Toad Town. One of many inhabited places in the vast plains of the Mushroom Kingdom, located away from the busy routes and of small, inconspicuous stature. Overshadowed by metropolises like Diamond City not only in size but equally in entertainment, architecture and economic power, the little town shrank to a speck on the jacket by national standards. Neither did it possess a dedicated district for recreation, nor a capable industrial park to elevate the location to a trading post - in fact, the potential was so low, even Wario had not found it necessary to expand his empire into this corner of the realm through a branch. It was no place for the pursuit of a successful career, the search for fun, both of which could be found in abundance in the big cities. Those who stayed usually appreciated the peace, clean air and proximity to nature, or simply could not afford the surrounding rents.

And despite all that, the spot in question was by no means the most insignificant settlement.

On the contrary: there may be richer, even more beautiful communities. But none of them formed the political centre from which the destiny of the nation was directed. Together with the bonus of attracting tourists from all over the world who wanted to see either the castle or the princess. And were happy to loosen their purses to do so.

All this, however, could not prevent the darkness from doing its work undisturbed every day, after sunset, sucking the life out of the otherwise sleepy little town, turning it into a dead shell. Most of the windows and streetlights were blacked out and covered with shutters, as if the inhabitants were trying to keep a hostile force out. Only the rare bar offered party animals a refuge with its colourful lighting - if anyone at all was still on the move during that hour, whether on foot or at the wheel of a vehicle, to a destination known only to the traveller or travellers.

Mario and Jeremiah were among those travellers that night, with a clear destination in mind.

A little slower than the speed limit, the red sports car drove through the streets, bringing with it echoing engine noise. In commuter traffic, it would have been smothered by all other sources of noise. Alone, however, it roared unhindered from the walls, and Mario sometimes feared that it would disturb the sleep of one or two residents. He was sure if any of them heard the slightest commotion, they wouldn't hesitate to call the police. But his mission was too important to care about some grouchy grandpa whose only joy in life was staring out the window and snapping at every passer-by for the seemingly smallest offence. Of course, he could not, must not, expect the same care from bystanders, so he hoped to reach the harbour as quickly as possible to reduce the nuisance.

At the same time, however, he reduced his speed every time a person came into view: his ghostly co-driver had made it his business to keep an eye out for passers-by and cars and to assist the hero with identification. Often, a fleeting stare in their direction was enough. Other times, however, it took a little longer, especially when slender and boxy silhouettes played tricks on the senses. Who knew if Luigi was shuffling disoriented through the streets, let alone still wearing the same clothes? Maybe they would get lucky and he would come towards them in his battleship of a rusty brown station wagon. But it was nothing more than a hope born of worry. The older brother didn't even dare to think about what would happen afterwards if they didn't find who they were looking for at the harbour. A failure was an offence he couldn't possibly forgive himself for.

His last visit to the harbour was a while ago. Long enough that he would have had to make up the route from scraps of memory if they had set off without navigation software. What had he been there for again? For business reasons, as a saviour, so to speak? Or entirely private? But no matter how much he rummaged through his memory, he just couldn't figure it out. Mario's numerous adventures in the world and beyond were far more remarkable than any conventional trip to the ice-cream parlour, so he could remember the routes from locations alone; he was angry at himself for not knowing Toad Town better, despite being a long time resident, and had become dependent on technology. The lack of signage did the rest.

"In 50 metres, turn left," spoke their female electronic companion. The moustachioed driver followed the instruction unquestioningly, carefully braking the car to a halt at the four-way intersection and securing himself on all sides. He could have sworn he had seen this clothes shop and two-storey apartment building on another corner earlier, but perhaps his brain was just creating memories where there weren't any. More reason then to trust the gentle voice. Unless it guided him into the middle of a body of water, but he felt confident that he would not fall for such an oversight. What he was particularly counting on at the moment, however, was that Jeremiah would pick up Luigi's scent at the destination.

Having become convinced that he would find neither another vehicle nor Luigi on a collision course, Mario steered his vehicle through the intersection according to the suggested route.

