You step through the newly-unlocked gate into a market place that looks several decades older than world you just left. Adjusting your top hat against the glare of the sun, you peer around at the little stands selling fresh fruit and vegetables, and the strange assortment of people who gather around them.

Luke tugs on your jacket. “Professor, where are we?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, my boy,” you say, looking down at your self-proclaimed apprentice. “Perhaps we should ask somebody.”

You poke around a little bit first, examining the scenery and prodding for hint coins. Then, somewhat reluctantly, you speak to the closest villager.

“Excuse me, I’m Professor Layton-”

“That one who does the puzzles?”

“Excuse me?”

“Layton. That’s the name of the archaeologist bloke who solves all them mysteries,” says the man knowledgeably. He’s got a hooked nose and a pot belly, and won’t keep still, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he talks. You smile and nod politely.

“The very same,” you say. “I was wondering if you could tell me exactly where we are?”

“What, just like that?” he narrows his eyes. “I dunno. Information like that, it’s pricey.”

You could just ask somebody else – the market is hardly empty – but you have a suspicious feeling you know where this is going. “Name your price,” you say instead, folding your arms.

“Well, if you really are as good as the papers say, then you should be able to help me. See, my wife gave me this real head-scratcher, and I just can’t seem to-”

“Say no more,” you say. “A gentleman never turns down a good puzzle.”