After Matilda reluctantly fished out her coin pouch and slapped a few gold coins on the table—the clerk pouted in mock anger after only seeing one earlier—the clerk wasted no time instructing us to find "The Egg", as she called it.

"The what now?" Ken raised a brow at the name, no doubt envisioning a round egg that hovered humorously in his imagination.

"Oh, I forgot that you're not from around here," she said sheepishly. "If you take a left outside the tavern and raise your head, you should see a house with an almost egg-like shape at the top. My good friend has a strange taste for architecture, for a lack of words"

An egg-like shape... My eyes lit up as a drawer opened in my mind, recalling the distinct house I had seen earlier, rusted pipes, and peculiar mechanical devices that ran along the walls, beating life into it. Of course, strange wouldn't be an appropriate description for the house since as far as the eye could see were houses and buildings that adorned a similar design, parts of the structure jutting out at unconventional areas, and the color palette an eccentric mixture of tone-downed cool and warm hues.

"Strange houses often hold even stranger secrets," Matilda muttered, standing up from her chair. "Let's go while the day is still young."

Ken stood up as well, trying to salvage the last bits of soup that stuck to the bowl.

"Wait!" the clerk called. "Have you forgotten your payment?"

"Our payment?" Matilda turned around slowly, her amber eyes a blaze that set everything in its path aflame. "I gave you five gold, and besides, we know where to find the guide."

She shrugged, the sly smile creeping onto her face, and rapped the wrinkled bill that lay on the table. "I never said I didn't appreciate your kindness. But, that soup wasn't free."

Matilda's eyes narrowed even more, her breathing a venomous stab against the air and her feet shifting to a stance poised for the worst. But the clerk just leaned back against the chair, a vacant gaze in her eyes as she tapped the paper impatiently like the ticking of a restless clock.

"How much?" Matilda's voice seeped through her gritted teeth.

"Only three silvers," she said and Matilda begrudgingly dug into her coin pouch, slapping the coins against the clerk's extended palm.

"Pleasure doing business," she flashed a grin, revealing a set of perfectly polished teeth that almost glistened under the light. "Oh, wait! One more thing."

"One more thing?" Just when I thought Matilda's eyes couldn't narrow anymore, she whipped her head around with such speed that I was nearly knocked off and cast a gaze that would have made flowers wither and beasts cower.

Of course, the clerk was none of those, and she fiddled with the coins before looking up at Matilda with that mischievous smile, behind which was a cunning tongue that worked its magic with words. "If you get annoyed by his babbling, just tell him Marion sent you."

With a wary gaze at Marion, Matilda headed out the door, Ken following close behind.

"Wallace, let's go," His voice trailing through the door.

I set down the unfinished bowl of soup reluctantly, my mouth still tingling from the euphoric flavors that tickled my tastebuds, and I bound out the door after the two. The day had yet to be born as sparkling dots of light littered the black canvas stretching across the sky, and only occasionally did we pass by anyone. Some of whom we did scampered past us like mice tracking down a crumb of bread, while others bowed their heads, not bothering to bat an eye at us.

Under the dim glow of streetlights, I got a better glimpse at the strange architecture of various houses and buildings smooshed together beside the street. Winding pipes, twisting wires, and mangled ladders wrapped themselves around the peeling walls like creeping vines, and on top of one house was an olive, circular column that puffed large clouds of water vapor out of a pipe that twisted and turned around itself.

One of the windows, bathed in a warm glow, revealed an animated conversation as two figures sat sipping a cup of tea—the sweet, floral scent drifting from a crack underneath the glass.

"To our left..." Matilda murmured, squinting down the street to find something that somewhat resembled an egg.

I followed her gaze before raising my head to where I had seen the peculiar house before, spotting the silhouette of the smooth, round egg shape that merged seamlessly with the roof, a flickering glow in a small window seemingly alerting us of its presence.

"Aha!" Ken exclaimed, having spotted the window that briefly illuminated the beige egg, antennas and tiny trinkets scattered along the sides. "It does look like a large egg."

After glancing at it again to confirm we weren't losing our minds, we headed down the barren streets, the night ambiance filling my ears as our footsteps were answered eerily by distant ones. The soft plodding of hooves and creaking wheels, the hushed voices that were carried by the wind, and the muffled buzz of lightbulbs were enough to remind us that we were far from alone.

Just before the corner of the block, we stopped in front of the house, a twisting stairwell on the side that led to a battered door hidden behind a brown tarp that formed a makeshift tunnel.

