Moving Parts

      Kiyoshi hovered near the Nimmo, who sat placidly perched on his footstool, bookmark tucked inside his novel as he awaited further questioning.

      Kiyoshi pushed his hair back from his face, thinking. “How long has this been going on?” he asked.

      “Oh, I don’t know,” said the Nimmo. “Since March maybe? Sometime early in the spring. I was taking down the winter feature the first time I saw him. I almost knocked over a whole cart of new releases.”

      “He’s never said anything to you?”

      “He doesn’t stay long. In and out, just a matter of seconds.”

      “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help me find him? Anything at all?”

      “Well, there was one time I saw him through the window over there.” The Nimmo nodded to an arched window on the east wall. “Watched him leave. He turned right and I lost sight of him down the alleyway. I imagine that’s the same way he goes everyday.” The Nimmo crossed his legs and picked up his book. “It seems like he has somewhere to be.”

      But there was no sign of the ghost down the alleyway, and no one else was around for Kiyoshi to ask. This really isn’t the kind of ghost chasing I’m used to, he thought as he jogged to the end of the alley and picked a random direction to start searching.

     *

      By nightfall, he still hadn’t had any luck, and by midnight, the lamplit streets were nearly deserted. He knew Tyra would be back at the apartment by now, undoubtedly wondering where he was. He really needed to get one of Tyra’s new communicators when they were released. With any luck, she’ll just assume I’m having a fun night out on the town, he thought, and then, out loud, said, “She would not think that.”

      “What did you say?” came a voice through the darkness.

      Kiyoshi turned to face the source of the voice. “Sorry,” he said, squinting into the yellow light spilling out from the large, boxy building at the end of the sidewalk. The Kadoatery, he was pretty sure. “Just talking to myself. Bad habit.”

      When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a bespectacled middle-aged Gnorbu leaning against the wall next to the doors with a bemused expression on her face and a steaming mug of… something in one hand.

      “Ah, well, bad habits. I know all about those.” She raised her cup to Kiyoshi and took a sip.

      “Do you… work here?” Kiyoshi asked, walking up the sidewalk.

      “When the bosses will have me,” she chuckled. “Which isn’t very often. I’m on my break now, but then again I suppose I’m almost always on my break. Word of advice kiddo, don’t get involved with Kadoaties. Not even once.”

      She offered to go and fetch a second mug and he shook his head politely. She then seemed to take notice of his scruffy mop of black hair and his old aviator jacket for the first time. She fixed him with a calculating look. “You look very familiar,” she said. “You’re not famous, are you?”

      “No,” said Kiyoshi.

      Her eyes widened. “Sweet Fyora,” she said. “I remember now. It’s been a long time, but I still remember you from the pictures. All those old stories. Aren’t you the Ghostchaser?”

      “No,” said Kiyoshi. “Bye.” And he turned and walked back into the dark the way he’d come.

      “Wait!” the Gnorbu called after him. “Aren’t you here about the ghost?”

     *

      Kiyoshi stood staring up at the padlocked, chain-link fence surrounding the darkened husk of the old Defenders HQ. A colourful sign affixed to the fence contained a brief paragraph of official text reassuring Neopians that, although their public headquarters were closing, the Defenders of Neopia would remain on guard to serve them, next to an illustration of Judge Hog punching Dr. Sloth in the face. Below this attractive notice was a smaller, starker white sign that declared the following in bold red letters:

     DANGER: UNSAFE BUILDING. DO NOT ENTER.

      The Gnorbu had assured him that this is where she and a couple of her friends had followed the ghost to a few nights back, before they got spooked and decided to leave the ghost hunting to the authorities. Kiyoshi’s arrival had struck her as rather serendipitous.

      “I ended up talking to a buddy who works on the crew that put up the fences you’ll see all around the building,” the Gnorbu had told him. “She said the ghost came by every night and went straight inside.”

