Chapter 41: Curious Gazes
The noon air felt unusually heavy as Asher stepped out of the church, Kaspar trudging silently beside him.
Whispers rippled through the clusters of late shoppers lingering nearby, their voices low but urgent.
Asher caught fragments—mentions of Otto, the church, and the lopsided sign still hanging on the front door. It wasn't the first time curious looks had been cast toward the church, but this felt different.
Asher shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to shake off the tension pressing down on him. Instead of turning left toward the bustling market, his feet carried him to the right, a direction he rarely took unless visiting Kaspar's scrap-dealing friend or the Manchester Farms Cart—a rickety wagon known for selling highly sought-after produce.
"This way?" he muttered, glancing at Kaspar.
"Yeperoo," Kaspar replied absently, his gaze fixed tiredly on the ground.
The route wasn't unfamiliar, but taking it now gave the world a strange, almost disconnected feeling. The cobbled streets grew quieter as they left the heart of the market behind.
In the distance, Asher could still hear the faint clamor of carts being packed up and shopkeepers closing their shutters for the day. He frowned slightly, glancing over his shoulder toward the direction they'd chosen to avoid.
The farmers' market had its own rhythm—a microcosm of trade and chaos. Viktor and his daughter rarely set up there, though.
They didn't need to.
Their produce was in such high demand that customers willingly sought them out, traveling directly to their farm or off path to their cart. No one wanted to risk arriving late and finding their goods sold out.
It made sense.
Viktor didn't need to vie for space among the other vendors when his customers came to him.
Things had gotten to the point where Cynthia often set up late, taking the opportunity to sleep in, yet people still lined up for hours just to see them.
Kaspar trudged onward, his mechanical hand creaking faintly with every small movement. The weight of whatever was happening with Otto hung between them, unspoken but palpable.
Asher exhaled sharply, quickening his pace—until his eyes caught a familiar face in the crowd.
The man's appearance was as polished as ever. His neatly groomed hair and immaculate attire stood out sharply against the rough, practical clothing of the townsfolk. He carried himself with an aura of unshakable confidence, a stark contrast to Asher's current unease.
Without fully thinking, Asher found his feet carrying him forward.
"Excuse me," he started, his voice faltering slightly as the man's gaze turned on him—a glare so sharp it felt like it could cut stone.
Asher froze, momentarily cowed under the weight of the man's scrutiny. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, and forced himself to push through the intimidation.
Focus, damn it, just speak.
"I, uh..." He stammered, then cleared his throat. "If you're heading to see Samantha, could you let her know Otto's out for a couple days? Also, we will likely be at Manchester's for a bit in the meanwhile."
The man's expression shifted in an instant, so quickly that Asher couldn't fully process the change. The glaring daggers melted away, replaced by a broad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Of course," the man said warmly, clapping Asher on the shoulder with a gesture that felt overly familiar. "I'll be sure to let her know."
Asher blinked, feeling the weight of the man's touch linger longer than it should have. What was that about? His smile felt off, almost too practiced.
There was something about his eyes—cold, calculating, a flicker of something darker beneath that smile.
The man's tone, so light, almost too cheerful, had sent a faint shiver down his back. Asher fought the urge to step back, unease creeping up his spine.
Before Asher could react, the man turned on his heel and strode off, humming to himself as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving an air of unsettling finality in his wake.
I thought I was going to become a statistic for a moment.
Why did he seem so… forced?
Asher blinked, rooted in place for a moment, before shaking his head and muttering, "That was… odd."
Kaspar, still trudging along nearby, gave a faint grunt of agreement without looking up.
(Three Asterisks)
Asher and Kaspar made their way through the quieter part of town, leaving the bustle of the main market behind. Up ahead, the Manchester Farms Cart stood out—less of a wagon and more like a small carriage with a weathered, rustic charm.
Its sides were painted with elegant but faded scrollwork, and a hand-painted sign read Manchester Farms in bold, curving letters.
The cart looked quite aged, a Victorian-era version of a food truck, with wooden crates stacked neatly in front, showcasing a modest but vibrant selection of early spring produce.
Asher spotted fresh asparagus, bunches of yupnik, bright orange carrots, and a handful of spring radishes. There were also baskets of strawberries, their sweet aroma wafting through the air, along with an empty basket where eggs were typically stored.
Kaspar trailed behind, fidgeting with his messy hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix it, though it remained as unruly as before. The soot from his mechanical hand only added to the mess, and he seemed oblivious to the dirt smudging his fingers.
Asher couldn't help but smirk. "You sure you're fixing it?"
Kaspar grunted, tugging at his hair again with more force than necessary. It only made things worse.
"Doin' great," Asher said dryly.
The exchange went unnoticed by Viktor, who greeted them with a nod as he arranged some crates. "Didn't expect you today."
