[ Ah, and there it is; that thumb worrying the fabric and the general feeling of held back energy so similar to how Charles had been shifting his weight from foot to foot in the Cannery when he'd first come into audience with the King, before Edwin had ordered him around and brought him to heel. He looks like he's longing for that now, the firm direction of someone who always knows what the next action to take is... So this whole not knowing where he is thing wasn't fake, then. Charles is smart, he's sure, (though not smart enough to accept Edwin's confession, but that's a whole other thing) but he's certainly not smart enough to pull off a prank like this. What would be the point, anyway? What purpose does this serve for a boy who's very reason for lingering in the afterlife was being at the side of someone very specific who is also very much not here? ]

We do. You solved a few cases here some months ago. I helped.

[ It's not entirely a lie, but it does settle strangely on his tongue nonetheless. He's not sure Edwin — or Charles, for that matter — would agree that what he did was help, even if it did assist their psychic in banishing the town witch. ]

So. You've lost your memory, huh? No point asking how, since I guess that falls into the realms of the problem itself, but... [ He takes an easy, lazy step forward, wondering if Charles is still on the back foot about him despite apparently not remembering who he is. Will he meet with Charles eager to find a face that knows him, or will he meet the business end of a cricket bat? ] That's pretty impressive. Casting a curse on a ghost is no joke.

[ A little up and down with his eyes. Because he can't resist. ]

I'm the Cat King of Port Townsend. Which is where you are. A loooong long way from London, little ghost.