"Well, let's go see who this 'guide' is," Matilda said after a moment, all of us staring not in awe, but our curiosity still piqued by the eccentric design that managed to wrap itself around our minds. It was almost like three separate houses had been stacked upon each other hastily, sewn together with the help of lackluster pipes and wires, and the devices and trinkets that had been used lay scattered along the house and found a home in it after some time.

The remains of a rocking chair and a stool that had splinters popping out of it like a porcupine rested against the beige walls, concealed under the second floor where a balcony adorned with wooden railings lined the exterior.

Matilda and Ken had stepped into the 'tunnel' and I scrambled after them up the stairs to the door.

"Hello?" Matilda rapped three times against the wood, but only the faint echo of the knocks throughout the house responded. "Anybody home—"

On her third knock the door gave way having been slightly ajar, groaning as it creaked open.

"What in the world..." Ken stepped inside, a piece of scrap metal crunching under his shoes. I pushed the door only to be greeted with a blanket of darkness, the scent of pine trees with a hint of sulfur drifting through the room. A gentle hum of what seemed to be running machinery could be faintly heard from above.

A fwoosh, and I nearly stumbled backward when a flickering flame illuminated the darkness, revealing piles upon piles of little trinkets and gadgets lining the walls, pieces of scrap metal and prickly wood scattered around it. As we made the treacherous journey to the spindling spiral staircase, the remains of an engine sputtered, coughing out puffs of water vapor before it fell silent lying amongst its deceased friends. An assortment of windows lined the walls, blinds down and specks of moonlight seeped through its cracks, casting a faint bluish glow on the room.

A ripped leather couch sat on the side, scraps strewn over it, and a slanted bookshelf decorated with tattered books stood next to it, its gaze an unwavering stare that seemed to follow us. The almost inaudible buzz of a ceiling fan that crawled excruciatingly slow was overshadowed by a ventilation unit that occasionally hiccuped, cackling with fizzing water vapor.

Flame in hand, Ken peered up the staircase, a never-ending flight of steps that seemed to reach into the darkness. The hum of machinery had grown to a buzz and the ringing of metal striking metal pounded rhythmically against my ears.

"Well, let's go find this guide of ours," he muttered as he climbed up the stairwell, the steps groaning under the weight and at times it felt as if the skeleton of a stairwell would shatter under the pressure.

A brief climb led us to the second floor, littered with even more scraps and strange trinkets that fizzed occasionally before succumbing to fatigue. My gaze lingered on the creaking door that swung back and forth, rocked by the wind, and a draft of cold air snuck through the crack and coated the room in a layer of chill.

Another flight of stairs up and the buzz of machinery had grown to a roar, accompanied by the rhythmic pounding of metal. A hushed voice cursed and the wrinkling of papers sent goosebumps down my arms as it scratched against a fuzzy wood.

The stairwell ended on the third floor, strewn with sanded wood planks that reeked of sawdust and larger contraptions that burst alive at random intervals.

I began stumbling around the floor, windows of various sizes and shapes lined against the walls and ajar doors that cooled the room, when Matilda shushed our movements.

"Over there," she whispered, as if afraid whoever was up there would hear us. A small ladder hung from above: the flickering lights, the roar of machinery, and the clanking of metal scraping and banging against each other, confirmed it was "the egg".

"Well, who's to go up, then?" Ken asked.

"Erm," she started, biting her lip as she retreated and bumped into a strange mechanical clock adorned with an assortment of gears that suddenly came to life, the metal hissing as they ground together for the first time in years and sprinkling dust on the floorboards.

"Ah, guests!" A man with a fluffy beard the color of sodden coals, a colorful coat draped over his shoulders, and blue-tinted glasses resting on his stubby nose that seemed to shine under the light of Ken's flame had climbed down the ladder and landed on the floor with a graceful thud. "I was wondering where that clock went; all those gears must have tangled themselves together."

He ambled over to the heap of contraptions and fished out the clock, shaking off bits of scrap metal that clung to it. It was a work of art, exposed gold and bronze gears forming a ring of chain reactions that ticked the hands as the man wound the clock from the back.

"Oh, the memories are flooding in like an unchecked dam that has rotted," the man shivered and chuckled giddily. He beckoned us closer, pointing at the gears that spun around and around, glimmering in the illuminated room. "You see here, a mechanical clock really is the work of geniuses. No hydro power, no spark power, nada. Just a good wind, which tightens the mainspring—where the energy is stored, of course. This tension is released gradually, causing the gears to move... and don't get me started on gears!"

Drool seemed to seep from Ken's mouth as he blinked, trying to stay awake, and Matilda just stared absentmindedly at the clock, the words going in through one ear and out the other. Well, Marion was right about the babbling, I thought, a chuckle escaping my lips. I'll let him enjoy himself for a few more minutes.