I Loaded the Occult Panel

Tuesday evening, Richard was halfway through memorizing the stack of difficult historical terms Mr. Holland had copied for him when his mother called from downstairs, telling him to answer the phone.

He went downstairs and picked up the receiver. A fit of coughing came through the earpiece, and only when it subsided did a voice slowly speak.

”Boy, it’s me.”

Clement’s voice was hoarser than usual.

”Mr. Clement, do you have news?”

”Last time, I thought the tightening over at Stuart was just their regular squeeze...” The old man swallowed hard.

”But this season’s ’Category Two’ inventory lists? Not a single page has leaked out so far.”

Richard gripped the receiver, waiting in silence.

”I’ve been in this trade for decades.”

Clement sighed on the other end.”The last time the market went this cold, the older generation said it was right when the Eastern War broke out.”

Ordinary people couldn’t perceive the chess game being played behind the veil, but an old appraiser who had handled auction house goods for decades could catch the scent just from the market’s ebb and flow.

”Even those major auction houses in the Imperial Capital are sitting on their stock.”

Clement continued.

”Anyone with a few good pieces is clutching them tight. My old friends don’t have any inventory left either.”

Richard’s sliver of hope cooled bit by bit.

”...I understand,” he said softly.

”Thank you for keeping me in mind. With the market so cold, please take care of yourself. Whenever things recover...”

”Ah, don’t hang up just yet.”

The old man pivoted, and Richard’s hand froze on the receiver.

”The main channels are blocked, but that doesn’t mean there’s no path at all.”

”Those folks at the big auction houses only want two types of goods right now: things meant for war, or things with massive research value.

”They can’t even be bothered to take in the rest.

”Broken items, half-dead objects, scraps—this tier is meaningless to them. Sitting on them while waiting for prices to rise just wastes storage space.”

Clement coughed twice.

”You remember those shops I mentioned last time?

”Those appraisers will clear out some of their backlogged junk. They’ll take whatever money they can get.”

Richard’s spirits immediately lifted.

”You mean...”

”Leave early after school on Friday,” the old man said briskly.

”Come to my shop at three. We’re going to see someone.”

”Deal. I’ll ask for the time off.”

”Let’s get one thing straight first,” Clement added.

”When we get there, talk less and watch more. I’ll handle the haggling.”

”Got it.”

By Friday afternoon, the sky was gloomy. It hadn’t started raining, but the clouds hung low.

Richard took his leave from Mr. Holland and arrived precisely at three outside Clement’s shop.

The old man had already changed for the outing, a stiff-brimmed bowler hat perched on his head and a copper-capped cane gripped in his hand.

”Let’s go.” The old man locked the shop door.

”Today, I’m taking you to visit an old friend.”

The two walked north along Grafton Street and turned into a narrow alley Richard had never noticed before.

Shopfronts were crammed together on both sides of the alley, each facade more inconspicuous than the last. There were cobblers, pawnshops, and stalls selling old newspapers.

As they walked, the old man explained that his friend specialized in gathering unwanted items for resale.

They shouldn’t expect to find any intact supernatural items there. Even defective supernatural items were a rare sight.

Clement threaded his way inward with practiced ease, pushing into the deepest part of the alley before stopping in front of a wooden door with no signboard.

The old man knocked.

Shuffling footsteps echoed from inside, and an eye peered out through a crack in the door.

”Clement?”

”It’s me.” The old man tipped up his hat brim. ”Brought a young man over to throw some business your way.”

The eye behind the door examined Richard’s face and paused for half a second.

”From the Ashford family?”

Richard jolted. He hadn’t said a word; how did this person know?

Beside him, Clement coughed. ”Old Donner let it slip, I take it?”

”Who can keep a secret about what happens on Flower Moon Street?”

The man inside snorted and stepped back to make way.

”Come in.”

Inside was a modest storefront, dimly lit with only a single gas lamp burning behind the counter.

The four walls were lined with curio cabinets, their shelves cluttered with an assortment of old items.

Seeing the man who had opened the door, Richard rubbed his eyes in bewilderment.

He was balding and plump, with a monocle perched on the bridge of his nose.

