later, Laura grabbed some dry clothes and cursed her way to the bathroom as Layton smugly waited outside the hotel room.

Groggily, she made her way out of the hotel beside a perky Professor, which might have irritated her if she'd been coherent enough. Other than a pair of gloves and a simple cotton band around her head and ears, she only donned her white lab coat as a barrier against the cold, playing her part as the true scientist, but not purposefully so; it merely comforted her somehow, cloaked beneath it. And she liked the way her navy dress with brass buttons hid darkly underneath. That was the extent of her sense of style, as she let her sandals do the rest for her. They were of a fashionable variety rather than practical, something uncharacteristic for her, yet her break from spontaneity was to be expected now and then. With elastic, fitted strings that snaked in diamond patterns up and around her legs, ending just below the knee, they mocked boring espadrilles for being stuck in the 14th century.

Which, Laura duly noted, was when the espadrille was thought to have been created.

"Spain. Well, the Pyrenees, Catalonia. Around the 13th, 14th century, give or take," she stated matter-of-factly (although somewhat off-topic) when the Professor questioned her curious get up. "These mimic them, but are much better. The original creators didn't know how to do it right."

"And neither do you!" Layton spluttered incredulously. "It's likely 0 degrees here! You're barely covered."

"You do know winter is my season. As long as my hands and ears are covered, the rest is fine. I'm likely to become agitated and need to let off steam anyway."

"I'll stick to my wool coat…"

And he did. Despite a whispered comment that he looked like a stuffed, burlapped camel in a top hat.

Their investigation started as soon as they left the establishment, and they made their way along a narrow sidewalk than ran beside the road. It was actually more 'road' than 'sidewalk', but luckily the traffic was close to nonexistent. In such a small town, most people relied on foot power for transport, and a car rarely grumbled by as they walked. Regardless, for safety's sake, Professor Layton steered Laura as far away from the car traffic as possible, despite her protests.

"I think," said the Professor, his hands stuffed deep into his warm coat pockets, "that if we get a better understanding of the town by socializing with the residents, perhaps we'll be led to some hidden secret about the place. That is, if indeed there is any other reason than oil for Leopold to choose such a location."

"Makes sense to me. But…I'm not exactly the sort to just walk up to people and ask them about this or that…"

"Of course not. You just talk big amongst close friends."

"That's right, I…hey…watch it." She glared sideways, then smiled. "Well, I suppose I can just let you do the talking. You're the lecturer after all. I'll just take mental notes."

They walked a couple of blocks and crossed the town square. Even amidst the brisk morning wind, customers filed in and out of a cozy-looking store. The Professor looked at the sign and knit his brows in confusion.

"Oh, it's…not English…"

"It's German, Hershel." Laura clapped her hands together gleefully. "Well, perhaps I will do the talking here."

Ducking into the store behind an elderly couple, Layton and Laura were greeted with the fragrant scents of baked goods and meat. And there was a lot of meat.

Strings and ropes of sausage links hung from ceiling hooks, both in the store and in a cooler room barely visible from the customer's area of perusal, but open enough for a person to get a glimpse. The many ropes were like oddly shaped party streamers. Some were a reddish purple, others a milky white, and still others were an uncomfortable, sickly orange-brown. Some of the casings shown like a shimmering glaze as a couple of the attendants gathered up the coils, the light reflecting off of them as they were packaged up for customers.

A long line of glass cold cases sat to the pair's right, their contents varying from elaborately decorated tortes to large wheels of cheese. A couple of the display coolers were dedicated wholly to the long ropes of sausage, coils upon coils of preserved meat in little piles that resembled lazy, fat snakes. They came in any flavor one might think of, indicated by little handwritten cards placed in front of each product.

"Apple and…jarlsburg?" the Professor wondered aloud.

"It's a cheese, Professor," Laura said knowingly, peering into the many cases of meat. Her mouth was watering now, and it just had to happen that she'd rejected breakfast that morning. "I'm regretting not grabbing something for the road…I'm starving."

"Well, I'm sure we could get something here, if I could…just pronounce them properly…"

At that moment, a portly man, particularly thick around the middle and under the chin, waddled to the cashier counter, smiling from ear to ear. Layton turned quickly after the man shot out a foreign greeting quickly followed by one in accented English. Laura responded to the odd words, which could only have been German, the Professor deduced. However, he was quite left out, something he wasn't used to, as he knew not a lick of the gruff language now being tossed back and forth liberally.

"I suppose I'd need a translator to gather any meaning out of this conversation…"

The man, most likely the proprietor, was pleasantly surprised that the out-of-place tourist actually knew his language, and Laura conversed for several minutes. It didn't appear to be purely food related, and the Professor hoped she'd come away from the encounter with something more than edibles.

Minutes later, Laura handed him a bag containing a piece of torte in a fancy plastic container and a few sausage links, as well as a separate package of something tightly wrapped in white butcher's paper. He grimaced when he took it from her, as it gave a bit under his grasp, slightly squishy to the touch, even under the crinkle of the paper.

"Pig snouts and tongues set in aspic!" Her face was so joyful, he might have joined in her happiness, but he only heard the words 'snouts', 'tongues', and 'aspic,' and that only summoned repulsion out of him.

"What?!"

"Ha ha! It's only souse…"

"Well, that's…not exactly on my list of the most appetizing foods, but…"

"Trust me, it's better than it sounds. But then again, your taste buds are…dainty."

"Dainty?"

"Come, let's go."

They exited the shop, Layton merely waving his goodbye. Laura grinned behind cupped hands, warming them enthusiastically.

"So, what were you talking about back there? Did you find out anything?" Layton asked.

"Oh yes. They make their sausages in house, and their cheeses are all made across the way by that dairy farm. Isn't that neat? What a quaint little place, I'm rather taken with this town already…"

Not amused, the Professor sighed.

"Laura…anything pertinent?"

"Oh, yes. The owner said there's a nice little German population here. Apparently all 3rd and 4th generation immigrants, but they still have a strong sense of Germanic pride. I felt empowered!"

"I…can't believe you…"

He walked away furious, leaving Laura with a questioning look.

"What?" she asked to his back, following him.

"We're supposed to be asking questions about the idiosyncrasies, the hidden details about this place, and you're not even concerned with the important issues of this investigation. Are we here for leisure, or do we have a defined purpose?"

