Gimme love, gimme Wi-Fi

Business was slow in the winter, the bustle of everyday life in Pelican Town seeming to quiet to a muffled hum as the valley found itself put to bed under a thick blanket of snow. Now that the harvest season was over, Martin had very little to do on the farm other than maintenance, caring for the chickens, and preparing for the next growing season– which was why he was braving the cold to make the trip into town to visit the general store. He hadn’t gotten the barn finished as fast as he had hoped when he’d told Jon about his plans for the farm, but he could still plant a cherry tree in time for spring. 

Martin paused at the top of the hill on the way into town, a frown crossing his face as he blew on his hands to warm them up a bit. It probably wasn’t any of his business, but he hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Jon since he’d left the farm yesterday morning. Could they really have been missing one another so thoroughly? Or maybe Jon had simply decided to take a short trip back to Zuzu City to visit some friends– it wasn’t like he had any obligation to notify Martin of his absence. He was probably fine.

Still, Martin couldn’t help but worry a bit. He did his best to put it out of his mind as he continued down the hill and into town. The store was pleasantly warm, in sharp contrast to outside.

Pierre glanced up from behind the counter. “Well, hello, Martin. Cold enough for you out there?”

Martin shivered slightly as he untied his scarf. “Well, I’m not frozen just yet. Give it another five minutes.”

“You can say that again,” Gus, the man who owned the village saloon, laughed from where he was standing near the produce section– which was admittedly a bit sparse this time of year.

“You should have been here a couple years ago when the furnace in here broke,” Jodi laughed. “Pierre still insisted on standing behind the counter all day in a winter coat.”

“Never mind that,” Pierre scolded. “What can I do you for?”

Martin stepped closer to the front counter. “I was hoping to–”

He was interrupted by the chime of the door opening again, a rush of frigid air sweeping across the store as he glanced over his shoulder to see who was coming in.

The man in the doorway had dark, silver-streaked hair combed severely back from his brow and absolutely reeked of bureaucracy. 

Unfortunately, Martin knew him.

“Mr. Bouchard?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hello... Martin, wasn’t it? You really should just call me Elias, you know. We did work together, after all.” Elias adjusted the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“...right.” Martin couldn’t help but deflate a bit, fading into the background the way he so often had during his stint at Joja. He hadn’t exactly been expecting an encounter with his old supervisor today– honestly, never would have been too soon, as far as Martin was concerned.

“Shouldn’t you be at JojaMart?” Pierre didn’t try nearly as hard as Martin had to hide his hostility. Apparently, he’d been well aware of Elias’s presence in the valley already. “It’s the middle of business hours.”

“Right you are, Pierre.” Elias reached into his pocket, as if he’d only just remembered what he’d come for, and produced a handful of blue flyers. He raised his voice slightly, clearly well aware that everyone in the store was watching the exchange and wanting to make sure they caught every word. “I’d just come to offer some of the good people of Pelican town a coupon for 50% off their purchase at JojaMart. Just in time for holiday shopping.”

Pierre went pale. “Fifty…”

Elias waved the coupons in the air over his head. “Well? Any takers?”

“Joja does have a better produce selection this time of year,” Gus said thoughtfully. “I’ll take one.”

It didn’t take long at all for the little shop to nearly empty itself of everyone except for Martin, Pierre, and of course, Elias.

“I can’t match those prices,” Pierre finally protested weakly. “I’d be selling at a loss.”

Elias approached the counter, passing uncomfortably close to Martin to do so. “What a shame. It must be so difficult, losing your loyal customers like that. But that’s just business, isn’t it?” He fixed Martin with a piercing stare. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a voucher, Martin?”

Martin shook his head quickly. “I… n-no. Thank you.”

“Shame.” Elias pocketed the last of the flyers. “Well, I should go. I’ve got a feeling things are about to pick up back at JojaMart. Good day, Pierre. Martin.”

***

Jon wrapped his coat more tightly around himself, trying to sink deeper into the thin thread of warmth it provided and only succeeding in accidentally shifting to a patch of stone untouched by his body heat. The movement jostled his injured wrist, drawing out an involuntary sound of pain that he immediately clamped his teeth over– he couldn’t risk detection, not now.

His exploration of the abandoned mines had gone relatively smoothly at first– he’d made it more than forty levels down the shaft with breaks to catch his breath, with only marginally threatening encounters with strange cave bugs that he’d managed to either evade entirely or dispatch with no more than a couple bite marks around the ankles.