      “But can I just… waltz right into the Defenders of Neopia?” Kiyoshi had asked. “I’m not going to trip some kind of alarm or laser grid or something?”

      The Gnorbu had shaken her head. “There’s none of that anymore. No one goes in there now. No one living.”

      “I miss the Haunted Woods,” said Kiyoshi to himself, and clambered up the side of the chain-link fence.

      When he dropped down on the other side, he discovered that even the closest streetlights did very little to illuminate the shadowy building. At least I remembered to bring one useful thing, he thought as he unclipped his old lantern from his backpack and switched it on.

      Up close the deserted headquarters looked even sadder. The futuristic lines and graceful curves that had characterized the once-impressive building had slowly warped and buckled under the weight of time, and the whole structure seemed to lean to one side, as if trying to escape its lonely chain-link cage.

      The front doors, which used to be automatic, were unsurprisingly lifeless as Kiyoshi approached, so he started looking for a window. Most of the second storey seemed to be made of glass but he couldn’t figure out how any of it was supposed to open. His slow circle around the building was finally rewarded, however, with the discovery of a modest loading bay, blocked only by a rusty iron gate that didn’t seem to be locked.

      The gate squealed unpleasantly as Kiyoshi dragged it open. He peered down the long, squarish concrete tunnel into the darkness, thus far untouched by his meagre circle of lantern light.

      “Don’t think about mouths,” Kiyoshi told himself, then stepped inside.

      The tunnel smelled like oil and stagnant water. It was, all in all, a very boring walk up the gently sloping shaft until it eventually opened to an empty warehouse area that proved no more interesting than the tunnel. The place had been fully cleared out, leaving nothing behind but muddy tire tracks and a few scraps of forgotten plastic wrap. Gutted, came the unbidden thought, but he didn’t say it out loud because he remembered just in time that he didn’t want to think about digestive systems.

      When he eventually found the steel door that opened to an interior hallway, he found the scene before him eerily well-preserved. The trophies, busts, and assorted memorabilia had all been removed, but the places where they had been—the faded walls, the carved wooden alcoves—still showed their outlines in the weathered and bleached halos they left behind. The rugs were still in place, and sometimes seemed to disguise suspicious gaps and dips in the floorboards. Beyond that, only dust and cobwebs decorated the halls he passed through.

      Kiyoshi had the distinct feeling of wandering deeper and deeper into a maze as his exploration took him down multiple adjoining hallways and into the countless offices and briefing rooms (all empty) that they connected. Sometimes there were stairs, up or down, and he’d take them. The only hint he had as to where he was in the building came from the times he found himself in a hallway with floor-to-ceiling glass replacing one of the walls. These windows to the outside world were uniformly grimy and allowed the passage of only a sickly grey version of whatever light was outside, necessitating the continued use of his lantern. Its warm glow was a comfort as he used his sleeve to rub some of the filth from the glass, hoping to get a good enough view to get his bearings. He wondered what floor he was on. The third maybe? He checked his pocket watch and found it well after 4 in the morning, but he felt no tiredness, only a familiar restless energy urging him on.

      A soft noise sounded from somewhere down the hall. Kiyoshi froze. Heart hammering, he held his breath and waited. There it was again: a brief shuffling sound, like the sigh of fabric or paper in an unseen breeze. Then, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, came the distant but distinct sound of someone clearing their throat.

      The Shoyru’s feet took him to the end of the hallway before his brain had a chance to catch up, which was fortunate because if he had given himself a chance to think about opening the door, he might never have done so. The metal door handle was unnaturally cold in his hand, and on the other side, the blast of stale air that greeted him was so frigid it felt like a physical blow.