His tone was subtle, but Laura could feel the bite in his voice. She looked forlornly at the rocks underfoot as they passed over them.

"We're…we're… Well, why are you allowed to relax and watch the telly, like you did last night, and I'm not allowed to enjoy some camaraderie with people that share a similar heritage to mine? It wasn't really that detracting from our purpose, was it?" Letting her arms fall to her side, she stopped walking. He sensed it and stopped too. "Is that so wrong? We'll be here for two weeks. I can stop by a sausage shop I should think!"

His face more red from embarrassment rather than the cold, he turned around to face her. He might have further admonished her lack of work ethic, but instead he felt…calm, almost too tired to argue. The only thing flowing through his system now was contentment, although his initial reaction had just been that of discontentment…

"I'm…sorry."

"I think that I can—wait, 'sorry'?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. We can just go about our day, biding our time, and let things happen as they will."

"Is that sarcasm?" She eyed him through a discerning lens.

"I'm not very good at sarcasm, am I?" He gave her a wink, and resumed walking.

Although the reaction was welcome, it wasn't met without questioning. Laura walked beside her travel partner quietly, looking him up and down for a further change in demeanor. Perhaps it was just her expectations getting muddled, but she was sure that an argument was brewing outside the sausage shop, now far behind them. Then it just…died.

The rest of the day was spent going in and out of shops, chatting with a grubby road worker who was replacing an unearthed rock in the cobbled street, and a harried young woman with an angry toddler. Barely keeping hold of his hat, the Professor narrowly dodged a toy car as the little boy lobbed it through the air without notice, grazing the top hat within a centimeter's clearance. Horrorstruck, his mother apologized over and over, tears in her eyes as she pulled her child from the store. Laura couldn't help herself from laughing after the two left, despite Layton's emphasis on the fact that he could have been severely injured.

"That car was metal, and was quite large. I don't think a potentially bruising situation is anything to laugh about…"

"Oh, you and your bruises. You bruise just by having someone look at you. Poor Professor Banana."

"First it's Professor Beet, now it's Banana!" he groaned.

"I quite like beets and bananas…" she said dreamily, obviously thinking of some far-off meal.

Walking away from the shop, they spotted a sleepy looking gentleman chewing a fat cigar outside a burly looking pub. He looked older than the town itself, liver spots and all. The man turned his head and eyed the oncoming couple through wrinkled, squinted slits.

"God's green earth, I wake up this mornin' expectin' nutin' but normalcy and my faithful stogie, and lookee here, we've got a real-life fancy man!" he half choked, barely holding onto his cigar as he coughed and laughed. "That fancy hat is quite a statement, my friend! A real handsome young man, you are! And such a lovely lady at your side!"

"Hello there, sir," Layton greeted the man, tipping his 'fancy' hat graciously. "You're too kind."

"And…that accent! You're a Lobsterback!"

"I…beg your pardon?"

"Redcoats! You lot, yer…yer British! Wait 'til the wife hears 'bout this, I've met a real Englishman and I can only assume an Englishlady as well!" He stood on creaky legs and placed his hand into Layton's, shaking it as if he wanted to rip it from his wrist. "Pleased to meet yer acquaintance, Mister, uh…"

"Layton, Professor Hershel Layton, and this is my travel partner, Laura Haris." He was glad to have his hand back (intact) and he chuckled as the old man haphazardly stuffed the stogie into his pocket, pulled it right back out, and then stuff it back in again. He had apparently never met anyone outside of his own part of the United States, he was so excited.

"Professer! A pro-fes-er. Boy, you must be smarter than a whip, as cultured and fancy as you is, I'm so pleased to meet ya, right here in Stabilnon and all. Typically we aren't too fond of folks comin' through here, but it's nice to see some proper folk comin' 'round. Been gittin' some strange people lately…"

Laura, who'd remained silent, laughed dryly from her spot next to Layton.

'Proper folk…If only Hershel was proper folk...'

"Well, I thank you for the warm welcome," the Professor started, hastily interrupted by the elderly gentleman. He raised a wrinkled hand and shook his head.

"Now, boy, you'll have to help me wit sut'm, sut'm real difficult like. See, this friend o' mine likes to pass the time with riddles, and this one might prove yer worth here."

As odd as it sounded (since he came up with the things at inopportune times), Professor Layton wondered to himself: Is this really the place for a puzzle? But, in keeping with his code, he graciously accepted the request, nodding appreciatively.

"I would be most happy to help you out. I'm quite the puzzle aficionado, if you can believe it."

"Oh, I believe it!" the man yelled out. "By the way, my name's Ol' Willem, and if you'd be so kind, I'd be ever grateful if you'd just solve this for me before the sleeping spell."

Laura craned her head sideways, looking at Ol' Willem, perplexed. "The…'sleeping spell'?"

"Oh yes, outsiders won't know a thing of it. It's jus' a phrase we people here use for our nap, but no worries about that."

Completely confused, the girl glanced over at the Professor, wondering what he was thinking. She was cut off from her own mind babble as the crumpled old man delivered his request.

"Here's my little puzzle for you. It's probably not so hard, but I jus' couldn't make heads 'r tails of it! Okay, here goes. My buddy says this to me:

A man says to his friend: "My garden keeps me in line. I don't dare make any mistakes."

"Why's that?" asks the friend.

"I've got a bunch of eyes on me all the time! I don't dare tell any secrets either. No gossip from me!"

The friend looks at the man curiously, then smiles and laughs.

"I suppose you do have quite the lively garden!"

What plants does the man cultivate?

And that's all he says to me! I thought of all the plants it might be," Ol' Willem sputtered with a hack and a cough, "and I come up with nothing. Asked my wife too, all she could come up with were Spider-Eye Geraniums for the 'eyes' bit…"

The Professor was silent a moment, then made the comment, "I'm not so sure that it's the name of the plant that is the key…"
"It's not?"

"No, I'm quite certain there's something else that might have been overlooked," he said delicately, making sure his own logic was sound.

"Yes, Mr. Ol' Willem," Laura finally spoke, "I'm thinking it's something the plants possess. A certain characteristic about them."

A few moments passed as Ol' Willem craned his neck one way, then the other, cleared his throat in a thick and gargley sort of way, and then laughed. "I guess the old aren't always the wisest. Yes, you two have taught me well this afternoon! Eyes, that's of potatoes, and you wouldn't dare tell secrets around so many ears! It's got t'be corn!"