Of course, that had felt like significantly more of an issue right up until he’d broken through into this frigid section of the mines and encountered the shades. The size and shape of humans, but apparently composed entirely of shadow and speaking only in echoey whispers, they moved fast and hit with a paralyzing, agonizingly cold touch that left Jon seeing spots and reeling as if he’d taken a physical blow. 

His measly dagger had proven itself woefully inadequate against the threat– in fact, in one of his first encounters with one of the things, it had locked his wrist in a death grip, forcing him to drop the weapon and leaving his hand nearly useless. It was a bit of a blur after that– left with no other option than to run, Jon had been driven several levels deeper into the mines until he found the alcove he was currently hiding in, hardly pausing for breath until he’d used his good hand and whatever else he could brace with to barricade the opening with old crates and barrels.

It wasn’t until that point that he’d turned and nearly screamed when his torchlight fell upon the frozen corpse of Gertrude Robinson. 

But… the mines were quiet. Other than the occasional drip of water, there was no sound at all. Against all odds, Jon was actually… safe.

Except, of course, that he was trapped.

***

Pierre had warned Martin that his newly planted cherry sapling would need plenty of clear space around it to grow. That didn’t justify the amount of time Martin spent checking it. He shivered and forced himself to straighten.

Jon hadn’t even shown up to open the library that morning– Penny had been forced to resort to holding class in a spare room in the saloon. She’d done it outdoors on occasion in the past, but this time of year, the weather simply wouldn't allow for it. Martin had been trying not to worry, but to be absent from work like that, especially unannounced, was so unlike Jon that it felt like evidence of foul play in itself.

Add that to the circumstances of the other librarian’s recent disappearance…

Please come back, Jon. I need you to be okay.

***

Jon had left for the mines expecting to be back late that same night and had packed accordingly. He had no idea how long it had been, but certainly long enough that his food and water supplies had dwindled and run out, even with Jon trying his best to ration. Function had slowly returned to his hand, but there was still an angry red welt encircling his wrist and the limb wouldn’t support any weight. He’d considered trying to venture out of his hiding spot, but every time he’d nearly gotten up the courage to make a run for it, one noise or another would have him turning off his light and holding his breath until the mines were quiet again. He spent most of his time in darkness, trying to conserve body heat and torch batteries alike, but there occasionally came moments when the monotony became too much for him to stand. This was one of those times. 

If there had been any doubt as to the identity of the corpse he was currently sharing a space with, it was dispelled by the notebook Jon had found tucked next to her. He’d used a stray piece of wood from one of the crates to gingerly extract it, hands shaking with nerves and exhaustion. The inside of the cover had been signed in the same strong handwriting Jon had seen on a few of the older documents in the library– Gertrude Robinson. Most of her notes were too aged and water-damaged to read, but an entry near the beginning was mostly legible:

Today marks the third consecutive day of my expedition attempting to ascertain the fate of Adelard Dekker.

Adelard is dead. I am nearly certain of this. I hope, rather, to understand the means and cause, and to prevent anyone else from meeting the same fate. The mines are eerily quiet– even more so than before the ritual attempt– but even this deep I have been finding evidence of the fallout, almost as though it was tracked down here by something– or someone. 

I expect the signatures will eventually resolve and concentrate themselves somewhere in the mines, but I have a feeling that it would be best to learn what I can and clear out before that happens. If–

Jon was startled from his reading by the muffled sound of stone on stone from outside the barrier, like someone had dislodged a pebble. 

He turned out his light, holding perfectly still. 

Trying to breathe as silently as possible. 

Sure that whatever was on the other side of the poorly-constructed barrier could hear his traitorous heart hammering in his throat.

“Jon?” The voice was familiar, if echoey and distant. 

Jon froze. It wasn’t Gunther– it couldn’t be Gunther. With everything that had happened, he’d nearly forgotten why he’d come here in the first place.

“Hang on.” There was an awful scraping sound as some of the crates Jon had haphazardly piled were dragged away from the barricade. 

Jon scrambled back, pathetically wielding his piece of wood in his good hand. “Stay back,” he snarled, his voice hoarse from dehydration and disuse.

There was a pause. “Turn on your light.”

Without taking his eyes or his makeshift weapon away from the patch of darkness the voice was coming from, Jon reached out and turned his torch back on.