Aside from his face and height, everything else looked like an exact copy of Donner.

”This is Tobin,” Clement introduced him to Richard.

”He came from Stuart too, specializing in screening goods that pass through the second set of procedures.”

Tobin nudged his monocle deeper into his eye socket and looked Richard up and down.

”Second place in the Cicero Cup,” he noted leisurely.

”You’ve got a sharp eye, placing your bets this early.”

”I’ve been placing bets my whole life.” Clement leaned his cane against the counter.

”I’ve guessed right a few times and been wrong even more. But this one is my most promising pick.”

Tobin didn’t reply. He turned around and dragged a cloth-covered wooden tray from under the counter.

”With the market so cold, the only ones willing to visit private shops are individual buyers like you.”

He prattled on as he pulled back the cloth.

”Those folks at the big auction houses have all turned into shrewd foxes.

”They stash the good stuff in their warehouses and sit on it, waiting for war to break out so prices multiply.”

”Didn’t you come from Stuart too?” Clement shot him a sideways glance.

”Well, I’m out of there now, aren’t I?” Tobin pulled the cloth away completely. ”Now I can only flip the scraps nobody else wants just to put food on the table.”

Standing at the counter, Richard swept his gaze over the tray of old goods.

Beneath the cloth sat a dozen odds and ends, mostly ordinary wares.

A worn silver spoon, a chipped porcelain vase, and a couple of poor-quality old coins.

”Let’s be clear first. Over at Stuart, the ’Category Two’ items are divided into three tiers:

”Tier A goes to the secret auction, Tier B gets listed on the unsold inventory, and Tier C... doesn’t even qualify for a listing and gets sent straight back to the original handler.

”Everything in this tray is Tier C.”

Tobin glanced at Clement, laying out the baseline.

Richard nodded. No halfway decent supernatural item would appear in a wooden tray in a private shop, let alone be tossed in among random clutter.

But for him, even broken fragments could be squeezed for a few points.

Amidst that pile, there really were two items that faintly triggered Richard’s Inspiration.

The threads of his Inspiration, reinforced by [Perception] Lv.2, had grown increasingly precise over these past few months.

He first swept his gaze slowly over the entire tray, putting on a show of being picky.

Only at the very end did he casually let his eyes fall on those two pieces.

The first was an amulet.

A blue glass eye, set in a ring of blackened silver.

The eye had a dark blue inner ring, a light blue outer ring, and a black pupil dotted dead center. The whole thing looked like an eye staring wide open.

”What’s the background on this one?” Richard pointed at it.

Tobin nudged his monocle.

”An old piece from the Ottoman Empire, or maybe around Persia. Hard to pin down the era.”

”The appraiser screening the batch took one look at it and put his pen down.”

Tobin shrugged.

”I asked him about it in private, and he said... the thing ’looked back at him.’”

Richard’s heart stirred.

He discreetly unfurled his [Concealed Spirit Vision], not staring directly at the amulet.

Using the light spilling from the gas lamp on the counter, he let his Inspiration loosely brush against it.

At that touch, he understood.

That blue eye really was ”looking back.”

A wisp of incredibly faint, incredibly ancient ether seeped out from that blackened silver setting.

This was an eye so old it was practically blind.

”This thing here,” Clement said, recognizing its origins.

”It’s an old superstition from the Mediterranean all the way to the Middle East. It’s called an ’Evil Eye.’”

”An Evil Eye?” Richard asked, playing along.

”People in those parts believe that malice can hurt you. If someone envies you or curses you, that venomous stare landing on you can bring bad luck, illness, or disaster to your family.”

Clement tapped the amulet with the copper head of his cane.

”So they made these—a blue eye against a blue eye. ’An eye for an eye.’

”You look at me with malicious intent, and this eye reflects your malice right back at you.”

”Reflects it back...” Richard stared at the blackened silver setting.

”Hung on doors, worn around necks, stitched into a baby’s swaddling clothes.”

The old man nodded.

”The higher a family’s status and the more envy they draw, the more of these they hang up.

”Blue is the hardest color to get in that region. It has to be fired with minerals, making it precious.”