Layton smiled proudly, as he would at a student who'd experienced a mental breakthrough, understanding washing over them. "As I was thinking. Brilliant work, my good man!" Laura merely nodded, a faint smile at the corners of her lips.

Rubbing his shiny and wrinkled head, the old man grinned, showing off a proud set of yellowed and golden teeth. A few were crooked at odd angles, like ancient headstones in an equally ancient cemetery. This man might not be far from such a place, Laura thought somewhat shamefully. "I'll tell you what, since you were such a big help," the elderly man gurgled with a throaty laugh. "Some advice. The best place to visit while ye'r in Stabilnon is the Making Merry Tavern, just down a'ways. A fine brew they have, but it's a tad pricey for folk like me. I wouldn' go now though, you'll be feeling the logs pretty soon, I'm bettin'."

"If you would be so kind, would you mind explaining what you meant earlier by the 'sleeping spell' and…'feeling the logs pretty soon'?" the Professor asked tentatively. "We haven't heard anyone mention such things in our time here, and—"

"Well, let's just say if you've got logs, you've got to saw them, isn't that the truth!" Ol' Willem hacked again, sniggering softly after something cracked in his throat. "You'll get my meaning. It's nuthin' to be worried about, but it's not so much fun if we just tell y'all about it. Don't worry, nuthin' to be alarmed 'bout.

"Now, thank you two for yer smarts, and have a great time during yer stay." And he turned towards the pub, slipped through the heavy wooden door, and was gone.

The wind slapped them both in the face; they did not realize it as they listened to Ol' Willem, but it had been tearing at their coattails the entire time. Layton's hand rose to his chin and stayed there, as it did when he pondered things. Laura did nothing more than do her pondering in stock-still silence.

'I'm not quite sure how to interpret that man's…strange predictions, if that's what they were. This sleeping and log business is rather curious. And what's Hershel doing just standing there looking ridiculous? He usually has something to say about such oddities…'

"What do you make of it?" she asked after a time. The cold was more apparent now that they'd stopped walking, and she wanted to move again.

"I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps Ol' Willem is…well, he is a bit up there in age. Perhaps he's just trying to spook us with some local, made-up legend, as some older gentlemen take to doing."

"Like Dean Delmona?" Laura questioned with a shrug and a tilt of the head.

"Not exactly, but…"

"Dr. Schrader?"

"No, he never did such things, although he does babble sometimes…"

"You?"

"I…let's just continue our journey…"

Quaint and picturesque shops behind them, they seemed to have stumbled upon a small block of residential housing. The buildings were mostly ivy-covered, wooden shingle houses, with a few variants to make each one unique and different in their own way. Some had wrought iron arbors that arched over the front walk, dark green ground cover around the houses' foundations, complete with a clinging bit of frost. Others had a hodge-podge of bright lawn ornaments, while still others had silent flower beds and cold ornamental bench seats. All were frozen in the quiet, seemingly the only thing that they had in common.

Not many people were out and about in this area, only an occasional fretting mother or grumping father, begrudging their work when it happened to take them outdoors. A child cried out once, but was silenced quickly (how it was done was unknown). A door slammed here and a cat ran there, startled from underneath a boxwood hedge, but otherwise, the place was as calm and eerie as an iced up pond in the thick of a forgotten wood. Unlike the town center minutes behind them, the stone pathways now wouldn't even permit the click-clack echoes from their shoes; the ground was frosted concrete, and their footfalls were dull.

As the Professor and Laura passed through, there was a point where it'd been ten minutes of snail-paced wandering without so much as a bird chirp or twig snap. When Laura was finally about to make a comment—she was afraid she'd gone deaf, the world was so mute—Layton hummed a low Hmm? of bewilderment. The girl stopped when he did, half a step behind him.

"What is it, Hershel?"

"I just now seem to have…noticed something…" He walked up to the edge of the lawn of one of the houses, and stared. "These foundations, their structure…"

"Foundations?" She shrugged after glancing at a few quickly. "And?"

"Do they not seem odd to you?"

She looked more closely, feeling suddenly ashamed of herself, but for what reason, the answer was still hiding. What was she looking at? More importantly, what was she looking for? Her eyes flashed over the bottom-most part of the buildings, where frozen earth met steel and stone. "They are all…well, it seems they are all of the same in build."

"The reinforcement of each house's foundation, if you look more closely, appears to be very sound. I might even venture to say, each house appears fortified."

As an analytical thinker (more specifically, as an engineer), she now felt shame genuinely. It was true: each home—no matter how different the landscaping, exterior designs of the roofs and frames, adornments and window shapes—each home was sitting atop the same foundational base of a heavy steel frame surrounded by concrete and stone. It wouldn't have looked odd for a house or two to have been built that way, but it was odd that all of the houses had this characteristic. As the very support of the structure, it seemed as if the base was equipped with a substantial amount of long-lasting, stable materials. Apart from stability, the foundations of the houses gave off the idea that they were meant to be enduring…

'Enduring…through what?' Laura wondered, her face scrunched up as she thought.

"I'm surprised you made the observation," she then said aloud, smiling, not really impressed at all. It wasn't really a compliment for the man who'd solved countless mysteries and crimes all over London. He should live up to his reputation, and such an inspection of their surroundings wasn't at all shocking.

"I could say I'm equally surprised you didn't. Isn't it obvious? This is a seemingly crucial part of their engineering. To what end, for what purpose, I am not certain." He rubbed the brim of his top hat between thumb and index finger as if to remove it, trying to decide whether to comb his fingers through his hair or just go back to thinking. He looked at the girl curiously. "I may not be a structural engineer, but after years of researching, observing architectural structures and analyzing buildings found at archaeological digs, a detail like this shouldn't go unnoticed, I'm thinking. It's the sort of detail that could lead to key, critical information about the background of this place."

"Yes, you're on to something," she agreed, "however, this sort of reinforcement…why? It's a little farming village. These people are barely on the map, and they seem to be prepared for a…structural upset. As if any turmoil is going to shake this place to its core." The giggle passed through her lips before she could stop it. "Such a funny place."

Although she was interested, her mind was elsewhere. It wanted cool sheets and soft pillows, and she immediately yearned to stretch amongst blankets and oversized pajama folds. Laura was tired, and it was hardly past noon.

