Brighton, the nearest seaside town to Luenton, was just an hour's journey by steam train from Victoria Station. The fare cost five shillings.
However, traveling by train in this era was no simple matter. Elena had to first purchase the latest edition of *Bradshaw's Railway Guide and Travel Assistant*, priced at six pence. This indispensable book provided detailed and updated schedules for all train routes. Since no single company monopolized the railway system, train times frequently changed, and the timetable was regularly updated.
The *Bradshaw Guide* was essential for any train journey. It contained maps, illustrations, and comprehensive descriptions of the key features and historical landmarks of each station town. Thanks to this guide, Elena had determined Brighton to be the ideal place to perform her ritual magic.
As for purchasing tickets, one had to go to the station window in person. Elena needed to keep a close eye on the time and arrive early to buy hers.
Luggage was another concern. Although the train provided a service for transporting suitcases—railway staff would hoist them to the roof of the carriage, secure them with rope, and cover them with waterproof cloth—if not properly fastened, there was a risk of them falling off during transit. And once lost, there would be no retrieving them.
Given the relatively short one-hour journey and just a single overnight stay, Elena decided against taking a full suitcase. Instead, she opted for a carry-on bag. However, as everyone knew, train stations were crowded and notorious for pickpockets and thieves. She would have to keep her luggage close and well-guarded.
"Maybe you should consider a carpet bag," the portly shopkeeper suggested, "the kind made from old Brussels carpet. Sturdy and practical."
Upon learning that Elena planned to go to Brighton, he was completely opposed to the idea. Everything had just started, and she wanted to leave town? Though Elena was now only in charge of collecting payment—training had been handed off to experienced staff, with extra money paid for their services—he still viewed her as the cornerstone of the Ghost Tour. He feared that if she left, she'd return only to find the tour business completely wrecked.
But Elena's resolve was firm. With only one chance a month for her magical work, even if the Ghost Tour collapsed, she had to go.
Seeing that he couldn't change her mind, the shopkeeper relented. Learning it would only be a two-day trip eased his worry slightly. He started actively offering advice, hoping she would go and return quickly.
Elena had once owned a carpet bag, lovingly made by her mother from high-quality Brussels carpet. When she had prepared to flee to the countryside with her club, she had packed it. Whether it was later confiscated by the Tribunal or taken by Vera Grace and the others, she didn't know.
Carpet bags were ideal for train travel. There was a popular saying that they could hold anything, like a magical pouch. In the unheated train carriages, they could even be unfolded into a blanket for warmth on cold nights.
However, without excellent craftsmanship, such bags easily fell apart, encouraging people to make their own. Fortunately, the shopkeeper's wife was a skilled craftswoman and generously offered to lend Elena one of her own.
Elena packed her pajamas, hat, and toiletries into the carpet bag. The various items needed for the ritual were wrapped in another cloth and placed inside with great care. She also brought a change of clothes—a second-hand set she'd bought at the market. While the material and tailoring didn't compare to the gifts from the Duke, she was glad to finally have two sets of men's clothes. After all, wearing the same outfit every day simply wasn't sustainable.
She also purchased a small coin purse, into which she placed a modest amount of money to keep on her person, safe from pickpockets.
While Elena was making her preparations, Mr. Herman, the well-known printer from Holywell Street, was on the verge of a breakdown.
It all began the day the publishing agreement was signed. Upon sealing the deal, Herman immediately left the café and rushed back to his printshop, carefully cradling the precious manuscript. He summoned the typesetters to begin layout work overnight, determined to launch this astonishing book as soon as possible.
To appeal to a broader readership, Herman spared no expense in production. Unlike typical erotic fiction, which was cheaply printed on wood pulp paper with rough paper covers, this book was printed on fine, white cotton paper and bound in dark leather adorned with gold-embossed designs. Such luxurious binding was usually reserved for second editions of popular titles—this choice revealed just how much hope and confidence Herman had in the book.
