Chapter 80: New Channel
Richard took the business card and glanced at it.
It was made of thick cardstock with a simple layout, similar in style to the one from his aunt, Isabella.
The front read: Albert Clement, Independent Antique Appraiser.
Below that was the shop’s address and a phone number.
The back was blank, save for a line drawing of a copper kettle in the bottom-right corner, identical to the one on the wooden sign by the door.
He turned the card over in his hands. "Mr. Clement, etiquette dictates that I should give you one of mine in return."
"But I don’t have a business card yet."
Clement paused for a moment, looking amused. "A business card? It’s not too late to give me one when you’re finally qualified to have one made."
"You might have to wait a few years, then."
"An old man like me can afford to wait." The old man folded the oilcloth twice and set it on a corner of the counter. "I’ve been sitting in this alley for years. I haven’t even changed the wooden sign by the door. Just look at that peeling paint."
"I noticed," Richard said with a nod.
"The last time I was here, I was thinking that if you don’t repaint that sign soon, people passing by won’t even be able to read the words."
"All the better if they can’t," the old man huffed. "Saves me the trouble of amateurs barging in to ask if I buy old bed frames."
"Last time, someone brought in a rusty coal shovel, claimed it was a family heirloom, and asked me to appraise it.
I looked at it for a long time and told him it was just a coal shovel.
He didn’t believe me and insisted the pattern on the handle was an ancient Inscription."
"Was it an Inscription?"
"It was flashing from the casting mold that hadn’t been polished off," the old man said, letting out an exasperated laugh.
Richard couldn’t help but chuckle as well.
The atmosphere, which had been so formal just moments ago, suddenly relaxed, returning to the mood from when he had first stepped into the shop.
One old, one young, they sized each other up from across the counter, neither taking the other too seriously.
Richard picked up the Oil Lamp and tucked the business card into his inner pocket.
"Mr. Clement, when I have my own business card someday, I’ll be sure to bring you one right away."
The old man grunted in acknowledgment and went back to his own business.
...
Leaving the antique shop, Richard felt his mood lighten considerably after the banter with the old man.
The Oil Lamp, wrapped in two layers of oil paper, sat heavy at the bottom of his bag, making him feel slightly off-balance as he walked.
As he walked, he mentally processed their recent conversation.
’Once I’ve properly established this connection with Clement, my efficiency in acquiring Marvels will increase by several orders of magnitude compared to just trying my luck on the streets.’
’Come to think of it, between the explanations from my grandfather’s study, the scattered hints in *On the Ascent in the Veil*, and Clement’s recent insinuations, I’ve managed to form a basic understanding of Marvels.’
’The reason this Sphinx Oil Lamp went unsold at auction was, on the surface, its unknown function, the long appraisal period, and a consignor who couldn’t afford to wait.’
’But the underlying reason was that no one dared to rashly open the Seal on it.’
He mentally re-categorized the known uses of Marvels.
’The first category is for storing Ether and assisting cultivation.’
’The second is as a vessel for a signature. While signing isn’t a ritual itself, it’s the foundation for all subsequent rituals.’
’The third category is as materials for Casting.’
’A Spirit Medium’s Crystal Ball, a Divination Master’s Tarot Cards, an alchemist’s Crucible and Distiller... A tool is elevated to a medium, and a medium is elevated to a Marvel.’
’After enough time and deep enough infusion, a Marvel might even develop semi-autonomous functions.’
’That’s probably why the silver coin Mr. Hutton gave me could be absorbed by the panel for Points.’
’The fourth category: sealing implements.’
An image suddenly surfaced in Richard’s mind.
The Divination Disc.
’Thinking back now, why did the Candle go out that time?’
’The scientific explanation I gave then temporarily fooled Warren and the other students, but I couldn’t fool myself.’
’Ether had settled deep within the wood fibers, like silt accumulating layer by layer on a riverbed. It was bound to pick up some impurities.’
’The panel seemed to have converted everything into Available Points, with no side effects or residue.’
’But then again, what if that Marvel had a trigger-activated trap?’
’I’ll have to be more cautious in the future. I can’t just go around touching everything I see. I need to put developing my Perception abilities on the agenda.’
Lost in thought, he arrived at the department store branch on Grafton Street.
Richard paused in front of the display window.
The last time he was here with Evelyn to look at gloves, his sister had stared at the window display for the longest time, but in the end, she could only bring herself to look, not to buy.
He remembered that the cuffs of the coat she wore were a bit too short, leaving her wrists exposed and red from the cold wind.
And those small leather shoes that pinched her feet—after all that walking in the Imperial Capital, the inside of the heels had been rubbed white.
He pushed the door open, and a Copper Bell chimed.
It was warm inside the store. Coal was burning in the fireplace, and the air smelled of a mixture of fabric and mothballs.
A female clerk in an apron peeked out from behind the counter. "What can I help you with, sir?"
"Shoes and a coat for a teenage girl."
"What age, specifically?"
"Fifteen."
"What about her height? And her shoe size?"
Richard mentally pictured his sister’s frame and recalled how snugly his own socks fit her.
"She’s about up to my ear, and her feet... are one size smaller than mine."
The clerk took a few pairs of shoes from the rack and placed them on the counter.
Brighton wasn’t the Imperial Capital, so the department store branch had a limited selection of goods, but the basic styles were all there.
Richard’s gaze swept back and forth between the pairs of shoes twice.
’Too flashy won’t do,’ he thought. ’Evelyn goes to school and does chores every day. If the soles are too thin, they’ll need replacing in three months.’
’But too plain won’t work either. That girl says she doesn’t care what she wears, but she always takes a second look whenever we pass a display window.’
In the end, he chose a pair of deep chestnut lace-up ankle boots. The upper was cowhide, the sole was slightly thicker than on typical women’s shoes, and the inside was lined with a thin layer of wool.
"How much for this pair?"
"Three shillings and six pence."
A little expensive, but the quality was plain to see. They would last several winters at least.
Richard turned the boots over to inspect the stitching on the sole. The stitches were even, and there was no excess glue at the seams.
"Alright, I’ll take them."
The coat took a bit longer.
The styles of autumn and winter coats for girls were divided into several tiers. The most expensive fur coats cost several pounds, while the cheapest padded cotton ones were just over three shillings.
He sifted through five or six items on the mid-tier rack.
"How about this one?" The clerk took a slate-blue tweed short coat from its hanger and spread it out on the counter.
The coat had a cinched waist, four black horn buttons down the front, and a collar that could be turned up against the wind.
It was lined with cotton flannel, the shoulder seams were straight, and there was enough extra length in the cuffs that she could wear it even if she grew over the next year.
"This one is five shillings."
"Would you take four shillings?" he asked, haggling out of habit.
"Sir, our cost for this one is over three shillings... How about four shillings and six pence? To make it an even sum with the shoes."
Richard did the math. The shoes and coat came to eight shillings in total.
If this had been in the past, he would have definitely haggled with the clerk for a good while.
He’d first point out flaws, then compare it with similar items, and finally use "I’ll go check next door" as his trump card.
But the pricing system in a department store branch was different from that of a small street-side shop.
The price tags were printed and attached, and the clerk had limited authority. All that haggling would, at most, save him one or two pence.
Besides, after the events of this morning, he wasn’t in the mood to haggle back and forth over a couple of copper coins.
"Alright, wrap them up for me."