Chapter Sixteen: It Must Be an Illusion

Du Bui was a proper drunkard of an alchemist. Throughout the exchange of pleasantries, his gaze seemed to linger almost constantly on the crate filled with bottles of malt beer. Only when Carlos instructed one of the night patrolmen to set the beer down, then personally lifted it and respectfully placed it into Du Bui’s hands, did the old man’s burning, greedy eyes gradually calm.

“Ahem— Everyone else may leave now. You, little one, follow me inside.”

Du Bui cast a sidelong glance at Carlos, who was grinning with honest simplicity, his face filled with satisfaction.

Carlos watched as Uncle Grant and the others departed, then, clutching his belongings, hurried after Du Bui into the alchemist’s cottage.

It was only upon entering that Carlos realized his earlier concern about the place being messy and unclean was unfounded. On the contrary, the inside was remarkably tidy.

The wooden house was a standard two-story structure, with a staircase at the front leading straight up. To either side were small rooms; the one on the right was locked, while the left was an open reception room furnished with several sofas.

Carlos walked in, placing his things on one of the sofas. The room had a lived-in feel, with no sign of alchemical work—utterly different from what he had imagined.

He could hardly be blamed for his assumptions. Even today, knowing he was expecting a guest, Du Bui wore only a loose nightgown, his demeanor so casual it was hard to believe this unkempt old man could keep his house so clean.

Carlos plopped down on the sofa and noticed even the slipcovers were freshly laundered, releasing a faint scent of soap. After a glance around the reception room, he turned and saw Du Bui leaning against a dining table in the corner, already clutching a bottle of malt beer freshly plucked from the crate.

He thought to himself, What an unreliable teacher I’ve got.

Left with no other choice, Carlos forced himself to ask, “Grandpa Du Bui—no, Teacher, which room will I be staying in?”

Without turning around, Du Bui quickly popped the cork off the bottle, took a long swig, and mumbled, “Bedrooms are upstairs. There should be a spare. Just pick an unlocked one.”

Carlos stared, almost thinking he had misheard. It took him a while to realize the old man was serious.

After this fresh assault on his understanding of Du Bui’s eccentricities, Carlos did his best to maintain his noble composure and, gritting his teeth, asked, “Teacher, shall I head up then?”

Du Bui grunted twice and waved him on, indicating he’d heard.

Carlos looked disdainfully at his drunken teacher, then, with a resigned sigh, hefted his pile of clothes—bigger than he was—and slung a satchel of odds and ends over one arm, trudging toward the narrow wooden stairs.

The staircase rose like a little pathway, tilting upward. At its end was the upstairs corridor, lined on both sides with a row of closed doors.

Carlos set his things at the top of the stairs and noticed that each door bore a small, crookedly inscribed plaque.

Witch’s Room.

What on earth? Carlos peered at the first door, flipped over the dangling sign, and nearly jumped. Was Du Bui some sort of overgrown child, giving bedrooms such strange names for his own amusement?

“Must be the quirks of living alone too long,” Carlos muttered, giving the door a gentle push. It was locked—perhaps this was Du Bui’s own room. Witch’s Room, really. The thought made his skin crawl.

He turned to examine the next door—its plaque read Beast Room.

Carlos clicked his tongue. “With names like these, who’d dare stay here?” He tried the door, but it was locked as well.

What’s going on? Are these for alchemical materials? Why are they all locked?

Carlos ventured further down the corridor, finding four more doors. The plaques read, in order, Elf Room, Orc Room, Dwarf Room, and Storage.

A moment later, Carlos stood before the storage room, his face dark. The door here stood open, revealing two rows of cabinets crammed with a miscellany of objects, and at the far end, a low, empty wire bed. The only saving grace was the large floor-to-ceiling window by the bed, which at least flooded the room with daylight.

“Teacher, why are all the doors upstairs locked?” Carlos stormed back downstairs, barely restraining his frustration as he stared at Du Bui slumped over the table, hugging his bottle.

Du Bui, face buried in his arms, replied, “Shouldn’t be. There ought to be at least one open, shouldn’t there?”

“But that’s the storage room.”

“Is it? That’s a fine room. It used to be a bedroom—has a door, a window, even a wire bed. Most importantly, it has its own bathroom. Nice place,” Du Bui slurred, grinning.

“Teacher, why don’t you give me the keys so I can pick another room?” Carlos was at his wits’ end.

With slow, clumsy motions, Du Bui fished a ring of keys from his waist, jingled them, then slapped them onto the table before him. “You can switch if you like. I only don’t have the key to the first room. Take any of the others.”

Carlos brightened, paying little mind to why Du Bui, as the owner, lacked the key to the first room.

He stepped forward to take the keys. If only you’d said so before! Any other room would be better than the storage room.

Back upstairs, Carlos picked out the key and went straight to the Beast Room—opposite the Witch’s Room, which was the first door by the stairs. Du Bui said he didn’t have a key for that one—probably lost it. Carlos didn’t dwell on it.

He tried the keys in the lock, and on the second attempt found the one that fit. Smiling, he turned the key and slowly opened the door.

Inside, all was pitch black—either there were no windows, or the windows were heavily curtained, for not a glimmer of light seeped through.

Carlos poked his head into the Beast Room, but could see nothing. He ventured a few steps inside, and gradually it seemed as if the ceiling was being slowly peeled away, letting in a shaft of natural light.

Carlos was startled. Was this some alchemist’s ingenious contraption?

Before he could think further, he saw the most terrifying thing he’d encountered since arriving in this world.

The first thing to catch his eye was a pair of enormous, blinking eyes—he had no idea when they’d crept so close. Each one was as large as a washbasin.

Those great, moist eyes were now staring intently at the intruder.

In an instant, cold sweat broke out all over Carlos. His legs trembled uncontrollably; he wanted to back out of the room, but his feet wouldn’t move.

What in the world is this thing?

Forcing down his terror, Carlos squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever it was, he’d better run.

He spun on his heel and bolted.

Bang!

It was only a couple of steps to the door. Carlos shot out and slammed the door shut, collapsing against the Witch’s Room door, gasping for breath.

“What did I just see? Was it a hallucination?” he muttered, shaken.

It had to be an illusion. The door was less than a meter wide, and those eyes must have been nearly a meter across. If that was only part of the creature, how huge must it be? No way such a beast could fit in there.

He tried to reassure himself, though his mind was reeling from the shock.

Perhaps his brain was still muddled, for just then he heard footsteps behind the Witch’s Room door, growing closer, and then someone turned the doorknob.

Carlos hadn’t even figured out what was happening before the Witch’s Room door swung open from inside. Caught off guard, he tumbled headlong into the room.