Once you head down Joseph's Street - you know, where the fire department is - from the town centre, the houses become larger and larger, and more ornate, until finally: an iron gate in front of you, flanked by proud griffons. The gate is almost never closed; and behind it the upper town awaits enticingly. This is where all the rich people live: a place of pleasant mansions and manors, little chimneys, lantern poles, elegant gardens. Here the people parade around most of the days, the men with cigars and ridiculous hats, the women with umbrellas, all safely protected by the town constables.
The finest of Harbat's gentry lives (and works) here: nested away in the centre you'll find some polished establishments like the doll house, the tailor, and the apothecary, and the advocate's house. Off to quieter parts lives the esteemed doctor in his manor as big as a castle, or the notary, or an eccentric widow.
Some parts are so quiet they almost seem... lifeless. However, recently, the masons moved in and started erecting the grandest and most expensive mansion of them all, a real fortress. Everyone is extremely curious as to who might be the contracter.
Naturally, everything is very refined in the upper town, and everyone is so well-mannered that it almost seems utterly dull and boring. The youngest sirs and misses often think so too, and find nothing more exciting than to sneak away to the hustling-bustling market and loiter around. While they should be in school.
"Now, no dilly-dallying Smithers", Lord Kinney spoke as he hurried through the streets, adjusting his hat, "put a leg boy, I have a meeting with our good notary and there's absolutely no point in being late. We'll * " hold on, what was this? An ill-dressed long-haired lout tramped through the streets, defiling it with what seemed to be a shabby pair of travelling boots, mud trailing in his wake. Lord Kinney recoiled in disdain, halted his progress to regard the beggar. Presently, the man stepped up to some ladies, and seemd to inquire about some sort of storehouse. The insolent bastard! How dare he approach those two fine ladies and babble on about a whorehouse. The ladies drew back in fright with a high-pitch "ooh!", one of them dropping her Boutique umbrella in pure terror on seeing the crude tattoes the man bore. "Smithers, hold my cane and briefcase", Lord Kinney said decidedly, and tucked his silver monocle away in his tweed vest, and marched up to the ruffian to confront him.
"Now look here, good sport, that's no way to address a lady", he said angrily, pointing his finger at the man's leather vest. "My pardon, I just wanted", the dirty man blabbered. Instantly, Lord Kinney noticed the man fingering his dagger, he had a knack for these kind of uncomfortable situations. "How dare you!" he retorted, promptly removing his glove and slapping the bewildered beggar in the face with it. "I see you, sirrah", he snapped, "and will have you meet me in duel for the ladies' honour. Pistols your pleasure, or shall I dance you around with the sabre?"
The ruffian fled, as they always did. "Right!" Lord Kinney said. "Smithers, run on over to the constable's and gather the boys, we'll have this settled this instant. Inform them to bring whatever weapon they can muster." What is this world coming to, Kinney sighed to himself, as he handed the ladies his snow-white handkerchief, their faces blushing and giggling as they regarded the fine Lord Kinney, certainly the best bachelor catch at any soiree.