It was Gunther– or, at least, it looked as though it had been Gunther at some point. The shade standing just outside Jon’s alcove had the same silhouette, and even wore Gunther’s square-rimmed glasses– although one of the lenses was cracked.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Gunther said softly. “Can I come inside?”

Jon stared into the shade’s hollow eyes for several moments before he finally nodded.

Gunther approached slowly, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal, and dropped to a crouch. “Can I see that wrist?” His fingers ghosted over Jon’s skin, just shy of actually touching him but frigid enough to ache nonetheless. Jon winced. “Gunther, I… what happened to you?”

He hummed distantly. “That’s healing pretty well, considering the circumstances. And… it’s probably best if you don’t know too many details. You might have attracted his attention already.”

“His?”

“I see you’ve found Gertrude’s journal,” Gunther said, apparently ignoring Jon’s question.

“I… yes. Adelard Dekker, what happened to him?”

Gunther was silent for a long moment. “Nothing good. There isn’t much left of him these days. It’s… hard, keeping your wits about you when you’re like this. I don’t know how long I’ll retain this much presence of mind.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Jon. Not much to be done about it now.” Gunther stood. “Come on.”

Jon hesitated. “W-what?”

“You do want to leave the mines alive, don’t you?”

***

Jon stumbled as a particularly strong gust of wind caught him off guard. He had no idea how long he’d been trapped underground, but by the time Gunther had snuck him past the other shades and Jon had surfaced, it was well after dark and it was freezing and he was just so tired. It was all he could do to hold on to one goal– get back to the farm. He just needed to get back to the farm. One foot in front of the other.

It was all a blur until Jon found himself standing on the porch of Martin’s cabin, hand just withdrawing from knocking on the door and unsure of how exactly he’d gotten there.

Martin came to the door, dressed in a worn cardigan and looking like he hadn’t exactly been expecting guests. “Oh, hi, what– Jon?”

Jon managed a little wave. “Hello.” Then the porch was falling out from underneath him and Jon finally let his knees buckle.

***

“Jon!” Martin automatically caught Jon as he fell, dropping to his knees with him to cushion the impact.

He hadn’t seen Jon in days. He’d been trying not to worry too much, but… things hadn’t looked good. And now here he was, in Martin’s arms, snowflakes in his hair and his skin far too cold and his pulse rapid and weak against Martin’s own, but here. Safe. Alive.

After several long moments, Jon stirred slightly. “Mmm…. M’tin?”

“There you are,” Martin said, voice rising in pitch. “Where have you been? Are you alright? I don’t–” He stopped himself. Jon’s head had wound up resting against his chest when he’d fallen and, even now that he was awake, he hadn’t really bothered moving. He just stayed slumped there, eyes half-shut. Jon was clearly in no state for this. Martin took a deep breath. He could ask questions later. “Come on, let’s… let’s just get you inside.”

***

Jon had never been much of a fan of tea. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, it was just hard to find a brand exactly the way he preferred it. But now, wrapped in a blanket on the faded couch in Martin’s sitting room, the mug of tea that Martin had handed him might just have been the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Does that taste alright?” Martin asked anxiously. He’d been practically hovering ever since he’d helped Jon inside.

“It’s perfect, Martin. Thank you.” Jon took another sip. “Are these the tea leaves you’ve been growing?”

Martin nodded. “Yes, but… where have you been, Jon? I know it’s really not any of my business, but you look a wreck, and it’s been three days–”

“Three days? I didn’t– I had no idea.” Jon pushed up his glasses to rub his temples with his good hand, carefully balancing the mug on his knee with the other. “I just ran into a bit of trouble down in the mines. I’m sorry to worry you, Martin, I… I won’t be going down there again.”

Martin gave him a searching look for several moments and finally sighed. “Just… be careful, alright?”

“The lease agreement could get complicated if I disappear again when rent is due,” Jon agreed.

Martin stared at him.

“I was joking, Martin.”

“Right.” Martin cracked a smile. “Maybe if I threaten to evict you if you do anything stupid you’ll think twice next time, hm?”

Jon huffed. “Cruel and unusual, but I’ll allow it.”

“Good. Stay put, I’m going to go find you something to eat.”

***

Martin returned from the kitchen, mug of hot soup in hand, but stopped to lean in the doorway, warmth blooming behind his sternum. Jon had fallen asleep right where Martin had left him, hands curled into the faded blanket and face slightly smushed against the back of the couch.

Crossing the room, Martin gently took his glasses and set them on the coffee table.

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