A thought occurred to Richard.
"What would happen if the two names were deciphered and then brought back together?"
Mr. Hutton looked at him, the slight smile in his eyes vanishing.
"You don’t want to know."
Richard wisely didn’t press the matter.
The old gentleman took out a small pair of tweezers and another wooden box.
"We’ll get these sealed up today."
He used the tweezers to pick up the Bronze Plate from the side of the sealing circle.
The moment the tweezers touched the Bronze Plate, Richard heard a faint HISS.
Mr. Hutton lifted the Bronze Plate, moving it from outside the sealing circle and placing it in the wooden box at the other end of the desk.
The bottom of the wooden box was lined with a layer of powder. Richard glanced at it with his Spiritual Vision; it was refined salt mixed with silver powder.
When the Bronze Plate landed on the salt powder, the faint Ether floating over the entire tabletop immediately stabilized.
Mr. Hutton closed the lid of the wooden box, completing the basic Seal for this item.
He then took out a second wooden box and performed the same procedure on the Sheepskin Scroll.
The two wooden boxes were placed side by side at opposite ends of the desk.
Richard watched this series of actions unfold.
"Sir, your technique..."
"When you’re a Scholar, you encounter a more eclectic mix of things than anyone else."
Mr. Hutton replied casually, "Sealing, Divination, backtracking traces... People in our line of work need to know a little of these ’self-defense’ skills."
"When did you learn all this?"
"During my university years. I had time on my hands, so I learned a bunch of miscellaneous skills."
He handed the wooden box containing the Bronze Plate back to his student.
"Did you memorize today’s procedure?"
Mr. Hutton glanced at Richard. "Store them separately. Never let them come into direct contact in the same space."
"Understood."
"From now on, whenever you handle samples with a Duality structure, follow this set of rules."
"I’ve sealed away the section with the true names." He went on to explain the work they needed to do next:
"The parts that don’t involve the true names also contain records of their rituals. We can study those."
Mr. Hutton sat back in his chair and picked up his white porcelain teacup.
"The things left behind by the Celts... savage and bloody."
He took a sip of tea. "But their understanding of the ’Curtain’ is, in many ways, far deeper than our modern academic systems."
"They used blood, bone, and hundreds, even thousands, of years of sacrifice in exchange for a subtle observation of the Curtain."
"We today cannot afford the price they paid, but we can learn from their achievements."
"Learn, but do not replicate," the old gentleman added finally, his eyes conveying a clear warning.
...
By the time he left the office, the sky had already grown dim.
Richard took a side exit from Greenwood and walked to a public phone booth on the street corner.
He dropped in a coin and gave the number for the Clement Antiques Store.
The receiver rang four times before it was picked up.
"Clement Antiques, who is this?"
"It’s me, Richard."
"Well, well." The voice on the other end was muffled by a layer of static. "I thought you’d forgotten about this old bag of bones. Where’d you run off to for the winter break?"
"Up north." Richard stuffed his other hand into his overcoat pocket. "Broadening my horizons with a predecessor over there."
"Predecessor?" Clement seemed to mull the word over. "You come back with all your limbs attached?"
"All attached."
"That’s good." The old man let out a laugh mixed with a cough. "It’s good for a young man to get out and see the world. Just... see the world, don’t get buried by it."
Richard steered the conversation back to business, asking if there were any new unsold auction items.
Clement took a sip of something; the sound of the cup being placed back on the table was very soft.
"None." The old man was frank. "Before the next quarter, Stuart won’t be letting anything with a ’Class Two’ tag flow down."
"What about the channel through your retired colleague?"
"That’s dried up too." Clement’s voice was a bit hoarse. "Something’s not right with the winds from the Imperial Capital."
"A few of the big houses have been hoarding stock lately. They’re holding onto what they have and not letting go. All the smaller channels underneath have dried up completely. You can’t even see a ripple."
"’Something’s not right with the winds,’ what do you mean?"
The line was silent for a moment.
"The people up top are settling scores." The old man finally said only this:
"What specific scores they’re settling, I wouldn’t know. I’m just a guy who sells old junk.
I only know one rule: every time they start settling scores, the little folks down below have to tighten their belts."
Richard held the receiver, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.
"If there’s no stock in the short term, what I have on hand is enough to keep me busy for a while."
He switched to a lighter tone. "You don’t need to rush around looking for me. Take this chance to rest up."
"Heh, I like the sound of that."
Clement played along:
"These old bones of mine really can’t run around anymore."
"Well then, if there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up."
"Alright. I’ll call you if I hear anything."
He hung up the phone. The receiver made a dull THUD as it rested back on the copper hook.
Richard’s gaze fell on the window of the pharmacy diagonally across the street.
The glass medicine bottles that usually filled the window had been pushed aside to make room for a white paper notice:
"Iodine and hemostatic gauze temporarily out of stock. Restock date undetermined."
A shortage of iodine and hemostatic gauze wasn’t unusual in Brighton.
This city was built on factories. Machines were always crushing hands, and molten steel was always burning through arms. The rate at which such supplies were consumed was already a cut above other places.
His gaze shifted to the side of the pharmacy.
Next to the pharmacy was a funeral parlor with a narrow storefront and an old sign.
In previous years at this time of year, there would be at most two or three unpainted pine coffins leaning against the shop entrance, covered by a tarp.
Today, the silhouette under the tarp was noticeably taller. The lid of the outermost coffin wasn’t shut tight, revealing a narrow black crack.
On one side, supplies for bandaging wounds were out of stock. On the other, items for laying out the dead were being stockpiled.
The two things were separated by a single wall, and the snow fell just as thickly in front of both doors.
Standing in the booth, Richard put the two pieces together in his mind.
Brighton was changing.
Slowly. It was hidden in the out-of-stock notices and the extra coffins, hidden in places ordinary people couldn’t see or even imagine.
By the time most people could see it, it would likely be a situation far beyond what a simple notice could explain.
He pushed open the door of the phone booth, and a cold wind carrying pellets of snow blasted into his collar.
By the time he returned to Waste Rock Lane, the sky was completely dark.
Evelyn heard the door and poked her head out of the kitchen, a flour-dusted wooden spoon still clutched in her hand.
"Why are you so late today?"
"Took a detour to make a phone call."
"To who?"
"Mr. Clement."
Evelyn walked out from the kitchen doorway, wiping the wooden spoon on her apron.
"The old man who sells junk?"
"Mhm."
"Why are you always so interested in his old junk?" The little girl’s nose crinkled. "It’s not like we’re short on things at home."
"I’m not interested in the junk." Richard unbuttoned his overcoat. "I’m interested in talking with the old man."
"...What could you possibly have to talk about with an old man who sells junk?"
"We talk about the market."
Their mother’s voice called out from the kitchen:
"Evelyn, stop blocking the doorway and bickering with your brother. The dough in the mixing bowl is going to over-proof if you don’t tend to it."
"Coming, coming..."
Evelyn scurried back to the kitchen, flinging a few drops of batter onto the floor as she ran.
Outside, the snow was still falling, but inside, it was warm.

Comments

Loading...