      He was standing in the doorway of what might have been a small classroom or study at one time. Multiple blackboards on the walls still bore a chaotic web of equations, diagrams, and altogether illegible handwriting that Kiyoshi couldn’t begin to guess at the subject of. Shelving along the perimeter contained a small, scattered collection of knickknacks: ambiguous bottles and jars, an unquestionably dead house plant, a handful of old books. Most striking of all, scarcely three steps ahead of him the floor fell away in an enormous crater that reached nearly wall-to-wall, leaving a jagged black pit big enough to swallow desks, chairs, and whatever else had once been in this room.

      Near the far side of the room, seated in midair above the pit, was a Ghost Lenny in a wizard hat. He appeared to be reading a tattered but decidedly corporeal book, and he was staring directly at Kiyoshi.

      “Yes?” the Lenny said with a tinge of annoyance. “What do you want?”

      “Nothing,” Kiyoshi said quickly. “I mean. Um.” His brain felt as rusty as the gate at the loading bay. “…Just passing through?”

      The Lenny shook his head, raising a critical eyebrow. He tapped impatiently upon the book that he clearly wanted to return to. Kiyoshi could just glimpse an illustration of some arcane-looking circle ringed with symbols on the page beneath his feathers. “You must be one of Hog’s novices.”

      Is he a mage? Scouring his own brain for any scrap of magical lore he might be able to use, Kiyoshi stammered, “No, I’m… I’m with the Kauvara Syndicate.”

      “Hm,” said the Lenny, shifting in his invisible chair. “So you’re one of my novices.”

      “Oh,” said Kiyoshi. He scrambled to adjust his story. “Of course, you’re uh. You’re in charge of the Syndicate, right?”

      “By the Three, I have my work cut out for me with this new generation,” the ghost sighed. “No, I’m not in charge. The Syndicate is governed by a council of senior members in good standing, in cooperation of course with the Defenders of Neopia, just as it’s always been. I simply fill the role of an instructor, in addition to my other duties. But a proper introduction will have to wait until classes start. I’m busy right now.”

      Kiyoshi began, painstakingly, to make his way further into the room, inching his way along the remaining ledge of rotten floorboards that jutted out from the wall.

      The Lenny made an unamused clicking sound with his beak. “Why are you walking like that?”

      “What? Because of the…”

      “Well, walk properly,” the Lenny said shortly. “The architecture in here won’t tolerate much more tomfoolery. I’ve been trying to get the Defenders to fix up my poor workshop for years, but they insist they don’t have the funds, if you can believe that. See how the floor is beginning to sag in the middle?” He gestured to the gaping void before him. “I told Hog, fix the floors around here or one of us is going to fall through and break their neck.”

      Kiyoshi stared at him. Okay, so definitely a real ghost. And somehow stuck in an earlier time, from the sound of it. Kiyoshi had encountered his fair share of spirits in denial about their nature before—especially since ghosts notably retained the ability to manipulate objects in the living world, even as the living lost their ability to interact with the ghost. It was perfectly understandable that some might try to keep living the lives they had before death. But this…

      “What’s your name, again?” the Shoyru asked, trying not to make his relief too obvious as his feet finally reached a wider protrusion of floor near where the Lenny floated.

      “It was in the syllabus I sent out. If you can’t remember it, you shall have to wait until the first day of class.”

      “Okay. But, um. Just checking. How… how are you feeling these days?”

      The Lenny shot him a glance. “Quite well, thank you very much. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

      “Not… feeling under the weather at all? Not feeling a little faint, or, uh… transparent?”

      “I told you, I’m fine. I also told you I was busy.”

      Kiyoshi struggled to find a delicate way to put it. “Are you aware that you’re deceased?”

      The Lenny stared at him with such acerbic disbelief that Kiyoshi almost felt embarrassed to have suggested it.

      “If this is a joke,” the Lenny said, “then it is not a funny one. Of course I am alive. In fact I rather imagine I can’t die. I have too much work to do.” He closed his book and placed it on his desk, but because there was no desk and there was no floor, the book tumbled into the darkness of the pit. The ghost didn’t seem to notice as he stood up straight and walked across the chasm to a shelf, selected a jar, and poured some kind of powder from it into a bowl.