"Destination on the right." Already there? Positively surprised, Mario's gaze grazed the row of residential buildings with mushroom roofs, punctuated by a small bakery, squeezed in between as if the gap had to be filled at any cost. There, hidden in the shadows, impossible to spot for strangers without headlights: a narrow alley, the endpoint of the set route. Then he looked at the analogue clock on the dashboard: the hand had not advanced far, about ten minutes since crossing the city limits. The forest and the country road had taken more time altogether.

However, every single one of the 1,800 seconds was already too much, and when he saw that stupid red round sign along with the white bar inside it, it became conveniently invisible to the naked eye. Except for the "DELIVERY VEHICLES ONLY" directly below it, of course. Because rescue could be delivered just as well.

"Just through this alley, little man," Mario spoke encouragingly to the dog, while the former manoeuvred the car through the narrow opening at walking pace. But from the passenger side came only silence. Unusually, he knew Jeremiah as a bundle of energy with sometimes questionable manners, which Luigi hoped to drive out over the course of the coming weeks and months. He would have liked to know what was going on in the ghost. Though the hero firmly believed he had his full support. At least his brother had spoken highly of Jeremiah, highlighting how without him, they would never have survived the hotel.

The alley, meanwhile, was so tight, Mario could not afford even the tiniest distraction if he wanted to keep his side mirrors. Scratches, colourful streaks, and worn plaster on the walls at different heights made it clear to him in a most unpleasant way that he was far from being the first driver - which he didn't care about. Even when an abrupt jolt went through the bodywork and Jeremiah yelled out briefly, Mario did not consider the sudden absence of his side mirror with a blink. More important was spotting the huge paddlewheel of a steamer in the beam of the lamps: they had finally arrived.

As it manoeuvred, the car illuminated a row of ships and boats, each one moored double, triple, even quadruple next to wooden jetties, so that they would not break loose during a storm and either drift out to sea or explore the wonders of underwater life. At first glance, the place, lit by a few street lamps, seemed deserted, like the rest of the city. Apart from a strolling seagull that flew away screeching into the night sky as the machine approached, there was no one outside. Confronted by the emptiness, Mario fancied his chances of meeting witnesses who had firstly seen Luigi and secondly had not yet erased him from their memory, especially at this late hour. Because of the approaching storm, even the most hardened night owls were sure to stay off the streets. He was therefore less willing to bet on them. And he certainly didn't want to wake up the inhabitants.

Was his brother possibly still in town somewhere? Or had he unintentionally sneaked past them, opened the front door and wondered why no one was around and the TV was on? A few calls to Luigi's number certainly couldn't hurt.

He wasn't picky about where to park and stopped the car next to the roll-up door of a crumbling warehouse. But just as the ignition key was turned, Jeremiah jumped through the passenger door, leaving the driver stiff with shock. "Hey hey hey, wait!" shouted Mario after him: if the dog combed the harbour on his own, he would lose him too! Possibly to the same people who had Luigi in their grasp and weren't intimidated by the Mario Bros' moustaches!

Immediately, he ripped his phone out of its anchorage on the windscreen, pushed the door against the wall and hurried out of the car, locking it with the radio key.

He came to an abrupt halt when he saw Jeremiah busily sniffing the floor by the door. Although he leaned against the bonnet, pleased not to have to catch the boy, he still did not allow himself some relaxation. At any moment, Jeremiah could shoot off in any direction and he had to be able to follow.

"Yes, good boy, look for daddy!" he cheered him on with a smile and sure enough, Jeremiah moved slowly towards the quay after that, his nose perpetually down. A hot trail! He stopped here and there and reoriented himself, but in the end, he was on course for the ships. A dog's nose could not be wrong! That's what Mario's little retained knowledge from biology class told him.

The hero wanted to use this leisurely pace to make a phone call. However, as soon as he took the phone in his hands and aimed at the buttons, both a muffled rumbling and whining entered his ears directly in front of him. Even as he looked up in wonder, a luminous transparent figure slipped past him and pressed against his back. But what his eyes definitely took in during this little confusion was a brightly shining cloud cover in the distance, over the ocean. That was just what Mario needed!

