Chapter 156 - 145: Lamb and Cross

When the family arrived at the train station, a few people were already standing on the platform.

There were still forty-five minutes to go.

Richard pulled the train ticket from his pocket to double-check. It was for the eight o’clock northbound train, with one transfer along the way.

His mother gripped his hand tightly.

A little too tightly, even. Richard could feel her entire palm straining with force.

But she said nothing.

"Did you pack enough?" his father asked.

"Enough, Dad."

"Don’t read on the train. You’ll ruin your eyes."

"Okay."

"Don’t stay up late when you get there."

"Okay."

His father walked off to help Richard confirm the platform number.

His mother finally spoke. "Be careful on the road."

"I will."

"Call us when you get there."

"Okay."

His mother slowly loosened her grip.

Her gaze shifted from Richard’s face to the far end of the platform.

Evelyn suddenly piped up beside him, "Brother, don’t forget what I told you."

"What was that?"

"Bring me back a present!"

"I’ll try."

"Not ’try,’ you ’must’!"

"Alright, I must."

The train’s whistle sounded from a distance.

The engine emerged from the tunnel, the train gradually slowing until it came to a steady halt beside the platform.

The carriage doors opened. A few staff members disembarked and began organizing the luggage compartments.

Richard handed his suitcase to a porter and boarded the train with his backpack.

The seats in the second-class carriage were upholstered, much more comfortable than the hard wooden benches of third class.

He chose a window seat and placed his backpack on his lap.

Outside the window, his father waved at him.

His mother stood in the platform mist.

Evelyn stood beside her, wearing her new dress with the jacket Richard had bought her layered over it.

"TOOT!"

The whistle blew a second time.

The train car began to vibrate, slowly pulling away.

He pressed his face against the window.

The little girl ran alongside the train for a few steps.

Unfortunately, her shoes and dress weren’t suited for running.

The train quickly outpaced her. Evelyn stopped on the platform and stamped her foot in frustration.

The train pulled out of the station and into a tunnel.

Richard took out the tin box his sister had given him.

He opened the lid, picked out the puppy-shaped gingerbread cookie, and took a bite.

The surface of the cookie was slightly damp with condensation, but inside, the strong flavor of ginger powder mingled with the aroma of molasses and butter.

...

The train continued North. Outside the window was an endless series of factory smokestacks and textile workshops.

Richard leaned against the window and watched for a while, then took out his notebook and began reviewing the materials Mr. Hutton had given him.

Having departed at eight, he reached the transfer station at ten.

Because his destination was so remote, he had to wait there for a full three hours for his connection.

After the branch line train started moving, the scenery outside the window changed noticeably.

The industrial district was left behind.

Outside was a vast, gray-brown wasteland, sparsely dotted with the ruins of a few stone houses. In the distance, the mountain ridges were covered in a thin layer of snow.

In the late December wilderness, all the vegetation had withered into gray clumps.

Occasionally, a wild rabbit or two could be seen darting through the grass, startled by the sound of the train and scurrying into a rock crevice.

Richard took out the sandwiches his mother had packed and ate them slowly.

At two-forty, the train stopped at a very small station.

"Whitcombe Station. We’ve arrived."

The announcement came from the front of the train.

Richard checked the ticket in his hand, grabbed his suitcase, and got off the train.

The platform was deserted.

At this place called Whitcomb, the platform had only two waiting benches.

There was a small ticket booth, but not even a staff member could be seen behind it.

The wind blew down from the Highland, carrying the scent of peat, lime, and sheep dung.

Richard walked out of the station exit with his suitcase.

Mr. Hutton was standing on the other side of the exit.

The old man was wearing a heavy overcoat, his white hair slightly disheveled by the wind.

It looked like he had been waiting for a long time.

"Was the journey smooth?"

"It was."

"The others have all arrived."

Mr. Hutton didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

"We’re going straight to the inn."

A horse-drawn carriage was parked outside the station exit, the coachman a silent old man.

Of course, there was no heating in the carriage. It was freezing.

Richard pulled his neck into his collar.

Outside the window, the gray-brown wasteland stretched on endlessly.

He watched for a while, then started making small talk:

"Sir, how long has this area been inhabited?"

"Over six thousand years."

Mr. Hutton said, "Far older than Ancient Rome."

"That long?"

"Archaeological remains of the earliest settlers have been discovered here."

The old man’s gaze fell upon the scenery outside.

"The race of those people can no longer be verified, but the stone tools and early tombs they left behind can be traced back to the Neolithic Era.

Later came the Ancient Celts, followed by the Romans, the Saxons, the Normans... Wave after wave of peoples have lived and died on this land."

"The more ancient a land is, the more likely it is to have problems."

Mr. Hutton stroked his beard.

"Every civilization leaves its mark.

Religions, Inscriptions, tombs, Seals... Over thousands of years, the traces of different eras overlap, and occasionally, they produce strange reactions."

"Whitcomb is one such place."