      “What are you doing?” Kiyoshi asked.

           “Working,” came the clipped reply. He retrieved a pestle and began to vigorously grind the substance in the bowl until, to Kiyoshi’s alarm, sparks started to crackle in the air above it.

      “What is that?”

      “Just motes,” he said, placing the still-sparking mortar and pestle on the shelf and plucking a leaf from the dead houseplant. He frowned. “We’ll cover it in week one.”

      “It made sparks—“

      “Yes, yes,” the Lenny said, exasperated, “Those are the motes. Their elemental affinity changed with the addition of a catalyst.” He placed the shrivelled leaf in the bowl and the sparking stopped. “Well, so much for that,” he grumbled, apparently to himself.

      Kiyoshi leaned out, trying to get a better look from his precarious vantage point. “So that jar’s full of motes?”

      The Lenny cast him a withering look. “The jar,” he said, in the tone of someone explaining a very basic concept to an equally basic child, “is full of sand. The motes are in the air already. Agitating the sand has simply bound them to a new form. As we will be exploring in class, electrical motes are a useful reagent in spellwork. Versatile. Self-sustaining.”

      He crossed the floorless room once again, this time stopping in front of one of the blackboards. He studied it for a moment, then picked up a chalkboard eraser and started vigorously clearing the board.

      “What are you doing now?” Kiyoshi asked.

      “I need to finish this spell.” The real chalk in the ghost’s hand clattered across the board as he hacked out a new equation.

      “What spell?”

      “You wouldn’t understand.” The Lenny kept writing, but his movements became almost robotic as a faraway look came over his spectral features. “An important one,” he murmured. “The most important spell in the world. I just need one more component.”

      “Oh right,” Kiyoshi said suddenly. He pulled the jar of Flotsam Flakes from his backpack. “I brought this for you.”

      The Lenny dropped his piece of chalk into the void. “Well why didn’t you say so!” he exclaimed, and swept over to Kiyoshi. He took the jar and unscrewed the lid, then to Kiyoshi’s surprise leaned in to dramatically smell its contents. The Lenny sighed, shoulders slumping.

      “Did you… uh, smell something off?” Kiyoshi asked, knowing that a ghost wouldn’t be able to smell anything at all.

      “This isn’t it either,” the Lenny said wearily. “Back to the drawing board.” He replaced the lid on the jar and set it down on what he probably imagined was a desk or table next to Kiyoshi. He didn’t seem to hear the jar shattering a storey below them.

      “You’re looking for the last ingredient for your spell, right? What do you need?”

      “Questions, questions, questions!” the Lenny complained as he drifted back to his chalkboard, snatching up a new piece of chalk. “Must you continue pestering me with these asinine questions!”

      “Sorry. Novice.”

      “The magical herb I require looks very much like any other but smells strongly of ripe Ptolymelon, with just a dash of banana Achyfi. It’s proven maddeningly elusive. I had hoped it might be present in the Flotsam Flakes.”

      “What’s it called?”

      “It’s called…” The Lenny paused, chalk in hand. “It was called… that is, it…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “I’ll know it when I smell it,” he said firmly, and returned to his blackboard scribblings.

      Kiyoshi rubbed at his face as the Lenny continued to write. This is a tough one. He decided to review the facts. Every ghost that wasn’t created with a paint brush had one thing in common: unfinished business. They all died with something left undone, something that had been so significant to them in life that their soul couldn’t bear to rest without seeing it through. There were, of course, as many reasons for staying as there were ghosts who stayed. Some had been warriors fighting for a great cause, or artists working on their masterpieces. Even the most tortured wraith might have started as an earnest lover who just never got the chance to patch things up after a recent quarrel. Theoretically, a ghost could be put to rest through the completion of their task. Kiyoshi wasn’t sure how that worked with a ghost who couldn’t remember enough of his task to finish it.

      “Tell me about this spell again.”