He immediately warded off the fears by turning to the trembling picture of misery, looking into its frightened face and sternly urging it to move on. "Come on, keep going! You're not going to let those noises drive you up the wall!" For additional strength, he even placed himself behind him and pushed him gently, but Jeremiah only yelped and leant into him. Of all things, he had to be afraid of a thunderstorm? But Mario couldn't force him. Should his companion develop downright panic attacks under his supervision, Luigi would tear his head off. "This is really the worst time to give-"

Once again, the thunderstorm audibly announced its arrival.

A strident bark, a frustrated plumber, and the dog had disappeared into the ground.

At first, pragmatically, he thought Jeremiah would follow him underground; a quick glance over his shoulder, on the other hand, only served to refuel his anger, as he found the silvery glow in the car. He had absolutely no nerves left for such nonsense now. He would just have to carry out the rescue operation on his own. Business as usual. "A great dog you've got there," Mario grumbled, shook his head with a sigh and marched to the piers.

There he stood, staring at the nondescript stern of a rusty trawler, as if waiting for some answer from the boat. It surely had plenty of adventures in its career and could rattle off lists of visitors and ships if only it had a mouth. But if the metallic groan was an attempt at communication, Mario surrendered now rather than later and went over to the next landing.

He was all too painfully aware that he was clutching at straws by now. What he would give for just one sign, even a small one, of whether Luigi was at sea or on land. A scrap of clothing, black facial hair, shards of glass, something! Driven solely by the stubborn refusal to simply sit down and wait for a miracle, he was unwilling to accept that there was nothing more he could do. If he had to turn over every stone, it would happen! But before that, he wanted to exhaust all other possibilities.

Then he found it. Between the fishing boat and the tugboat. What should not be, and yet existed before his eyes. An anomaly. Which, after long, agonising hours, gave back some of his carefree personality and culminated in a leap in the air, complete with upraised fist.

An occupied mooring. Nothing new so far. What didn't fit with the rest, however, was the vehicle. For what was tied there on a thin rope, tossed around by the waves like a rubber duck in a bathtub and regularly hurled against the pier, was nothing other than a jet ski.

This vehicle was not supposed to be here. Mario was 99.9 percent sure that it was illegally occupying the commercial space and belonged to the marina next-door, preferably on a trailer. There was no way it would survive the night like that. Had it possibly been temporarily parked? Was it waiting to be picked up? Or had it simply been forgotten? Commercial use was undoubtedly conceivable, thus everything could have been correct. Only his brain did not allow for the latter explanation. There had to be a connection to Luigi! With this wetbike, the scoundrel had abandoned ship and crew! Anything else would have thrown Mario back into the darkness. This ray of hope had to be preserved.

Spontaneously, the idea came to him to hop on and search the baggage compartment, if any, for evidence. A few laws did not prevent him from doing the right thing. The unpredictably wild movements, however, which did credit to a random number generator, made this an increasingly dangerous undertaking with every passing second. No matter how many burdens Mario was prepared to take on for his brother's sake, cold shock was not on the list. How would it fare for Jeremiah to mourn two losses in one day?

In retrospect, it felt easier to manoeuvre a giant ball through an obstacle course. Or collecting purple coins across dissolving platforms. These images made his bile rise: never again.

Apparently just to smear it in his face, an unexpectedly powerful gust of wind lifted his cap from his forehead. Fortunately, the brothers shared the same reflexes and he managed to avoid the early separation. A small shower from high splashing water, on the other hand, didn't.

Silently boiling, he paused, waiting until most of it had dripped from his face. Then he stepped back, quietly cursing, rubbing his eyes dry and shaking his limbs, partly automatically. "Mama mia, a warm place would be nice now ..."

Still, for the sake of the jet ski, he risked an approach. In the veil of darkness, the waves were barely visible and as soon as one noticed them, it was usually too late for dry socks. Whereas before they contributed to a calming ambience, now they broke violently against the quays thanks to the tailwind. Mario's distinctive cap, in particular, had little to laugh about because of the latter, but at least the soaked fabric made it heavier now.

What he found down there drew a spiteful grin on the corners of his mouth. Helpless as a beetle, the machine presented its belly, including the propeller, and no matter how many more waves washed over it, it could no longer free itself from its predicament. The larger neighbours, on the other hand, were quite calm - a little wobbly, but the hawsers kept them safely in place. Nature would have needed guns of tsunami calibre!

