In early February in Brighton, slushy water streamed from the roadsides, trampled into deep and shallow prints by passing carriages and pedestrians.
The weather was still gloomy and cold.
That morning, Mr. Hutton lectured on Emperor Justinian’s compilation of Roman law.
After class, the old professor told him to come by his office after lunch.
After lunch, Grey took another gingerbread man from the tin box and stuffed it into his hand.
He took a bite. The aroma of butter wafted up as the quill pen, drawn in frosting, crumbled between his teeth.
Hugh was still working on his sketchbook of chicken legs and had already filled more than a dozen pages. He claimed he was going to draw every type of poultry he ate from winter break all the way through spring.
Warren told a funny story about his uncle’s recent business trip to Brighton from Newcastle.
Mason, on the other hand, complained that every horse he’d picked had lost, wiping out all the allowance he had painstakingly saved.
After lunch, he walked down the hall toward Mr. Hutton’s office.
When he reached the office, the door was closed.
Richard knocked three times.
"Come in."
He pushed the door open and went inside, finding someone else standing before the desk.
It was Winterworth, the Inspector Team Leader of the Brighton Branch Office.
Seeing him again, Richard’s first thought was, ’He’s gotten even thinner.’
Winterworth dispensed with the pleasantries and cut straight to the chase.
"Mrs. MacNeil has spoken to you, I assume? About having you accompany us to observe the spring Seal maintenance."
"Old Big is at the Branch Office getting things ready. We depart at two this afternoon. Destination: the West Suburb Mine Area."
Richard glanced at Mr. Hutton.
"What exactly is the situation at the West Suburb Mine Area?"
"A routine spring inspection." Mr. Hutton set down his teacup. "The Branch Office organizes one at this time every year."
"The West Suburb Mine Area has three small Blood Soaking Points," Winterworth added. "And then there’s the one in the center..."
"The Unyielding Pit?"
The old professor’s white eyebrows twitched.
"How do you know that name?"
"I was looking through some materials at the municipal library a while ago and deciphered it."
Richard answered quickly. "The municipal library has a book, *A Collection of Folk Ballads from the Brighton West Suburban Mine*."
Winterworth gave a dry chuckle.
"So you’ve read it. The author of that book passed away twenty years ago."
"He was an elder in a civilian Guild. After he passed away, the few books he wrote were scattered all over. The copy in the municipal library was a donation from the Brighton Education Association."
Mr. Hutton, however, stared intently at his student.
"That book has been sitting in the municipal library for many years. Very few people ever look through it."
"For you to even think of searching for hidden text at the municipal library... You really must love reading."
The implication was that Richard hadn’t taken the old professor’s warning from their time in Whitcomb to heart.
Richard felt a little awkward.
"After you deciphered the name," Winterworth brought the conversation back on track, "did you do anything?"
This was what they were truly concerned about.
"I didn’t do anything. I just marked it in red on the map and confirmed the locations of the three small Blood Soaking Points nearby."
"You didn’t go see it for yourself?" the Inspector Team Leader asked pointedly.
"Going to the site would risk ’reverse infiltration’," Richard replied without hesitation. "I’ve read the rules very clearly."
Winterworth cupped the teacup in his hands and nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good. You’re much less trouble than the last few youngsters we’ve brought along."
"Since you even managed to decipher the name of the Unyielding Pit, there’s something you should be aware of."
"There’s been trouble at the West Suburb mines this winter."
"Unpaid wages, suppressed pay... Last month, there was a collapse at the Black Stone Mine. Seven people died, and there’s still no word on compensation for their families."
"Rumors of a strike have been circulating in the West Suburb for over half a month now."
A thought struck Richard.
"Then... will today’s spring inspection be affected?"
Winterworth shook his head.
"Matters of the Mysterious Side and the administrative side are strictly separate. The strike is a local public order issue for the police and the garrison. It’s not our jurisdiction."
Richard nodded and didn’t press the issue.
Winterworth finished the remaining tea in his cup and placed the cup back on the coaster.
"We leave at two. Go home and pack. Bring whatever you think you’ll need."
"We’ll most likely be staying out overnight. Whether we can return tomorrow morning depends on the situation."
Richard left the office, schoolbag in hand.
He left Greenwood through a side door and boarded a bus back to Waste Rock Lane.
By the time he got to the Branch Office, it was almost one-thirty.
He had gone home first, dropping his schoolbag and changing into a sturdy, dark jacket.
He told his mother he was going on a field assignment with his Guide and might have to stay out overnight.
From a hidden compartment in his drawer, he took the Silver Needle Long Box, the Deep Ether Condensate Bottle, his camera, and a notebook, stuffing them all into a backpack.
As for the Webley Revolver and its bullets, he used a separate leather strap to secure them inside his jacket.
When he arrived at the Branch Office, Old Big was moving a small wooden crate.
"Richard!"
Old Big looked up and saw him.
"You’re right on time. I just loaded the set of Engraving Knives onto the truck. Next, I have to load the coarse salt and Holy Water."
"Let me help."
"No, no, no." Old Big waved him away.
"The items for the Seal can’t be touched by anyone other than the designated operators."
Richard didn’t insist. Old Big seemed much more on edge than usual.
"Is it always this big of a production?"
"You’re new, so it’s normal that you don’t know." Old Big straightened up.
"In truth, real anomalous incidents in the city are rare. The main mission for all our branch offices is the Seal Patrol."
As he was speaking, the door to the Branch Office’s main building opened.
Mrs. MacNeil emerged. Today, she wore practical trousers under a long, gray wool coat, and she carried her familiar leather case.