      “I told you,” the Lenny mused. “It’s an important spell. One that will change everything.”

      “But what does it do?” Kiyoshi rummaged through his brain for any more half-forgotten bits of magical trivia. “Healing? Mind control? Teleportation? Invisibility? Levitation? Translation?” He was running out of spell genres. “Spyder climbing?”

      “It was to keep them safe.”

      Kiyoshi froze with his hand on his mouth. For a few seconds, the clicking of chalk on slate was the only sound in the room. Eventually, Kiyoshi broke the silence. “Who were you trying to keep safe?”

      “What? When?”

      “I don’t know. Before. That’s what you just said. ‘To keep them safe’.”

      “To keep who safe?”

      “That’s what I’m asking you.”

      The Lenny straightened the collar of his robes primly. “You are a very strange young man. And you are trying my patience. I am simply working on my spell. I haven’t the foggiest idea what this other nonsense is about.”

      Kiyoshi was quiet for a moment, watching the Lenny write. The longer he watched, the less sure he was that the esoteric scrawl contained any actual words or symbols, or indeed any meaning at all. And yet the sight of it all now filled the Shoyru with a sadness so profound he had a great deal of difficulty finding his voice.

      The silence, though, was worse than anything else, so finally he managed, “Do you have a family?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      “Where are they?”

      “Elsewhere. How should I know?”

      “They’re your family.”

      “That’s why I sent them away!” the ghost snapped.

      The echo of the exclamation bounced around the chasm between them before receding into a painful silence that pounded in Kiyoshi’s ears.

      “I wasn’t ready for them,” the Lenny said, facing away. “That kind of a life. A picket fence and unconditional love? Ridiculous. No love is unconditional. I had done nothing to deserve it. There are so many problems in this world, so many dangers. How could I rest knowing that? No, I’m simply not ready to see them.” He put the chalk down. His glowing red eyes had a strange, glazed look to them, like those of a sleepwalker. “Not yet.” He drifted across the pit to the door, as unaware of the supernatural manner of his movement as ever.

      “Where are you going?”

      “I need to finish my spell.”

      “But—”

      “I’m missing just one more component.” The ghost phased through the closed door, and Kiyoshi staggered back along the ledge, shoving the door open just in time to see the ghost drift off down the dilapidated hallway, still mumbling to himself.

      “If I go now, I can make it to Neopian Fresh Foods by noon,” his diminishing voice was saying. He seemed to have forgotten about Kiyoshi. “I’ll try something else. Perhaps this time the Peophin Flakes.”

     *

      Tyra returned late the following night to find Kiyoshi reading on her couch. Her briefcase fell to the floor, missing the chair entirely.

      “You’re back! Kreludor, Kiyoshi, don’t do that to me! I wanted to give you some space if you needed it, but would it kill you to leave a note?”

      “Sorry,” Kiyoshi said, sitting up. “I got distracted.”

      For the first time, Tyra noticed the travel magazine he was reading. She sighed. “I knew there wasn’t enough stuff in my pantry to keep you busy for long.” She prodded her way over to the fridge automatically, opening it without enthusiasm. “Maybe I can order some really weird spices for delivery. I’ll take the labels off, give you a real puzzle to help pass the time.”

      “Have you ever been to Kiko Lake?” Kiyoshi asked.

      Tyra paused with a piece of cold Mushrolivepepper Pizza halfway to her mouth. “What? Why?”

      Kiyoshi stood, taking the magazine with him. He nearly tripped over a cord running up to her workshop as he moved to join her in the kitchen, flipping the magazine around to show her. “This article says it’s really nice there this time of year. ’The only place worth hiding this Month of Hiding.’ We could check it out.”

      “Are there ghosts there?”

      “No. I mean. Not that I know of? Just boats and cabins and stuff. And uh. A lake.”