Then, however, the royal bodyguard looked at another discharge. And with the thunder, a realisation reached him that liquefied the foundation of his painstakingly built courage, raised hurdles and shrank his previous successes to nothingness.

Two final calls.

It beeped.

"Hello! This is Luigi Mario's mailbox! Unfortunately -"

Remained the house line.

Beeping.

"Dear GarliCom customer: the number you have dialled is currently unavailable. Please -"

Without a sound, the device slid back into the pocket.

His features relaxed. A second, particularly powerful wave caught him, but he didn't even flinch. Only a familiar tap mixed with a jangle could get him to react, and even then he merely looked to the side. Soon, a translucent nose nudged his skin and a pair of empty, glowing eyes sought contact with his own. Again there was a rumble of thunder, and though his partner started whimpering, he did not run away.

It was done unconsciously, but the very presence of the Polterpup made Mario smile and he patted him on the cheek. Jeremiah may have contributed little so far; but heroism was not acquired exclusively through great successes, such as freeing princesses. Sometimes it was enough to offer oneself as emotional support, yes, to convey the feeling of not being alone with one's hardships. Without him, would the plumber have simply remained sitting in the house, snivelling?

After a moment's thought, he finally said, "Thank you, young man, for venturing out into the storm for me." Jeremiah's mood changed rapidly. His mouth stretched wide, upwards to his eyes and he bowed his head. A hand on his forehead, however, startled him, Mario having recognised the tip of his tongue in time. "But don't lick, okay?" he admonished, and although Jeremiah's euphoria was curbed, it was rekindled by Mario's grin. And the hero wondered: why couldn't he himself be so easily excited? Feel joy at the smallest attention? And above all, how could Jeremiah make the world a better place through a single gifted smile, while Mario had to solve other people's problems first to do so?

That, on the other hand, was a topic for the coffee morning next weekend.

Now that both were united at the pier, it was time for that question. One that would set the tone for the night. Whether they would go home empty-handed or search the town. Mario feared it, looked around again, and bet on his luck. But no Luigi around the corner.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah followed his gaze and when he discovered nothing of interest, he tilted his head and stared curiously at his foster uncle. Could dogs cry? Earlier, he had not been satisfied with Mario's distress after the emergency call and had practically encouraged him to search. If, however, he was about to find out in black and white that his master was out of reach, then what?

The very possible and ugly truth squeezed the plumber from everywhere, as if he were trapped in a press, until it hurt, and keeping up the smile only made it hurt more. He was shaking and didn't want to, and as if in self-protection, a lump formed in his throat. A nightmare, that was it! Hold on a bit, then he would wake up in a cold sweat, phone to his little brother and everything would be back to normal.

Still, why did the pain feel so real and not release him from the illusion? Did it even command him to speak the question, or did the burden threaten to crush him?

It forced him to look at Jeremiah, but graciously allowed him to keep a friendly expression. No, Mario could not delay it any longer. Better to end with a short, sharp shock than to prolong the agony.

"What about daddy's trail, did you find anything new?"

It was a complete mystery to him how Jeremiah managed to somehow make his empty eyes seem emptier. At the same time, they instilled in him a desire, intensified by the pain, to smack the ghost dog. But there was one thing a slipping hand could prevent: wasn't Jeremiah very much like his owner? Sometimes slow-witted and easily distracted ... airheads simply, who justified the existence of the proverb "Birds of a feather flock together". It would have been nice to save this for peaceful times, but it didn't happen in bad faith anyway.

After that, at least, the penny dropped for Jeremiah. After a whimper, his nose picked up the scent for the second time and Mario watched as the Polterpup slowly made its way to the car. The rescuer would have liked to hope for relief. However, by now, his thoughts had become so infested with doubt, that his wishful thinking had taken on the realism of a utopia. An event so nice, so unattainable, except for the naïf who had not been brought to his knees by the rules of society. Yet.