"Hmm," Layton grunted, still studying the foundation of the house in front of them. He walked forward into the yard until he met with the building and reached out, stroking the stones and concrete thoughtfully. He removed his glove and touched the cold rock. "I suppose it's just too strange to guess at. Perhaps someone in town will know…"

"Hershel, I'm really starting to feel strange."

Looking up from the base, he set his eyes on hers. "What do you mean? Are you ill?"

"Well, I…I don't think so, but I've just become so…tired all of a sudden…"

"Is it your legs? We have walked quite a bit today, I supposed we should have taken breaks…"

"No, it's…I'm just very sleepy," she said, almost whining.

As soon as she'd mentioned it, he evaluated his own feelings and noticed that he felt likewise, and it wasn't beyond him to be concerned. "I won't object to returning to the hotel. I'm a bit worn out myself, although I can't say we've done too much to warrant this."

"I know, but it's just my limbs…"

As if made of lead, Laura felt her body cave into the mattress once they'd returned, and that was all she knew. She hadn't bothered to remove her coat or gloves. The Professor watched her fall asleep, face buried into the pillow. The girl seemed more relieved than peaceful.

'She seems to have gotten exhausted from something, whether it's illness or something else, I do not know…' he thought in silence. 'And while it looks like the best thing in the world to just fall asleep, I'm a bit too worried to let myself drift…'

---

Flora shrieked as a blur of black and rainbow crashed into her, knocking her cross-stitch materials to the floor. She tried to catch it all as it escaped her hands, but only grappled at the air.

"Oh, Carbite, you've completely ruined it!" She quickly fetched it all up and placed it gingerly into her dress, as if gathering eggs. "My aida fabric…"

"Flora, why'd you bring all your things? You knew we wouldn't be here that long." Now a bit shook up from the surprise scream, Luke had been carefully scanning the many monitors that were stacked in the tiny, shed-like room. It was the third time they'd made the trip to Petrolite Industries' campus, and the third time they'd felt their hearts catch in their throats as they bolted for the bird cages, their mission hard set into their brains. Once in the security shed, they locked the door, let Carbite out of a mini Rubbermaid tote (formerly only used for Flora's cross-stitch and sewing supplies), and glued their eyes to the TV screens for about an hour before quickly running all around the cages and feeding the noisy parrots. The first time they'd come by, they were too frightened to leave their sanctuary within the hour, and stayed for almost three and a half hours total, which gave them quite a time explaining their whereabouts to Rosa.

Flora didn't like explaining, or experiencing, their whereabouts.

"I don't like monitoring," she sighed, forlorn and bored. "And I'm a bit nervous, and I keep thinking we're going to get caught."

"There's barely any activity here, Flora. The only people we've seen were two janitors, one office lady who'd left something behind at her desk, and we've only seen Leopold on screen twice, and he was half hidden, sitting at a desk looking through documents. No one else comes out here, and it's after work hours anyway." He rubbed his eyes and gave the televisions one last glance, the black and white images slowly flicking as different cameras transmitted feedback. "I'm hungry, let's feed the birds and head back home. Rosa's supposed to be making something good, so I want to get back while it's still hot!"

The bus ride was bumpier than usual, and Luke felt more nauseated than hungry by the time they returned to the flat. He hid Carbite in his room and gave the bird adequate food to keep it busy while he would be at the table, picking at his own dinner.

The Professor had only been gone for a couple of days, but it already felt like a week in Luke's mind. The children loved Rosa dearly; she was like a grandmother, what with all the cookies, hugs, and light scolding she gave them. It was rather touching, really, the lengths she went to in order to help out their dearest professor. But there was no substitute for Professor Layton's conversation, and they'd gotten used to Laura's sarcasm to the point where it was just plain odd not having her throwing around taunts and pithy comebacks as if to knock off the trademark top hat. At the very least, Rosa baked for them daily, they had a bit more leeway with bedtime (not to mention the slacking off with their studies), and she promised to make the holidays good for them, but…

"Luke, you haven't taken a bite of your food," the old caretaker said with a twinge of worry. The boy poked at a piece of soggy cabbage with the prongs of his fork as she eyed him over her glass. "Have you come down with something?"

"No."

"Are you upset?"

"I'm fine, Rosa, really…"

"I think he misses the Professor," Flora spoke up, picking up her plate and heading towards the kitchen. "It's odd, with him gone."

"Oh indeed, I was wondering if you were merely sick with worry," Rosa chuckled, her soft and wrinkled cheeks stretching with her weary smile. "Luke, boy, he'll be back before you know it. I thought my Christmas cookies would take your mind off things, but I suppose that's not the case…"

"Well, cookies might help a bit—"

"Oh, no, Flora and I will do just fine with this plate of cookies, won't we, Flora?"

"No, no, I—!"

"Luke's much too sad to eat, Flora, we'll just have to enjoy by ourselves. Father Christmas just might skip this residence this year, Luke's much too depressed…"

The boy jumped up and snagged a few of the brown, frosted discs from the platter before Rosa returned it to the kitchen. "I'm fine enough for cookies! I'm always fine enough for cookies!"

The two females laughed heartily as Luke stuffed the rest of a stocking and a broken Christmas angel into his mouth, completely forgetting about the Professor's absence, at least for the moment.

Later that evening, the phone rang.

"Luke, Flora, the phone is for you!" Rosa called, a wrinkled hand cupped over the mouth piece. The children ran into the living room and Luke snatched the receiver quickly, leaving Flora with a grumpy frown.

"Hello, Professor! Are you having fun in America?!" he yelled, toothy grin split across his face. Layton laughed from the other side of the line, wondering how the boy knew it was him. "I just knew, Professor. Who else would call?"

For a few moments, Luke recalled their findings at Petrolite, none of which impressed Layton much. It was rather boring and idle talk in the end. After handing the phone to Flora, Luke waited for the conversation to finish, and then walked away sadly, wishing Rosa a good night, and continuing to wish for Layton and Laura's quick return.