Richard knew it contained her entire set of paraphernalia for Spirit Communication and Divination.
Following behind her were two younger Practitioners.
One was a woman of average height with short, dark brown hair. Her features were sharp, and her lips were pressed into a thin line.
The other was a tall, thin man, a little over thirty, with black hair combed neatly back, and a mole at the corner of his eye.
Mrs. MacNeil saw Richard and nodded at him.
"You’re here."
"Yes, Ma’am."
"Let me introduce you." She turned.
"These are Lady Mod and Mr. Spence. Seal maintenance is their specialty."
"For today’s trip to the West Suburb Mine Area, they’re the outside help our Branch Office requested from Manchester City."
Richard shook hands with both of them in turn.
Lady Mod’s handshake was firm and brief, the back of her hand ice-cold.
Mr. Spence’s hand was of a normal temperature. He gave a slight nod as they shook hands. "Elder Hutton has been mentioning you frequently in our little circle of Northern Practitioners."
For a moment, Richard was at a loss for words.
Mrs. MacNeil smoothly took over the conversation.
"Save the pleasantries for later. Mr. Hutton and Mr. Winterworth should be here any minute."
She walked a few steps toward the other end of the courtyard and set her leather case on the trunk of the vehicle.
"Richard, come here a moment."
Richard went over to her.
Mrs. MacNeil had her back to the others.
"For today’s trip to the West Suburb Mine Area, Team Leader Winterworth has issued you official papers to accompany the team.
Your role, including your duties on site, will officially be ’Trainee Inspector on Observation’."
"When you get to the site, you will continue to act as Mr. Hutton’s assistant.
You can photograph the Inscription renewal process and take notes."
"How much useful material you can compile from this afterward is entirely up to you."
Richard nodded. He had practical experience with a Seal once before. While he couldn’t say he was an old hand, at least he wasn’t a complete novice anymore.
Mrs. MacNeil continued explaining today’s deployment:
"Once we’re on site today, we’ll form several defensive perimeters.
The outermost circle will be Hunters, and inward will be Secretive Ones."
"In the innermost circle are two spots: one is the Inscription Platform where Mr. Hutton will work, and the other is you."
"You’ll stand there, officially acting as Mr. Hutton’s recorder, but you’ll actually be at the very center, protected by several Light Locks."
She let go of the leather case’s handle.
"Don’t think you’re unimportant just because you’re a rookie. You already showed your value last time. Keep it up."
"I understand," Richard replied.
As they were speaking, Mr. Hutton and Winterworth also arrived.
The old professor produced a folded piece of paper from an inside pocket of his coat.
"This is a location map of the Nine-Layered Stone Ring."
"Today’s matter is a bit simpler than the time at Whitcomb."
"Whitcomb was emergency maintenance for a failed Seal. This is a routine spring inspection of the West Suburb Mine Area."
He watched his student stuff the map into his bag, then added a reminder.
"Every year we check the gate to see if anyone on the outside is trying to take the opportunity to squeeze their way in."
"Every spring inspection, we guard against two things."
Richard looked up.
"The first is an uprising of Evil Beings during the window of opportunity. When we loosen the rings, the Seal’s overall effectiveness drops.
The filth from deep within the pit will surge up through the cracks. That happens every year; we just clear it out as per procedure."
"The other thing..." Mr. Hutton looked at him.
"Is that some people want to take advantage of the moment the rings are loosened to squeeze inside."
"Squeeze inside?"
"Reverse infiltration. There are always desperate, opportunistic, or just plain insane people.
They want to slip through the weak points during the few days the Seal is at its thinnest, seeking something that even they themselves can’t clearly describe."
"Don’t think the Branch Office’s full set of regulations for going underground is just to guard against Evil Beings. Half of it is to prevent these people from forcing their way in."
Richard carefully folded the map and put it in his bag.
"I’ll remember that, sir."
... ...
The van was packed, jolting along a dirt country road toward the West Suburb.
The afternoon sun wasn’t too strong, but inside it was stuffy enough to make one sweat.
No one in the vehicle spoke, each person silently making their own preparations.
Richard took out his notebook and found the section on the *Well Forbidden Song*.
He flipped from page thirty-two to page forty-seven, rereading it line by line.
[Erudite] had already imprinted every page and every punctuation mark in his mind, but he was still more comfortable reading it over with his own eyes.
The seventh song, "Don’t Respond."
"Os mutum, ne respondeas. (Keep your mouth shut, do not answer.)"
"Hear one call, do not answer. Hear two calls, still don’t answer. Hear three calls, turn and walk away. Hear four calls, squat on the spot."
Since [Rationality] had activated, the way he interpreted this information had changed.
In the past, he would have simply read the rule: "Do not answer strange voices heard underground."
Now as he reread it, [Rationality] went beyond the rule itself.
If the thing underground were simply calling out names, there would only be two states: "responding" and "not responding."
But the miners’ Earth Technique divided it into several stages, with each stage requiring a different response.
The simplest explanation was that the "name-calling" of the thing underground had different intensities or methods.
The first call is its long-range probe. It’s too far away to pose a threat.
The second call is its mid-range probe. It’s closer, but it hasn’t locked on yet.
A third call means it has identified your location.
But since it hasn’t completed the lock-on, turning and walking away can still interrupt the process.
A fourth call means it has completed the lock-on. Turning to leave is useless, because it already knows where you are.
You can only squat down and stay still, letting it sweep over you.
Combined with his experience at Whitcomb, he had a strange feeling that this call-and-response mechanism was wonderfully similar to the work of a Scholar.

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