You step onto the familiar stone streets of Old Quebec, where the rooftops lean like old friends sharing secrets and the Château Frontenac towers above like a storybook castle that never stopped believing in magic.

Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, catching on wrought-iron balconies and the noses of curious tourists. You pass a fiddler playing near Place Royale, his tune echoing off the ancient walls. Somewhere nearby, a horse-drawn carriage clops by, its driver sipping something suspiciously steamy from a thermos.

You’re here for one thing: the Landmark Token.

But who do you ask? Elsie? What are the chances you'll meet her again?

As you wander past the towering gates of the old city, a familiar scent catches your attention—warm maple, old parchment, and a hint of mystery. A small wooden sign swings gently above a narrow alleyway: “Office of Historical Oddities & Token Distribution (Unofficial)”.

The bell above the door jingles like a wind chime made of sleigh bells and secrets. You step into the narrow shop, where the air is thick with the scent of beeswax, old cedar, and something faintly resembling molasses. Shelves line the walls, stacked with curling maps, snow globe dioramas, and dusty jars labeled things like “Fog from the Bay of Fundy” and “Prairie Wind, 1892.”

Behind the counter, hunched over a steaming mug and a stack of handwritten ledgers, sits Granny Elsie.

She looks up, her eyes twinkling beneath her tartan headscarf. “Well, well,” she says, setting her mug down with a soft clink. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, sugar. Forgot your Landmark Token, did you?”

You nod sheepishly.

Elsie chuckles, not unkindly. “Happens more often than you’d think. But I’m afraid I can’t help you directly. The Château Frontenac token isn’t just handed out like Halloween candy. It was lost—oh, must be decades ago now. But there’s someone who might know where it ended up.” She rises from her stool with surprising grace and gestures for you to follow her through a curtain of Hudson’s Bay stripes. You pass into a back room filled with filing cabinets, faded portraits, and a globe that spins slowly on its own.

Seated at a desk beneath a flickering lantern is a man in a tweed coat with elbow patches and a monocle that seems to glow faintly. He’s surrounded by scrolls, ink pots, and a half-eaten sugar pie.

Elsie clears her throat. “This here’s Professor Thistlewaite. Historian of the Unrecorded and Keeper of the Lost Landmarks. If anyone knows where that token went, it’s him.”

The professor looks up, his monocle flashing. “Ah,” he says, voice like a page turning. “You’re here for the Château Token, aren’t you? I may have a lead… but it won’t be easy.” He leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It was last seen in the possession of a bellhop who vanished into the hotel’s underground archives. Some say he was chasing a runaway butter tart. Others say he never left at all.”

He slides a faded map across the desk toward you. A red X marks a hidden stairwell beneath the Château. “If you’re brave enough to descend into the archives, you might just find it. But beware—the past is sticky down there.”



Elsie hands you a flashlight and a wrapped maple cookie. “For strength,” she says with a wink.