The same telephone ritual happened for the next couple of days, recounting the days' events, the Professor sharing different oddities about the States, Laura quipping in the background about how miserable and difficult it was to find 'intelligent conversation,' and how the Professor wasn't helping. It made the boy eventually succumb to jealousy, for he missed it all greatly, and he started to let Flora take the calls rather than him. The fact he was trapped in England while the Professor got to explore and solve mysteries and puzzles with Laura made him feel excruciatingly left out. It was almost insufferable, and he wasn't sure if he was angrier at them, or at himself for falling to such lows.

So Flora got the phone to herself after Luke would speak first, say the pleasantries, hand the device over to the quivering girl. He was sure she enjoyed delivering the daily minutes (which he was sure didn't include the descriptive fact that their job was truly worthless). And then he would sulk out of the living room, scrape his stockings against the carpet, shock himself on the bedroom doorknob, and leave Flora and Rosa to do as they pleased once the phone clicked, back home on its base.

He lay in bed one evening, stroking Carbite's feathered head, listening to the bird's grinding purr while waiting for Rosa to announce the call. Flora was most likely in the living room, tucked into the couch pillows, practicing cross-stitch while glancing here and there at the television. The older lady liked to catch programs in the evening, and Flora had been keeping her company. Either way, one of them would hear the phone and answer it. As for the boy, he much more preferred books and the quiet of his room. So now, he waited alone, as the minutes ticked away.

And when Luke looked at the clock again, he found that hours had actually ticked away. It was already morning. When he asked Flora and Rosa the next morning, they told him that they hadn't taken any calls. It seemed strange, but Luke figured that the Professor was only busy. It could have passed as a fluke once, but when it happened two more times, he became anxious. As much as he'd been bitter about the nightly conversations, he was worried now, and he began regretting his lack of thankfulness, taking the talk for granted… It was quite unlike the Professor to forget important things, and very unlike him to forget multiple times. He was failing to call home.

Professor Layton was failing to remember him.

---

When the Professor told Laura that she never awoke until the following afternoon, she became irate, then visibly troubled.

"I'm…not the sort to just fall asleep like that. A slice of death, a slice of death, sleep is a slice of death."

"You dropped like an anchor, and didn't stir. At all."

"Lovely. Just lovely. And I have a meeting in one hour." She tossed things about, a toothbrush hanging lopsidedly from frothy lips as she got herself ready.

"I didn't notice it, but once you'd mentioned your fatigue, I felt the same sensation, almost as if I'd had someone mentally turn a switch in my mind," the Professor mused from the comforts of his bed. He sat in warm flannels while his hat sat on the night stand, a silent onlooker. "Do you think you'll make it to your meeting?"

"I'll make it. Late."

"Should you call ahead?"

"Look, all you need to worry yourself about is what those stupid building designs mean, and what sort of Yankee illness makes you feel like you've been drugged into oblivion. Search around town. I never took note of the buildings there. Maybe they have the same architecture?" Roughly, she pulled on her lab coat and earmuffs. "And maybe someone knows the answer we both want: why."

He nodded, and opened his mouth to comment, but she'd already waved and flown through the door.

That happened a few more times, over the next three days. Her presence was seldom, and their conversation even more so.

Bundled up and protected against the chill, the Professor would walk outside into the heart of Stabilnon, carrying around an agenda that became more burdensome as the days went by. Sure enough, the buildings of downtown had fortified bases, just like the houses; even the farm buildings had the same sturdy foundation, but of a different fashion than the homes. They were less architecturally pleasing, more utilitarian than aesthetic, and they all appeared different, unlike the cloned foundations of the houses.

"I wonder…"

'If these buildings and structures are older than the residential homes, perhaps there weren't any building codes or regulations to go by when they were built. The way the foundations were laid—some with brick, others with heavy stone, though all with some sort of haphazard framework—seem to vary, as the building designs themselves vary. This is telling, though, since the reason for such a sturdy base should be the same through time: they required such engineering early in the town's history, and the reason still holds when houses are built today since they have similar engineering…

'Now to find out why. If only I could find out why!'

There finally came a break in Laura's work, and she spent more time around their hotel. Her demeanor had changed, and she was often fatigued and dragging. While this perturbed Layton a bit, he welcomed her dwindling snark and pompous comments, as it allowed her to be more mentally open rather than protective. Her battlements were becoming lax, and she smiled a lot more. Albeit, it was more of a drunken grin, rather than a smile. And now, with her return to their investigation, the Professor realized something he didn't dare admit aloud: he felt more motivated with her back in the picture, even with her lack of energy.

"What do you mean no one would talk to you again?" Laura sat, chewing her food slowly and with dark, tired eyes. But still she sat, listening. She would much rather end the day already, and with sleep rather than early dinner, but she concluded that food was a bit essential. Her brow knit, she now was curious as the Professor had just recounted his experiences of that day.

"I mean, I tried to speak with several townsfolk, this time from the northwest portion of the city, and as soon as I started addressing my observations of the architecture, they would either speak very cryptically, or they would find a reason to end the conversation. 'Having to feed the cows' is a very common excuse around here, even if they don't have any cows…"

The girl rolled her heavy eyes. "How are we to find out anything if these people are so xenophobic? Their reticence will get us nowhere. Maybe they don't like your hat."

"I'm betting that's not the case." He finished his own meal, waiting for her to break the silence. No avail. "Do you have any more meetings coming up?"

"After New Year's Day. Speaking of holidays, did Luke and Flora enjoy their Christmas presents?"

"Yes, they did. Rosa opened gifts with them Christmas morning, and I spoke with them after the festivities. But I never got a chance to call for the past few days. I've just been so exhausted… By the time the afternoon rolls around, I've been out about in town, and with the time difference, calling in the evening here would mean waking them all in the early morning back home in London."

"Hopefully they had a decent Boxing Day as well. Rosa most likely made the holidays fun, correct?'

"As much as she could, I'm sure," Layton affirmed, nodding.

"Hmm. So, on Luke and Flora's front, any news?'

"Still nothing. Leopold looks at books occasionally, and that's about it, according to Luke."

"What sort of books?"

"Impossible to tell from the screens, apparently."

As if she'd just been threatened, the girl snarled between sips of water. "Most likely the Book. I wish I knew how he was using it, for what end. Seems a bit stupid to pour over a book like that with no purpose, so… There must be some reason." Ruminating solemnly, she eyeballed the room and judged. "Perhaps no more about this here. I still don't trust anyone."

"Fair enough."