Halfway there, Jeremiah turned back. A turn accepted by Mario without emotion. Almost like - expected. Expected that Luigi was neither at the port, nor in town. Expected that their search would lead to no success. Expected that they would get in the car and drive back. Had they reached a dead end?

Unperturbed, the dog sniffed its way past him to a point on the jetty, right on the edge. All at once, the next wave broke against the facilities; too weak to hit Mario, though this was not true of Jeremiah. It threw its gush of saltwater so sneakily ashore and against him, he yelped only when he was lying on his side and the hero hurriedly knelt down to him. "Oh dear, are you all right?" But Jeremiah merely rose - Mario wisely held his hands in front of his face - shook off the wetness and continued working conscientiously.

The man in red followed this behaviour with interest: the Polterpup did not whine, as Mario's friends, including himself, liked to do at the slightest setback, but instead embodied calmness personified. Wasn't that another trait the moustachioed plumber could adopt through inspiration? From none other than Luigi's pet?

Mario turned his attention to the car again. Comfortable seats with heating were an invitation to retreat, to stay sheltered from the wind and cold, to sit back and let things take their course. Giving up felt extremely tempting, almost reasonable, given the lack of options. Not knowing when to call it quits could get someone into more trouble than the effort was worth.

The more he thought about it, the weaker the pain became, and with it the incentive more irresistible. Stepping in now would have made him understand that he had done everything in his power. Was that so reprehensible? After all, even he, the Super Mario, could not save everyone. Perhaps a house was currently burning somewhere in Diamond City and he was not present. He would certainly have perished in the action anyway. Professionals were usually equipped and trained for the job at hand, and sea rescues were likely to be no different. Following on from this, he sought confirmation for his thoughts on the wetbike - capsized and a plaything of the sea, the rope damaged by the strain. Of course, he could "borrow" a boat; his stamina, however, was in the stars, and as far as that was concerned, he literally saw black.

A yowling steadily increasing in pitch next to Mario drew his concentration from the water scooter to Jeremiah, who turned around several times on the spot until he stopped and looked at him pleadingly. He wanted an answer. One that promised him confidence. One that could bring his master back. The main thing was that their search did not end here, one step from the abyss.

But Mario didn't smile. Worse, he slowly turned his head from right to left and left to right, over and over again. Jeremiah didn't seem to take any notice of it, but Mario understood that he had to process the revelation first. He didn't push him, as it had taken him a while to gain acceptance. What he still needed to work on, however, was a plan B. Going out on his own clearly occupied the letter Z.

After seconds of unbroken eye contact, finally, for what felt like minutes, Jeremiah turned away from him and sat down at the end of the pier. At this, the hero thought he missed one thing: the beating of his conscience, as punishment for his way of telling him instead of giving him hope. Earlier in the house, well, he might have been a little kinder. But now everything came to light, the train for lies had long since left the station. In the end, this valley spared no one.

At first, Jeremiah remained rigid as a figurehead, not losing his composure even from the spray of another wave, and Mario brooded over whether he should sit with him. Did the Polterpup need some time to himself? Did he consider Mario's refusal a betrayal? Of him? Of Luigi? Was this nonetheless the moment for the hero to offer comfort? To him, it looked more like one of those situations where every decision was the wrong one. That's why he chose something completely different: Plan B. And smiled confidently.

Then Jeremiah put his head back, stretched his mouth into the air - and the surroundings were filled with a deep howl, the voice carried by a melancholy that made Mario sniffle and although the latter was standing behind him, he had to cover his eardrums. Was this Jeremiah's way of crying? Or a pitiful plea to the sea and sky?

So it was official.

Luigi was out there.

He did not intervene, however. Denying someone their own grief because it "just wasn't seemly" was one of the most controversial norms in the world today, dictating positivity alone without providing outlets for the negative emotions, such as anger, fear, and sadness. No wonder the barrel overflowed for one or the other at the most inopportune moments, with sometimes unfortunate consequences. Mario didn't want to take that away from him and therefore only listened, which did not mean that he remained idle.

Their trail stopped at the jetty. That was a fact. Thus, was that the end of the line?

Not by a long shot!

Because finding out Luigi's whereabouts was the easy part. The real work was just beginning.

So, where was the harbour master's office?