Arcane Enigmas

The mysterious stranger looked around the room, taking a puff of his cigar and wincing before returning his attention to his tattered notebook. 

   I’ve really best be quitting this soon, he thought. 

   He started furiously writing in the notebook, graphite dust and eraser shavings flying across the bar counter. The bartender, curious at the frantic actions of this person, stopped wiping the glass he was holding and walked over.

   “Sir,” he said.

   The stranger looked up from his book, gave the bartender a curt nod of acknowledgement accompanied by another puff of his cigar and returned to his messy pages. 

   The bartender rolled his eyes and tried again.

   “Would you like anything to drink, sir,” he asked. “You’ve been here for hours and haven’t ordered anything.”

   Annoyed, the stranger closed his book and looked at the bartender with a questioning look in his eyes as if to say, what is your purpose in bothering me?

   “No,” he eventually answered. “I don’t drink.”

   The bartender nodded and filled the glass he was holding, sliding it over to the stranger. “One glass of tap water on the house, Mr. ...?” he trailed off, prompting the stranger to reveal his name.

   “Prasino. My name is Prasino,” he said reluctantly, gratefully taking a sip of his water. 

   “Mayard; nice to meet you,” he said, taking Prasino’s hand and shaking it. “Forgive me for asking-call it bartender’s curiosity-but what brought you here, Mr. Prasino?” Mayard gestured with his hands as he asked the question.

   He turned his head away, taking a long, drawn-out puff of his cigar before responding.

   “I’m looking for someone. Someone with answers.”

   “Ah, a man of many mysteries, I see,” the bartender retorted, raising a mischievous eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll let you keep your secrets. I won’t pry any further.”

   Prasino broke eye contact and looked down at the counter, taking another sip from his glass when Mayard noticed something... odd. His left eye, which was a black and white bullseye pattern-in stark constant with its bright blue twin-seemed to be... spinning?

   Concerned, he asked, “Your eye... are you alright, Mr. Prasino?”

   He looked up at Mayard, startled, and groaned. Quickly, he tried to assure the bartender: “Yes, my good sir; just a bit of eye strain from staring at my notebook for too long.”

   “Speaking of that notebook of yours, what is in it, if you don’t mind my asking?” Mayard leaned over the counter and attempted to read what Prasino had been writing so fervently, but he closed the book shut with such force the water in the glass near it shook.

   “It’s getting quite late, as you know. I suppose it’s time for me to turn in for the night. I bid you adieu.” Avoiding the question, Prasino extinguished his cigar, downed the rest of his water and stood up. “Goodnight.” And with that, he left the bar.

   “Uh-goodnight?” Mayard tried to wish the stranger well, but by the time he had issued his farewell, Prasino was well out the door. He looked at the clock on the wall and gave it a confused look. It was late, as Prasino had said. So why had he gone outside and left the bar? Especially when it was attached to a hotel? Where was he planning on sleeping, exactly? There were no other inns in this small town, and it was surrounded by nothing but dark woods.

   Mayard shrugged, not bothering to think much more about it and worked on closing down the bar for the night.