After finishing dinner, the Professor walked beside her as they exited the café, leaving behind a rather busy group. And while the other customers were occupied with their own meals and engaged in their own conversations, talking openly about their covert mission seemed callow.

Layton made towards the staircase (although the elevator looked more inviting), but turned as Laura grabbed his shirtsleeve.

"Let's go outside, there's something peculiar I noticed today on my walk back from the coast," she spoke softly, guiding him towards the front door. He walked with her naturally, sans protest, and also sans winter coat. But it was the last thing he wanted, to have someone wondering why they were arguing about a venture into the freezing weather.

Unfazed, Laura led him down a block towards the town center, sticking to the sidewalk and then turning right down another walkway. It was one that only had a few store fronts, but they were all quite established, beautiful stores. Each had its own awning and unique signage, doing its best to lure in customers. As the two walked, to their left was a raised bed of dirt, surrounded by cement walls. The long stone-lined rectangle spanned the length of the sidewalk, separating the walking path from the road. It would have been home to dozens of flowers if it was another season, but now, at intervals, there were only some sort of needled conifer trees planted, cold yet still a shiny green in the dying light of the sun.

It was here the girl stopped, fresh snow clinging to her thick shoe heels.

"Notice anything?"

The Professor looked around. All he could note was the dead silence, falling snow, and the bumps that were covering his skin. His back muscles hurt as he shivered, but it was almost too cold for him to bother with the pain. He only wanted the indoors. Badly.

"You might cut to the chase, Laura," he grumbled, rubbing his arms frantically. "It's rather chilly…"

"Fine." She pointed to the awnings of the stores, then to the trees. "Answer this: what has accumulated here today—quite a copious accumulation, I might add—all around us, yet doesn't seem to be settling on anything angled, or anything of height?"

At this point, Layton wasn't keen on solving puzzles, as the snow was falling quite heavily. The fat flakes kept melting into his cheeks, burning them and leaving behind several wet patches that began icing over. "Well, by accumulation I'm assuming you mean snow, but your point is flying over my head, so it seems."

"Rather, off your head. On my way to my meeting, it began snowing quite a bit, much as it is now. It should have accumulated naturally on all of these awnings, on all of the trees. I stepped inside a store to grab a light meal, and it took about twenty minutes total. I come out to find the snow all slid off the awnings, which should have sagged a bit and held the snow, if you'll look at the make of these contraptions…" She walked closer to the stores and pointed indiscriminately at the striped awning fabric. "I also had found that these trees, which should have no problem supporting a collection of snow, were as bare and as empty and devoid of the white stuff as if it wasn't snowing at all. Flecks here and there, but no accumulation."

"So, you're saying…what exactly?"

"It struck me as odd, but I was already bridled to my daily duties, so I went to my meeting as scheduled. When I walked back, it was the same scene, but I went walking around a bit longer, looking at other parts of the city. No snow collects anywhere unless it's on a completely flat surface! No rooftops, no trees, no awnings. Nothing." She held up a hand when Layton began to speak. "I already thought of heated surfaces, not allowing the snow to do anything but melt once it hits, but I watched the flakes for a bit. Watched them gather. There was no melting when it hit a surface, it would accumulate a bit and then…swoop! It would slide down in little avalanches from roofs, or just plop over in small chunks from tree branches. Tree branches, especially heavily needled evergreens, should hold snow just fine. It's as if an invisible person is pushing the snow off with his broom!"

He looked at her with an air of doubt, then scanned the area around him once more. "So if we walk about, I wonder what we'll find. I'd like to see for myself…"

Laura guided him up and down a couple of blocks quickly, waving her arms around at all the places she mentioned. Rooftops were black and bare, trees were clean. Any and all angled and open surfaces that would normally allow snow to collect were empty. Piles of the fallen snow lay beneath all of these objects. Recently shoveled sidewalks were cleaned everywhere except for the places that were splattered with the fresh snow that had slid from awnings or fell from signs, as if some compulsive person went around the town and pushed the stuff off of everything. Little frozen snow pebbles were strewn at their feet; having fallen from such heights the snow literally exploded against the cement time and time again and had formed powdery stars where it hit the ground. In some areas it formed a soft pile, one that got larger and larger as the precipitation continued to fall from above. Underneath trees, misshapen clumps of gray-white snow looked like mini craggy mountain ranges that circled around the perimeter of the branches where the snow had fallen.

Completely stumped, Layton let his arms fall to his sides. "I…don't' really know what to make of it. It's as if the snow here is slick and won't collect. But," he reached down and swiped some snow from a nearby pile, studying it quickly in his red hands before dusting it over the sidewalk, "it's as normal as any snow I've seen. It doesn't appear to have any difference from any other snow."

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. Watch! It's falling as we speak." Sure enough, the minimal amount that had collected had already dropped off trees or skied down roof shingles and awnings.

"What in the world…"

"Just an observation. Keep it in mind when you're interrogating the townsfolk. I can't make heads of tails of it."

They walked back in silence, both trying to shatter whatever blockade that was keeping the answer from their minds. The phenomenon was strange and was actually quite startling. It was as if the gravity was so strong here in this particular place that it forced everything to fall, fall…continue falling, even off of things that typically would have enough friction to keep snow in place.

When they reached the comforts of their room, the Professor and Laura both pulled on thick pajamas, doing their best to keep the cold out. They remained silent, and found themselves brainstorming alone in their beds. It wasn't until a quarter of an hour later that the Professor broke the quiet, a warm knife through the cold air.

"Well, I'm lost. I have no conclusion, and I have little to work with," he said, his legs over the edge of the bed. He faced her, shook his head, and sighed like a disappointed father, none too pleased with his dullard brainchild. "It may help to come back to this later. I just might go demand answers from the local historian. He wasn't helpful the other day, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease, as the saying goes."

'Or the loudest duck gets shot,' Laura thought angrily, albeit quietly. 'We're getting nothing solved, and as foreigners, I'm not too interested in making enemies of anyone here by poking and prodding where we aren't wanted…'

The next few minutes were spent listening to the television channels switch, until the Professor finally settled on something. Laura, still thinking about the strange discovery, finally decided to give her brain a rest as well and started to watch.

"This is the most monotonous programme I've ever seen," she complained. "Turn it to something more interesting, or else I'll drift off. My brain already hurts."

"Just come sit over here. It's too difficult to talk to you over there." He said it so plainly that Laura had to reprocess the sentence three times.

