Well, if he heads west, he'll eventually come to an establishment called the Singing Mandrake. They serve various vintages of mushroom wine, mostly, but they've got assorted food products to go with the wine, too.

What an appropriately named establishment! He can get food there and then he will not be hungry.

Now, about a place to sleep...

There's a woman looking at him with concern as he exits the Singing Mandrake. Her face is lined with age, but her hair is vibrantly red. Perhaps she can help?

"Hello!" he says. "I'm looking for somewhere to stay the night, can you help me?"

Her eyes widen. "Oh- but don't you have a family to stay with?"

"Not that I know of!"

"Oh, how terrible - and you've outgrown the orphan-gangs, I suppose-"

She worries her lower lip. "I wouldn't want a young man on the streets at night, and the flophouses are terrible, they'll rob you blind. Why don't you come home with me, and I'll put you up in the spare bed? My latest lodger took an unexpected trip to the Tomb-Colonies."

"That sounds lovely!"

She brings him back to her home in the northeast of the city, chattering along the way. She's called the Softhearted Widow, apparently. She lost her husband and son both to the Unterzee - "Never go zailing, dearie, it's a terrible way to go." She's involved with half-a-dozen charities.

"But enough about me - what about you, dearie?"

"I woke up this morning in a jail cell with no memories!"

She gasps. "Oh, that's awful! Those damned Constables - if you'll pardon my French, but really, what an awful thing to do to a lad- have you found your way around alright? I hate to say so, but London really isn't the most hospitable city if you don't know how things work."

"Most of the people I met have been helpful. One of them tried to mug me so I took his knife and stabbed him with it and then took all his money."

The Softhearted Widow nods firmly. "Serves him right then. Trying to mug a nice boy like you, I don't know what's wrong with some people..."

"I don't really know if I'm all that nice but I guess he knew even less about that than I do," he says philosophically.

They reach the Widow's townhouse in good time. She unlocks the door and leads him inside.

It's a lovely place, if you like chintz and porcelain statuettes. She shows him to the spare bedroom, which is a bit more soberly furnished, and hands him a key. "That'll let you in if I'm not at home. Is there anything else you need, dearie?"

"I think I'll be all right! Thanks so much!"

"No trouble, no trouble at all."

She leaves him to rest.

He sleeps. He wakes up. He thinks of counting all his money and then gets distracted partway through the first purse and gives up.

He leaves the purse with the diamond in it behind and goes out looking for food and something interesting to do with his time.

Would he like to go back for another meat pie at the Singing Mandrake in Veilgarden? Skewered rats at the food-carts in Spite? Some meat of ambiguous origin at Dante's Grill in Ladybones Road? Some sausages at the Medusa's Head back in Watchmaker's Hill? Rubbery Lumps from Mrs. Plenty's Carnival, at the outskirts by the Prickfinger Wastes?

...what... exactly... is a Rubbery Lump?

Some manner of zeefood. That's all anyone knows or will say.

You know what, sure. Why not.

They taste... quite good, actually. They're very salty, and fried in an oil of nonspecific origin, and they do take some definite chewing, but they taste like the lightless unclean waters of the Unterzee any other fried seafood.

The Carnival has other diversions, as well, if he can pay for tickets. For example, there's the Most Educational Anatomy Exhibition, where "The NOTED PEDAGOGUE Mrs Plenty presents an INFORMATIVE and EDUCATIONAL EXHIBITION of ANATOMY and DANCES OF ANTIQUITY for DISCERNING GENTLEFOLK. You will BE IMPROVED!" There's also "MADAME SHOSHANA, the NEATH'S FOREMOST CLAIRVOYANTE," who can "SEE the FUTURE, the PAST, and THAT WHICH SHOULD NOT BE SEEN", and "the HOUSE of MIRRORS," which does not appear to have much of a line out front.

Well, as interested as he is in Mrs Plenty's anatomy, he's curious about everything else too and going for the thing with the shortest line sounds like a way to get from here to something interesting faster than if he had to wait. What's the House of Mirrors—or, rather, the HOUSE of MIRRORS—like?

It's surprisingly dark. The mirrors are slightly dusty. Is he supposed to be in here?

The mirrors don't distort his image with curved frames, like he might have expected. Indeed, the frames are perfectly straight, and the mirrors are flat. When he looks at his reflection, it looks... mostly like him. But in one of the mirrors, labeled HEART, he's pallid and covered in bleeding wounds; and in another, DREAM, his eyes are wide and he bears a feverish grin that won't go away. The reflections follow his movements, mostly, but the first reflection trembles as it does so, and the second jitters.