      Tyra looked at him intently, like he was a particularly complicated math problem she was determined to solve. “Is this about my list?” she asked. “Something on there that we can only get at Kiko Lake?”

      “No, but that reminds me—“ Kiyoshi ducked behind the kitchen island and reappeared with a bulging canvas shopping bag. He dug around in it until he retrieved something that looked, to Tyra, very much like a jar of sand. A mostly empty jar of sand, in fact. Kiyoshi dropped the bag on the counter, the rest of the unseen treasures within clattering against each other.

      “Was sand on my list?”

      “Watch.”

      Tyra watched with some degree of skepticism as Kiyoshi started to vigorously shake the jar.

      “I’m not really good at this, so it takes a while,” he said breathlessly. When the interior of the jar started to crackle and spark, Tyra jolted with a small cry of alarm.

      “What is that?”

      “Motes,” said Kiyoshi, “so I’m told.”

      He took the lid off and Tyra peered in at the tiny brilliant lights bouncing around on top of the sand. Her hand brushed the jar near the opening just in time for one of the sparks to leap out, cracking against her skin and making her snatch her hand back.

      “They’re electric,” she mused.

      “You can find them anywhere, and turn them into electricity,” Kiyoshi said, carefully depositing the jar on the counter. “I don’t know how many you’d need to power a communicator, or how you’d get them inside. I guess the explorers would also need to find sand somewhere? Or maybe carry it with them?”

      “They might actually like that,” Tyra said wryly. “Maybe they’d be more willing to put their trust in my tech if they still had to work for it a little.”

      “I got some of your other stuff too. No Puppyblew tails, sorry. I was going to try to get the rest today but I kinda fell asleep on your couch. But yeah. Motes. Do you think you could do something with that?”

      Tyra was trailing her fingers along the jar, delighting in how the motes inside seemed to cluster around the side where she was touching it. “Kiyoshi… this might actually work. I’ll need to hash out the specifics, of course, but this could actually, genuinely work. How on Neopia did you figure all this out?”

      “I didn’t,” said Kiyoshi. “I had help. I had a lot of help.”

      “From who?”

      Kiyoshi paused, then said, “From someone who needs a break as much as you do.”

      Tyra laughed. “I don’t need a break.”

      “You do.”

      “I can’t take a break. I have too much work to do.”

      “That’s exactly why you need one.”

      She gave him a flat look. “Is this why you’re reading questionable magazine articles about Kiko Lake? You think we need a… vacation?”

      “Yes,” he said immediately. “I mean no. Kind of? You need a vacation. I think I need the opposite of that, but I’m hoping I can find that at Kiko Lake too.”

      “I thought you said there weren’t any ghosts.”

      “There aren’t! Probably. Honestly, for once, I don’t even want there to be. I just want to spend some time, you know… living. Doing something just for the sake of doing it, and not worrying about what comes next.”

      Tyra was quiet for a long moment. “…We’ve been waiting for that train a long time, you and me, haven’t we?”

      “Yeah. Too long.”

      “Time to accept it’s never gonna come?”

      “No, I don’t think so. I think we’ll make it.”

      “Uh…” Tyra swayed on her feet. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time keeping track of this extended train metaphor. Are you saying that we’ll uh, manage to arrange some alternate transportation to get to where we’re going? That if we try hard and believe in ourselves, we’ll both find our place in the world eventually, something like that?”

      “I think I’m trying to say that we’ve found it already,” Kiyoshi said, absentmindedly fiddling with the spice rack. “We’re a part of this world whether it has a place for us or not. It’s like the parts in your communicators, every single—“

      “Please for the love of Fyora Kiyoshi do not start a new metaphor,” Tyra groaned. “It’s been a long day. I’m cutting us off.” She sank onto one of the stools. “But I think I see your point. I’m not sure I agree with it, but I can appreciate what you’re getting at. And if you think this is something that would help you, then I’m willing to give it a shot. I mean. If you and your best friend are stuck in a random train station together anyway, you might as well make it a party.”