"What?"

He leaned forward from his mountain of pillows and craned his neck to get a better look at her. "Come over here. Friends don't sit so far away from each other."

"I'm not…sitting by you!" she exclaimed, dumbstruck. Her sheets fluttered as she dove underneath them, finalizing her arrangements. "What's your problem? That's your bed! I'm not getting your germs on me."

"Oh, now it's talk of germs. That's why you made the effort to change the sheets on my bed back at the flat, hmm?"

"You…you can't prove that."

"Ah, but I noticed they were never changed, when I gave you a perfectly clean, new set of linens. It's enough proof for myself. You don't mind my germs. Germs indeed…"

He had her there. She never did change the sheets, preferring to keep them just as the Professor last left them. And now that it was in the open, she felt not only exposed and embarrassed, but frustrated he was stinging her with it.

"I….I don't understand how you go from contemplative and serious, to a lazy and rude annoyance… You're supposed to be the genius detective."

"Well, because it hurts to think right now, and you've been gone. We haven't had a chance to unwind, and answers to these things will not come if we push our heads to the breaking point. Anyone with sense knows the mind can only tolerate so much, and I don't know about you, but I've been thinking nonstop about what all these clues could possibly mean. Additionally, I worry about Luke and Flora. It's instinct. I can't help it." He stopped and waited. Her silence was enough. "Is it safe to assume that your silence is a resounding 'yes' of agreement?"

Several grouchy and huffy mumblings later, Laura perched herself carefully next to her former professor, feeling both exhilarated and nervous (as well as the unfailing 'irritated'). Her knees held tightly to her chest, she was careful not to let any part of herself touch him. "I hate you."

"Yes, yes, I know. But let's just forget that for now."

In all honesty, he didn't know what he was trying to do. Something inside him longed for the companionship. The calm atmosphere now, when it had been her absence and the tense pressure of finding answers to questions he didn't completely understand. He might have seemed brash, but it's what he felt was appropriate.

It wasn't long before the awkwardness wore off, and the girl to his side fell fast asleep, slouched and sprawled against a few loose pillows.

"Without fail," he chuckled, gazing upon her still facial features. She was too high-strung to look peaceful, even while sleeping, but she was certainly more at ease.

With her resting, he could think again. She was in quiet slumber, and her well-being was one of the many things on his mind. Being asleep, he knew where she was, what she was doing. Now, she was the safest, next to him, mind resetting.

'The odd structural engineering…

'The strange actions of the snow…

'The physics of this town are off. Something is amiss, and these people know something. Even with everything I know, all of the knowledge I possess, I can come up with nothing, even after days and days of thinking about it! I've poured over maps, I've looked into history books… There is no reasoning for the reinforced buildings, and now there's the snow falling. It most certainly doesn't correlate to the tiredness. None of it adds up. None of it…

'Leopold is doing nothing noteworthy, yet there's that Book…what is he doing with it?!

'And I still don't know what Laura is going on about. This whole time, what is truly on her mind…?'

The black of sleep threatened to take him, but he shot up and out of bed. He looked at the clock.

"It's ten at night back home… I must call Luke…"

The buttons mashed underneath his fingers, and he groggily stood next to the end table, phone to his ear. Rosa answered, and she handed it off. Half expecting Flora's voice, he was surprised to hear Luke's.

"Ah, Luke, my boy. You hadn't been near the phone the last couple of times I called. I wondered if you'd come down with fever," Layton chortled.

"Professor! You didn't forget after all!" Luke shouted into the receiver. He giggled and said I knew he wouldn't forget us! several times before calming himself to listen.

"I'm truly sorry about my absence, Luke," he apologized, guilt gnawing at him. "I'm not sure what's come over me, but Laura and I both have been exceedingly tired, even when we don't do much of anything. I'm glad you answered, it's one time I'm glad you weren't in bed. I—what? You don't have a bedtime?! You mean—Rosa let you stay up until what time?!" The Professor removed his top hat, placed it on the night stand and rubbed his forehead. "No matter, I'll have a word with Rosa later. And no, no, don't worry, it's not a sickness or anything serious like that. We've just been very tired…"

Safe behind her closed eyelids, Laura pretended to be sleeping while she listened to the one-sided conversation, although she thought she could infer what Luke was saying on the other end. It seemed that Luke and Flora hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary at Petrolite, except that nobody was at the facility for that entire day.

"You stayed that long and no one was around?" she heard Layton ask, almost in disbelief. "It seems odd that no one came by to work, wouldn't you say so?"

"It's true," the boy said with a bored sigh. "Most boring day there yet. I mostly just go to feed the parrots. Poor little guys, no one talks to them except for Flora and I. Well, Flora gets frightened so it's usually just me…"

"I'm glad you're taking good care of Flora, Luke. You're really becoming a true little gentleman."

"Whatever you say, Professor." There was a five second pause. "I got to thinking today, Professor…"

"Hmm?"

"I got to spend a lot of time with the birds today. Carbite was hopping around and having fun so we stuck around a bit longer than usual, and no one was around so I didn't have to watch the monitors. I got to look up each bird species in my Animal Expeditions book. You know, the one that tells about all the different animal species?"

"Ah, yes. And what did you get to thinking about?"

"Well, isn't it weird, Professor?"

"Isn't what weird?"

"Isn't it weird, Professor, about the birds? They were just taken from their homes, all over the world, yet now they're connected? They're all in the same place. They all know each other, when before, none of them knew the others at all! It's just odd how you can know life as one way, then meet somebody else, and your life is forever different." The boy paused his monologue, giggling as a loud gwahck! reverberated through the phone. Layton held the phone away from his ear a moment, squinting as his eardrums recovered from the blast over the receiver.

"Ouch, Carbite…"

Luke laughed. "I wish I could see into their pasts and find out about their histories!" the boy said, almost wistfully. "Wouldn't that be cool, Professor? How it all connects, you know? Oh well, it's beyond that now. I bet they miss their homes. Say, do you miss home, Professor? You've been gone for a while now…"

'I bet they miss their home…'

How it all connects….their pasts…I bet they miss their home…find out about their histories…

Wouldn't that be cool, Professor? Wouldn't that be cool?

HOW IT ALL CONNECTS.

"Are you there Professor…?" Luke squeaked, the third time without a response.