Richard understood.

This amulet had most likely been genuinely hung and used back in the day, kept for many years to block countless malicious stares.

That was how its ether had been drained dry, bit by bit.

It truly had been reflecting constantly for hundreds of years, until finally, the eye itself had grown so old it was practically blind.

”This little trinket looks all right to me.”

Richard casually downplayed it.

”Must’ve been sitting around a long time, given its condition.”

Tobin narrowed his eyes. ”Clement introduced you, so I won’t fleece you. One pound. Take it if you want it.”

One pound wasn’t expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Richard didn’t haggle just yet, shifting his gaze to the second item.

It was a brass arm ring.

Shaped like a coiled serpent, its head and tail met at the opening. The entire arm ring was a snake biting its own tail.

A damp sheen coated the brass surface, looking exactly as if it were sweating.

Tobin didn’t wait for him to ask before introducing it.

”This is a Naga Arm Ring. The remarks column says ’sweats in damp weather’... and it really does sweat.

”Leave it in a cabinet overnight, and a layer of moisture will seep across the brass.”

Richard reached out. This time he brought his fingertips closer, hovering half an inch above the arm ring without actually touching it.

He caught a wisp of steady, gentle ether slowly seeping out from the brass body of the coiled serpent.

It wasn’t practically gasping its last breath like the Evil Eye Amulet, nor was it locked behind seals like other supernatural items.

This wisp of ether seeped out smoothly and naturally, marinated by the passing years.

”Naga.” Richard wasn’t particularly familiar with the term. ”Is that some kind of snake god?”

”It’s a water-dwelling snake spirit.” Tobin pushed up his monocle.

”A belief from the Southern Continent, around the Spice Islands.

”Nagas watch over water veins and guard treasures, living in deep wells, riverbeds, and the bottoms of lakes.

”Once the rainy season arrives, they get active.

”The elders over there often say that if a well starts ’sweating’ or if the canal waters inexplicably rise, it means the Naga at the bottom of the well has turned over.”

Richard stared at that damp, brassy sheen.

It sweats in damp weather.

This arm ring mirrored the nature of the snake spirit it represented—both were tied to water.

Richard straightened up. ”I’ll take these two together. Can you give me a discount?”

Tobin quoted the price: ”The Evil Eye Amulet is one pound, the Naga Arm Ring is two pounds and three shillings. I’ll round it down for you—take them for three pounds.”

Clement coughed beside him.

”Old Tobin, it’s the boy’s first time here. Give him a better deal.”

Tobin rolled his eyes.

”These are already private shop prices. They’re lower than the auction house starting bids.”

”Private shop prices also depend on the buyer.” Clement rested his cane on the counter.

”Of these two pieces, one is so old it’s practically blind, and the other is just a sweating lump of brass... You think I can’t tell? Two pounds!”

Tobin and Clement haggled back and forth for a few rounds before finally settling on two pounds and six shillings.

Richard counted out the money, wrapped the two items separately in wax paper, and tucked them into his shoulder bag.

As they were leaving, he couldn’t help but ask:

”Mr. Tobin, how did these things... make their way to Briston back then?”

”How did they get here?” Tobin bared his teeth in a grin. ”They were shipped back, of course.”

”Wherever the Empire’s ironclads sail, that’s where they haul things back from.

”They take from temples, from tombs, and especially from the hands of the living.”

The shop fell quiet for a moment.

”This Evil Eye Amulet.” Clement tapped Richard’s shoulder bag with his cane.

”Back then, it hung on the lintel of a Persian family’s home, blocking out malice for generations;

”and this Naga Arm Ring originally wrapped around the arm of a priest in the Spice Islands, guarding a deep well.”

”Later, the temples collapsed, the people scattered, and the items were loaded onto ships. They crossed oceans, eventually landing in this narrow alley to be bought by you for a mere two pounds and six shillings.”

Richard gripped the strap of his shoulder bag in silence.

The Empire’s plunder was the root of it all.

”Why think about such things at your age?”

Clement patted him on the shoulder.

”The items are in your hands now. Just treat them well.”