"I'm full of surprises," Asher replied, eyeing the fresh produce.
Viktor was a burly man with a thick, graying beard and a broad build that made him hard to miss. His eyes, though friendly, held a subtle sharpness, as if constantly calculating.
A small, dark crimson stain marred the edge of his worn shirt, an odd accompaniment to his otherwise casual demeanor.
Kaspar lingered near the cart, his usual confidence replaced by a subtle hesitance. His gaze wandered absently over the crates, hands fiddling now and then with the edge of his shirt.
He glanced toward Viktor, but his eyes quickly flitted away, avoiding the older man's steady gaze—as if he weren't quite ready to face something… or someone.
"Where... uh... where's Cynthia?" Kaspar asked, his voice cracking slightly, though he quickly tried to smooth it over with a casual tone. It wasn't quite a question, more of an offhand remark, but it still sounded a little uneven.
Viktor looked up with a soft smile, brushing his hands on his apron. "Ah, she's sleeping in today. You know how it is—she often catches up on rest when things slow down, though it's more than usual today." His tone was casual, unbothered, as though it were nothing out of the ordinary.
Kaspar nodded quickly, his gaze flickering back to the crates, a little too eager to focus on them. He didn't seem particularly tense, just a little distracted, as though his mind was somewhere else, trying to anchor itself.
Viktor noticed the shift in Kaspar's demeanor, a quiet observation more than a judgment.
He raised an eyebrow, glancing between Kaspar and Asher. "You've been quiet for a while now, Kaspar. You sure you're alright?"
Kaspar's lips parted, but no words came at first. He hesitated, looking like he was trying to pull something together but couldn't quite get it right.
"Not sure... just tired, I guess."
His voice softened, almost absentminded, and he quickly looked down as though searching for something on the ground to occupy his focus.
Viktor, sensing the subtle shift, stepped in with a light-hearted chuckle, trying to ease the mood.
"Well, everyone needs rest now and then. You're probably burning the candle at both ends."
Kaspar offered a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach his bloodshot eyes. He nodded absently, his gaze drifting again, though he didn't seem overly preoccupied—more like someone mulling over a thought they couldn't quite grasp.
At the very least say something dude… this is freaking awkward!
"We've been uh… hearin' rumors," Asher butted in, his tone careful, as though testing the waters. "About you, about Cynthia... Folks talkin' 'bout things that really shouldn't. Thought maybe we could—" He glanced at Viktor for confirmation, unsure whether he was crossing a line. "—check it out together. Viktor, you mind if we come by your place? See if everything's... normal?"
Viktor paused, his expression unreadable, briefly glancing at Kaspar before giving a small nod.
"Sure, I don't mind. I'll be packing up soon, so just hop on board. But I'll warn you—there's no such thing as a free lunch. If you're staying, I'll be expecting some help around the farm."
"Fair deal," Asher responded with a polite smile.
Kaspar shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands brushing nervously against his sides. His gaze darted to Viktor and then back to the cart, his mouth opening as if to protest.
"Uh, I… not sure if—"
Before Kaspar could finish, Viktor clapped his hands on his shoulder with a reassuring grin.
"Ah, nervous about the ride? Don't worry—it's just a short trip. Besides, this is the perfect chance for you to learn how it all works."
Kaspar blinked, caught off guard. "What? No, I—"
"Exactly!" Viktor interrupted, nodding firmly as though Kaspar had agreed.
"I'll show you how to get the horses moving and everything. It's easier than it looks, trust me. Asher, you stay inside. We don't need too many cooks spoiling the stew."
Asher raised an eyebrow but shrugged, climbing into the cart.
"Sure thing."
Viktor motioned for Kaspar to follow, and despite his hesitation, Kaspar trudged along.
Once on the front bench, Viktor began explaining the basics of harnessing the horses. His tone was light, almost cheerful, as he guided Kaspar through the steps.
"You see, the trick is in the reins. Keep them steady but not too tight, or you'll spook them," Viktor said, gesturing toward the horses.
Kaspar nodded absently, his focus elsewhere. He glanced over his shoulder toward the cart, where Asher waited inside, his foot tapping idly against the wooden floorboards.
Viktor's voice shifted, softer now. "Cynthia used to help with this all the time when she was younger. She's got a real knack for handling animals, just like her mother did. Always said it was about patience." He hesitated, his hands pausing mid-gesture. "She'd always laugh when—"
He stopped abruptly, his expression tightening for a brief moment before he forced a smile and waved it off. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, the reins. They're your lifeline, see?"
Viktor's sudden change of tone hung in the air, the lightheartedness feeling slightly forced now.
Asher sat in the cart, casually snatching an onion from the loose crates.
Peeling it with one hand and leaned toward the window, munching on it as Viktor's voice carried over the sounds of packing.