"THAT'S IT!"

Like a firework, Laura shot up from feigned slumber and was now sitting vertically upright, her eyes pinning on the Professor. She glared at his sudden outburst, her freight brewing fury as her heart raced. "What in the world is wrong with you?!"

His laugh was low, but genuine; it would have almost been contagious if it didn't sound crazed. "How could I have been so blind… Isn't it obvious? Oh, good Heavens, isn't it obvious! All this time, right under my nose, in my grasp! The method, yes, the method, right here…Have I really been so foolish, my vision so clouded to not realize the tools at my disposal?!"

A muffled voice struggled out of the receiver. "P-Professor? Are you okay?"

"Oh, so sorry, my dear boy, I really must be going, was there anything—?" He nodded against the phone, held tightly against his ear. "Nothing? Well, I'll call you again tomorrow, please await my call. I should have good news. And of course I miss home. I have no tea pot here, and I miss you and Flora terribly. Keep Flora cheered up, and do your best to help out Rosa. That's my boy. Yes, good bye now."

The phone was sat on the base with a click. Laura's impatience was building, coming to a head as Layton turned and beamed at her. There was no mirror image for him to be met with, as her grimace was one contorted with disbelief and rage. "And?!"

"Yes, I'll have to test it later, I'll definitely have to look into this…I have so many questions that need answers!" Tip toeing from one side to the other, he roved the room without a specific reason, and his smile was almost stupid, Laura thought. Toothy and too happy for her liking, as his hands tossed his clothing haphazardly into his suitcase. She cringed; those clothes should have been folded properly.

"Tell me, have you solved it? Have you solved anything?" came her nervous voice, trying to cover brooked frustration. "What do you know? What did Luke say?"

"I know one thing," he chuckled, smiling still. "One thing. The boy has helped tremendously. I can't believe I was so…misguided, that I couldn't see it!"

Now she was off the bed, starting to walk over to him. "Damn it all, Hershel, what is it?! Spit it out already!"

"Now where did I put it…"

Was he ignoring her? The girl thought so, as something snapped and ricocheted in her brain. She lunged at him, grabbing him by the lapels of his flannel shirt. She had to know. His grin waned slightly as he tried to look down at her. Her face was too close to see clearly.

"Tell me what in blazes you know, you insipid, blithering old man!" she spat, her eyes wild. She was dying for an answer, and his withholding of information was literally making her heart boom in the confines of her chest, the anticipation so strong it was corporeal. "Can you put an end to this? What are you babbling about?!"

The cool, chiding retort, something he was becoming better at: "You're very impatient, Miss Haris."

Her grip on his pajamas loosened and Laura let her arms go slack. It was outrageous! Her eyes screamed disbelief, even if her mouth was as still and silent as stone. Composed and unfazed, Professor Layton tossed his head side to side, stretching his neck.

"That's…not even fair, you can't shout that out, and not tell me what you're thinking! This is my problem, I have a right to know," the words came from her mouth, strangled, almost unsure of themselves. "You're making me worry, and—"

"You're done worrying, my dear. This case is mine, from here on out." His hand found its way to her head, rummaging deft fingers through strands of hair. He got a sort of pleasure from the feeling, silky and—dare he say it—familiar. It was more of a dare to admit that he liked it. She attempted a protest, but he forced her to swallow her words. "You've been a lovely assistant. You've done more than enough, and now you're job is done."

Thoroughly disgusted, Laura's face challenged the most sweltering summer to curdle milk faster than her. "Your…your what?!" she hacked. "Lovely assistant?!"

"Surprise!"

Out emerged two tickets, from where, Laura didn't see. Could have been his pocket, could have been his ears for all she knew; she was too confused, too thrown, her brain devoured by the wolves. First an epiphany, then the Professor's strange celebratory behavior, and then the coup de grace: l.o.v.e.l.y. a.s.s.i.s.t.a.n.t.

"Don't look so confused; it doesn't fit your personality," he said smugly. "Thought you'd appreciate a little side holiday to the bitter north. How does New Years in Chicago sound? What, it's not the first time I offered you a ticket. I thought you'd have known how this works…"

"This isn't some fun trip, we discussed this!" Laura cried, almost in tears. The change in topics was making her blood boil, and her brain couldn't keep up. She wasn't good at deviating from tasks, jumping from topic to topic like hopping rocks across a creek. Heaven knew she'd rather sit on the biggest boulder in the middle of the stream, tackling the rest of the way contemplatively. Or, in this case, just drown and to hell with it.

'You know my brain doesn't work this way…I need the answers and I need them placed in front of me! Black and white!'

"Hershel, we don't have the luxury of travel right now." Her emphasis was dire, but her partner's face in hysterics. Out of character, but mildly mad all the same.

"My dear Laurie, you really must learn to have some fun once in a while. Even someone as 'blithering' and 'insipid' as myself knows this." Pretending to have not seen her sheepish grin (it was subtle, but he caught it), he grabbed his bag, motioning for her to do the same to her own luggage. "Holidays should be celebrated, even if the fate of the world is bleak."

"No, no, no, no! You've gone mad! Completely and utterly mad! Stop hiding things and just tell me—"

"Now, we'll be off to the 'Windy City' as they call it, and back before you know it. And I don't want to hear another word about it."

That was the end of it. Like a child, some obnoxious brat, she'd been essentially parented. It was all she could do to slump against her bed, face in her hands. " Let me guess, you had already—"

"—planned this? Yes. I'm a smart boy. Merry Christmas."

Thinking it over (which amounted to giving in at this point), Laura accepted defeat and shook her head, deciding to do as was told. In minutes, her things were collected, but she couldn't hold in a protest. Giving in was one thing; doing it quietly was quite another. "I'm not a child like Luke and Flora! Don't tell me what to do so confidently! I don't appreciate being a ragdoll for you to just toss around and do with as you please! You realize what we're here for, and yet…"

Nodding and yes, of course-ing her multiple times, Professor Layton grabbed his travel bag, pulled on his coat, and couldn't care less about the fact he and she were still in pajamas. He wouldn't have cared even if he was only in underwear. He had answers, and those he didn't have, he could find them, at some point…

'Yes, finally I can find them…answers…'

And it didn't hurt that Laura was radiant when riled.

---

END.

Derp. Review, and go cry because it was awful.