“Nothing? Nothing?” asked Xander for the tenth time. Or rather, with the way he talked, the twentieth.
We were standing in the bus station in downtown Esquel, surrounded by a whole lot of people who kept trying to point us towards the hospital. I was worried that Cecil’s ‘condition’ might have become noticeable until one of the friendly-yet-unrequested tour guides mentioned that Esquel was a favorite destination for ‘Medical Tourism.’
“I’m sorry, Xan- Mr. Moon. Really I am. I just... I don’t see anything.”
That wasn’t literally true, of course. I saw the station, the people, Xander’s scowl, and Cecil rummaging through the stand of tourist brochures. What I didn’t see was any random ‘Map to The Next Piece of the Osiris Machine’ doodle floating in the air.
“I say!” exclaimed Cecil holding up a brochure. “Was anyone aware that The Old Patagonian Express, popularized by Paul Theroux, was based in this dreary little town?”
“Do you mind, Cecil?” snapped Xander.