He looked at his student.

"Now you should understand why I said this mission wouldn’t be simple."

Richard brought his gaze back inside the carriage.

"The other seniors—have you worked with them before?"

"I’ve done a few missions with Mrs. MacNeil."

The team leader this time was Mrs. MacNeil. When Richard first heard the news from the old man, he had wondered if it was a bit too much of a coincidence.

But on second thought, there were only so many Spirit Mediums with Minor Mastery in the North.

It wasn’t that strange for Mrs. MacNeil, whose specialty was a perfect fit, to be the leader.

Mr. Hutton continued:

"There’s a Lady Sarah. This will be my first time working with her.

She’s an independent Hunter here, a Senior Practitioner who specializes in regular patrols of the wilderness areas.

She doesn’t usually participate in official missions, but Mrs. MacNeil recommended her to us."

"Why?"

"Her shotgun can hit some... rather troublesome things."

Mr. Hutton didn’t elaborate.

"You’ll see for yourself when the time comes."

"And the Newcomers?"

"Including you, there’s one Secret and three of the Scholar path."

Richard nodded.

Having Newcomers of the same path participate in a mission together allowed them to observe and learn from each other.

"There’s no need to be overly humble once you arrive,"

Mr. Hutton reminded him.

"You may be the youngest, but in our line of work, we dislike those who pretend to know what they don’t, but we also dislike those who pretend not to know what they do."

"Understood."

Whitcomb Village was situated in a low-lying area.

As the carriage spiraled down from the high slopes of the wasteland, Richard could see the entire village from his window.

There were about forty households, with houses built from local limestone and roofs covered in dark slate.

A church stood in the center of the village. Its bell tower wasn’t tall, but the Cross at its peak was particularly conspicuous.

There was an inn at the entrance to the village, and further in were a general store and a few small workshops.

"We’re here."

Mr. Hutton gestured toward the inn with his chin.

"That’s the one."

The inn was called the "Lamb and Cross."

The sign depicted a kneeling lamb with a Cross beneath its neck.

The carriage stopped at the inn’s entrance.

The coachman jumped down and helped the two of them move their suitcases to the steps of the inn.

Mr. Hutton paid the fare, and the coachman drove the carriage back the way they came.

Richard carried his suitcase and followed Mr. Hutton into the inn.

Inside, the fireplace was burning brightly, flames dancing on the firewood.

All sorts of liquor bottles hung behind the bar, where a middle-aged man who looked like the proprietor was wiping a glass with a cloth.

The moment he stepped inside, Richard felt several pairs of eyes fall on him at once.

The few people sitting in the inn all turned their heads to look at him.

The first to stand was Mrs. MacNeil.

She was slightly younger than Richard had imagined.

She looked to be under forty, with a slender build, and was wearing a dark woolen skirt with a gray, hooded coat draped over it.

"Little Richard."

Mrs. MacNeil came forward and extended her hand.

"I was just telling Bigelow that I wouldn’t get to see you until spring. I didn’t expect us to meet so soon."

Her handshake was firm.

Richard could feel the Ether Flow coming from her palm.

The Throne of the Sun trembled slightly, but there was no discomfort.

"I’ve also heard a great deal about you from Old Big, Mrs. MacNeil."

Mrs. MacNeil looked a little exasperated. "That Bigelow has such a big mouth."

"Whenever he talks about his master, he always starts with ’my incredibly, incredibly powerful teacher,’ and the second sentence is always ’my very powerful senior.’"

"He really does respect the school," Richard said, trying to be diplomatic.

"Respect is one thing, bragging is another. The two can be done separately," Mrs. MacNeil said noncommittally.

Next were the two Hunters.

Captain Field was in his thirties. Although also lean, he had a large frame.

There was a faint scar on his left brow bone, extending from above his eyebrow down to his cheekbone.

"Hello, Captain Field."

The man didn’t rise, merely nodding.

A woman was sitting in a high-backed chair in the corner.

She wore a hunting jacket, with breeches and leather boots on her lower half.

Leaning beside her was a double-barreled shotgun, which Richard could tell at a glance was a modified weapon.

"Never mind these two. Go ahead and sit," Mrs. MacNeil said, pointing to a chair by the fireplace.

"Have the others not arrived yet?"

Richard sat down, placing his suitcase by his feet.

"They’ve all arrived today,"

Mrs. MacNeil said.

"They’re all upstairs in their rooms, unpacking. You’ll meet them at dinner."

She turned her head and called out to the bar:

"Proprietor, a room for this young gentleman."

The proprietor behind the bar looked up and took a brass key from a hook on the wall.

"Room four, east side of the second floor."

The proprietor handed over the key. "The window faces east. Best view of the sunrise."

Mr. Hutton rubbed his hands together nearby.

"All eight rooms are booked. Add the two the owner’s family uses, and we’ve got the entire inn to ourselves."

Richard put the key in his pocket.

"I’ll take my luggage upstairs first."