Chapter 55: Chapter 55

Papa Oliver seemed to recall something and turned to Jenkins.

"We'll probably run into some fellow dealers in a bit. Some of them are Enchanters, but they're not registered. Don't make a scene—just stay quiet and stick close to me." Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel✶fire.net

Jenkins gave a quick nod. In a world teeming with bizarre supernatural forces, you never knew what might be unearthed. Anyone running an antique shop had to have a few tricks up their sleeve, or at least a working knowledge of the occult. Otherwise, they wouldn't have lasted a week.

An elderly man in black leather shoes and a tailcoat stood in the shade of the castle gate. He watched Papa Oliver and Jenkins approach but made no move to welcome them.

Papa Oliver exchanged a few brief pleasantries, stating their business. The old man simply nodded and let them pass.

"So that was the butler?"

Jenkins whispered once they were inside the castle.

It was the first time he'd ever met one. The Williams family had some money, certainly, but not enough to be in the market for a butler. That was a luxury reserved for the true high nobility or the great industrial magnates. After all, you needed a respectable estate to manage, or what was the point?

"Yes. Oh, and look, that's Stuart—the short one—just rounding the corner. Can't believe he beat me here!"

Papa Oliver paid no mind to butlers or social niceties, pulling Jenkins deeper into the castle.

He seemed to have studied the castle's layout and the areas open for the sale beforehand, navigating with a confidence that told Jenkins he already knew which rooms were worth their time.

Along the way, they saw more of their peers: a motley crew of black-market dealers, university professors, shop owners, and scouts from the major auction houses.

Not a single one of them looked to be under forty, and to Jenkins's discerning eye, most were Enchanters.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

He thought to himself, but with no proof to back up his unease, he couldn't possibly convince Papa Oliver to leave what was clearly a hornet's nest.

"Papa, are there any local legends about this place? Haunted manors, dragons falling from the sky, a hero's long-lost treasure... anything like that?"

"Never. There have been some whispers of hauntings in the city lately, but never out here. Endon Town is too close to Nolan proper; the Church and the police have probably swept this place a dozen times over. You need to spend less time with those fanciful knight novels and more with the history texts I picked out for you."

Papa Oliver chided him, his tone a mix of frustration and disappointment. Jenkins dropped the subject.

The castle did indeed hold some valuables. A handful of footmen—whether hired locally for the day or brought along from the royal capital by the estate's prodigal new owner, it was hard to say—were scattered throughout the rooms, quoting prices to the prospective buyers.

The pricing, however, was clearly off. Every time Papa Oliver heard a quote, he didn't hesitate for a second, simply instructing a footman to place a sticker with his name on the item, claiming it as his own.

"What happens to the things that don't sell?"

Jenkins asked as they walked down a dim castle corridor.

"First, the antique dealers get their pick. Then come the furniture merchants. At the end of the day, it's all furniture from a noble house. The new money, the ones who struck it rich overnight, are more than happy to buy it up to decorate their mansions and project an air of class."

Papa Oliver knew this world well. Those same upstarts often frequented his shop, looking for anything that looked old and historic to display in their homes. He always guaranteed his pieces were genuine antiques; he never guaranteed they weren't marked up.

Hoping to spot a hidden gem, Jenkins activated his Eye of Reality and scanned their surroundings. But everything on display for sale was mundane, much to his disappointment.

They descended from the castle's west tower, making their way to the underground storerooms. A castle of this scale was bound to have such a feature. He'd heard it was once a dungeon, but after the Kingdom cracked down on the private use of torture, it had been converted into a cellar.

"It's a little cold."

Jenkins shivered the moment he stepped through the double oak doors.

"Probably some unclean things."

Papa Oliver said with a shrug. "Nothing to be afraid of. Places , long abandoned, where people used to die... they're all . The... presence... here is still faint. It's fine as long as we don't linger."

"You don't think there are actual ghosts, do you?"

Afraid of being mocked, Jenkins kept the thought to himself. He slipped a hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the pistol Papa Oliver had given him. He hoped it was loaded with special ammunition.

Three other men were already in the storeroom: Professor Burns, whom they'd seen earlier; a Mr. Sanders from the Kingfisher Auction House; and a portly fellow dealer named Chewill.

His shop was in the Sabine District, where the Williams family lived, making him one of Papa Oliver's local competitors.

Hearing their footsteps, Chewill turned and shrugged at Papa Oliver. "I thought a noble's castle would have some hidden treasures," he complained. "But this cellar is just filled with broken tables and chairs."

"Haven't you ventured any deeper?" Papa Oliver asked. "This cellar looks quite large."

"It is. It was converted from the old dungeons, after all. Rumor has it that a century ago, they used to lock up peasants who couldn't pay their taxes down here. I even saw a faint bloodstain in the corner just now. Heaven knows what from."

The speaker was Mr. Sanders. Dressed in a khaki hunting suit and a brown hat, he looked less like an auction house employee and more like one of the detectives from Jenkins's novels.

The five men chatted for a moment longer before hailing the footman at the entrance. After requesting five oil lamps, they set off together into the depths of the cellar.

"This place is huge."

As the youngest of the group, Jenkins had no standing to speak and remained silent. On the way over, Papa Oliver had told him about the castle's unusually vast cellar. The previous owner, the old Duke Francis, only ever used the estate during the summer, leaving the cellar completely unused. To cut costs, he'd never had steam pipes installed, which meant the only light available came from whatever sources they brought with them.

As they ventured deeper, the men examined furniture from various eras, all of it discarded by the castle's previous lords. Most pieces were faded and worn, but every now and then, one of them would find something of interest.

"I felt something tap me."

The portly Chewill muttered with annoyance. The others paused, glancing at him. There was no one anywhere near him.

From this distance, Jenkins's eyes couldn't perceive anything like a malevolent spirit. Such entities contained too little spirit for his ability to distinguish their faint aura. Perhaps, he mused, that would change once his Enchanter level increased.

"Probably just your imagination."

When no one responded, Chewill just swung his oil lamp around, then shrugged and paid it no more mind.