      “I thought we were abandoning the train station metaphor,” Kiyoshi said, taking the stool next to her.

      “We were. Sorry. I don’t know who I am without it anymore.”

      “I was thinking of inviting Jeri to come with us.”

      “Well, obviously.”

      “And Aidne.”

      “Makes sense.”

      “And Trick. And I guess maybe Aley too. D’you think NaKaranth would come if you asked? He’s got a spaceship, he could probably make it for next week, right?”

      Tyra stared at him. “Who are you and what did you do with Kiyoshi Paco?”

      “I dunno,” he mumbled, swivelling on the stool. “It’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like Kiyoshi Paco.”

      “Totally not something an evil spirit possessing Kiyoshi Paco would say.” Tyra eyed him but Kiyoshi just shrugged and gave an enigmatic half-smile. The Aisha tipped her head, considering. “…Next week, huh? Boy, the newly realized Kiyoshi Paco doesn’t waste time.”

      “I’m bored,” he said, picking up the jar of thyme and reading its label.

      “Really? I had no idea.” She sighed. “But if I’m being honest, so am I. These last few lectures haven’t been very satisfying. Same old grumps, same old arguments. It’s gotten stale.”

      “Can you do that, though? Cancel your upcoming lectures? Will they be mad at you?”

      “Oh, absolutely,” Tyra said, unconcerned. “I doubt they’ll know what to do with themselves in my absence. But it’ll be good for them. They’re explorers, after all. A little inconvenience is all that’s separating them from tourists.”

      “I am so ready to be a tourist.”

      In her hazy, sleep-deprived mind, an image slowly materialized of Kiyoshi wearing a straw hat and flip flops. She cracked a smile despite herself. “Do you wanna call Jeri tonight?”

      “Tomorrow,” Kiyoshi said. “I’m busy tonight.”

     *

      The Lenny, interrupted once again in the middle of his reading, took the offered container hesitantly, fixing the Shoyru with a dubious expression.

      “I only need one more component,” the ghost said slowly. “A specific herb, with a specific aroma.”

      “Yeah, this is it,” said Kiyoshi.

      The ghost did not look terribly convinced. “How would you even know?”

      “I don’t,” Kiyoshi said. “I asked Kauvara herself at the shop. Ptolymelon and banana Achyfi, right?”

      “You could be lying.”

      “Take a sniff, then. Anyone alive would be able to recognize that smell.”

      The Lenny raised an eyebrow, but popped the lid off the recently de-labelled jar anyway and brought it up to his faintly glowing beak. He inhaled a deep breath, then held it for a moment, as if to let the scent linger in his ghostly nostrils. He exhaled with a grimace, closing the spice jar. “I hate Ptolymelon,” he said, walking across the floorless room to one of his shelves. He placed the jar with the others, then moved to a blackboard.

      “So that’s it, right? The final ingredient?”

      “Yes.”

      “Since you have everything you need, can you do the spell now?”

      “I have all the components I need, yes,” said the Lenny distractedly, pondering the board. “But to perfect the spell will take longer. It could be many iterations before I have a version worth using. It may very well take years. I’m not ready yet. No indeed, I still have a lot of work ahead of me.”

      The Ghost Lenny continued to murmur to himself, even as he began to change. His spectral aura grew dimmer, his form less distinct. From the tips of his feathers inwards, and from the point of his wizard hat down, the lifelike afterimage of the Lenny mage was quietly dissolving into the darkness of his old workshop.

      In a matter of moments, the last traces of the Lenny had been gently swept away like mist in the morning sunlight. His fading voice persisted for only slightly longer.

      “I’m afraid it shall still be quite some time before I am ready to see them…”

      The words faded to nothing, and the ghost was gone. Silence settled over the room, but it felt now to Kiyoshi like a kinder, more restful silence.

      He smiled to himself, took a step towards the door, and fell straight down the hole.

     The End.