Of course, for the book to succeed, the title was also crucial. The original title, *Spring Dream*, was far too suggestive and would immediately bring to mind inappropriate content. While suitable for underground fiction, it wasn't ideal for wider circulation.
After much deliberation, Herman renamed it *A Strange Journey in a Dream*. The new title sounded like an adventure tale—respectable enough to be displayed openly on a bookshelf or read in public without embarrassment. Unless, of course, one peeked inside.
Determined to treat it as a legitimate literary release, Herman even provided each copy with a wooden box and a fabric dust jacket. Since leather covers easily got dirty, booksellers offering luxury editions typically wrapped them with protective jackets—what had started as thin paper had now evolved into fabric and leather versions.
When Herman received the first printed copy of *A Strange Journey in a Dream*, he hesitated for a moment. It looked too thin. The binder spread his hands helplessly—there was only so much text to work with; they couldn't make it thicker without adding something.
"Insert some blank pages," Herman suggested, inspiration striking. "Make it look more substantial."
A true capitalist! If Elena had been there, she would have felt utterly ashamed.
The binder wiped his hands and followed instructions, padding the book with many blank pages. The scant few dozen printed ones were buried in the middle—almost invisible unless one searched carefully.
Now Herman was satisfied.
When it came time to set a price, he placed it at a shockingly high 2 pounds and 24 shillings.
To put that in context, even the most renowned novelists in Luenton only charged 20 shillings for a full three-volume work. For a mere novella, this was astronomical—especially considering it was only the first half of the story.
But given the unique nature of erotic fiction, Herman was confident the price was justified.
"Isn't that a bit steep?" asked Joseph, a local bookseller, clearly taken aback. "I mean, it's great writing, but most books are priced so much lower. I'm a little worried…"
"My dear Joseph," Herman said smoothly, "trust me. Use the same approach as before. Tell your most eager customers that this is a special book—part of your private collection. Then take them upstairs and show them some of the content. Believe me, they'll be more than willing to pay two pounds."
He leaned in, wrapping an arm around Joseph's shoulders, and added in a low voice, "You can even tell them that due to the book's high price, the store has limited stock. If they don't buy now, they might miss out. Plus, the luxurious binding means they can leave it out in plain sight—on a bookshelf, on a nightstand—without anyone suspecting a thing. It's tasteful and elegant, perfect for any gentleman. Tell me, isn't that worth two pounds?"
Joseph, dizzy from the persuasion, left with a few copies of *A Strange Journey in a Dream*, plus one at a discount from Herman. "You can't exactly open a copy in the shop for them to preview, right?"
Back at the bookshop, Joseph slowly recovered from his daze. Still a bit skeptical, he carefully stored the wooden boxes, then eagerly opened his own copy. When he saw the exquisite dust jacket, he was pleasantly surprised—it truly was a new kind of craftsmanship.
He wiped his hands with a cloth to avoid soiling the book. Lifting the dust jacket to reveal the gold-embossed leather cover and title, he was even more impressed. At this point, the hefty price tag seemed a little more reasonable.
However, when he opened the book with reverent anticipation, he was met with a blank page. Stunned, he flipped through rapidly—blank, blank, blank—until halfway through, where the printed text finally appeared.
Joseph was furious and confused, staring at the thick stack of empty pages. He wanted to howl at the ceiling.
He didn't consider himself an overly honest businessman, but this—this was outrageous!
He was enraged for a moment. But the books were already in his store, and he couldn't exactly return them. Besides, he had only skimmed the beginning; he was still curious how the story would unfold. After checking to make sure no one was around, he took the book and began to read in earnest.
Before long, suggestive sounds echoed from the second floor.
Some time later, Joseph returned the book to the shelf, no longer angry. Instead, he wore a satisfied smile.
He murmured to himself, "Worth it! Absolutely worth it! Two pounds? It's a privilege to read this book!"