Chapter 197: Spring Inspection in the Western Suburbs

In early February, the melting snow in Briston bled from the gutters into muddy puddles, churned into uneven tracks and footprints by passing carriages and pedestrians.

The weather remained bitterly cold and overcast.

That morning, Mr. Hutton's lecture covered Justinian the Great's Compilation of Roman Law.

After class, the old gentleman asked Richard to stop by his office after lunch.

Following the meal, Grey pulled another gingerbread man from her Tin Box and pressed it into his hand.

He took a bite, letting the rich scent of butter spread as the frosting quill shattered against his teeth.

Hugh was still working on his chicken leg sketchbook. He was already a dozen pages in, proclaiming his intention to draw every type of poultry he ate from winter break all the way through spring.

Warren told a joke about his uncle's recent business trip from Newcastle to Briston.

Mason, meanwhile, complained that the racehorses he bet on had all lost, wiping out the pocket money he had so painstakingly saved up.

After lunch, Richard headed down the corridor toward Mr. Hutton's office.

When he arrived, the door was shut.

Richard knocked three times.

"Come in."

Pushing the door open, he found someone standing before the desk.

It was Wentworth, inspector squad leader for the Briston Branch Office.

Seeing the man again, Richard's first thought was that Wentworth had lost even more weight.

Wentworth skipped the pleasantries, cutting straight to the point.

"Mrs. MacNeil spoke to you before, right? About having you tag along to observe the spring seal maintenance."

"Old Biggs is at the Branch Office getting the gear ready. We head out at two in the afternoon. Our destination is the Western Suburbs Mining Area."

Richard glanced at Mr. Hutton.

"What exactly is the situation at the Western Suburbs Mining Area?"

"A routine spring inspection," Mr. Hutton said, setting his teacup down. "The Branch Office organizes one every year around this time."

"There are three small blood-soaked nodes in the Western Suburbs Mining Area," Wentworth added. "And then there's the central one..."

"The Unresponsive Pit?"

The old gentleman's white eyebrows twitched.

"How do you know that name?"

"I deciphered it while looking through some materials at the Municipal Library a while back."

Richard answered quickly. "The Municipal Library has a copy of A Collection of Folk Songs from the Western Suburb Mining District of Briston."

Wentworth chuckled.

"So you've read it. The author of that book died twenty years ago."

"He was a senior figure in a Civilian Guild when he was alive. After he passed, his writings were scattered. The copy in the Municipal Library was donated by the Briston Educational Association."

Mr. Hutton, however, stared intently at his student.

"That book has been sitting in the Municipal Library for years. Very few people ever bother to open it."

"To think you'd actually go to the Municipal Library to search for hidden texts... You really do love reading."

The underlying meaning in the old gentleman's words was clear: Richard hadn't listened to the warning he'd given him back in Whitcom.

Richard felt a twinge of awkwardness.

"After you deciphered the name," Wentworth said, steering the topic back, "did you do anything else?"

This was what they really cared about.

"Nothing much. I just marked it in red on my map and confirmed the locations of the three small blood-soaked nodes around it."

"You didn't go to the site to look?" the inspector squad leader asked deliberately.

"Going to the site would run the risk of 'reverse infiltration'." Richard's answer was resolute. "I read the rules very clearly."

Holding his teacup in both hands, Wentworth nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. You're much less of a headache than the rookies we've brought along in recent years."

"Since you deciphered the name of the Unresponsive Pit, there's something else you should probably be aware of."

"The mines out in the Western Suburbs haven't been peaceful this winter."

"Unpaid wages, slashed prices... Last month, there was a cave-in at the Blackstone Mine. Seven people died, and their families' compensation still hasn't been settled."

"Rumors of a strike have been circulating in the Western Suburbs for the better part of a month."

Richard's thoughts raced.

"Then... will today's spring inspection be affected?"

Wentworth shook his head.

"The mystical side and the administrative side are strictly separated. A strike is a local public security issue. It falls under the jurisdiction of the police and the garrison, not us."

Richard nodded, dropping the subject.

Wentworth finished the remaining tea in his cup and set it back on the coaster.

"We head out at two. Go home and pack. Bring whatever you might need."

"We'll most likely be spending the night out there. Whether we make it back by tomorrow morning depends on how things go."

Richard grabbed his bag and backed out of the office.

He headed out through the side gate of Greenwood and hopped on a bus back to Slag Alley.

By the time he arrived at the Branch Office, it was nearly half past one.

He had gone home first to drop off his schoolbag and change into a durable, heavy-duty jacket.

He left a word with his mother, telling her he was going on a field mission with his mentor and might have to spend the night out.

From the hidden compartment in his drawer, he packed his long Silver Needle box, his vial of Deep Ether Condensate, his camera, and his notebook into a single shoulder bag.

Using a separate leather strap, he secured his Webley Revolver and its bullets into his jacket's inner pocket.

When he arrived at the Branch Office, Old Biggs was moving a small wooden crate.

"Richard!"

Old Biggs looked up.

"You're right on time. I just loaded the engraving knives into the car. Next up is the rock salt and holy water."

"Let me help."

"No, no, no." Old Biggs blocked his path.

"Gear used for the seal can't be handled by anyone but the operators."

Richard didn't push it. Old Biggs was noticeably more tense today than usual.

"Big operation today?"

"You haven't been here long, so it makes sense that you wouldn't know," Old Biggs said, straightening his back.

"In truth, genuine anomalies in the city are rare. The primary mission for all the Branch Offices is actually seal patrol and maintenance."

As they spoke, the door to the Branch Office's main building opened.

Mrs. MacNeil walked out. Today, she was wearing practical trousers under a long gray woolen coat, her leather suitcase in hand.

Richard knew it held her entire set of channeling and divination tools.

Two slightly younger Practitioners followed behind her.

One was a woman of average height with short, dark brown hair. Her features were sharp, and her lips were pressed into a tight line.

The other was a tall, thin man in his early thirties. His black hair was slicked neatly back, and he had a mole near the corner of his eye.

Mrs. MacNeil spotted Richard and gave him a curt nod.

"You made it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let me introduce you." She turned around.

"These two are Ms. Maud and Mr. Spence. Seal maintenance is their specialty."

"For today's trip to the Western Suburbs Mining Area, the Branch Office requested them as outside assistance from Manchester."

Richard shook hands with both of them.

Ms. Maud's handshake was brief and firm; her skin was ice-cold.

Mr. Spence's handshake was warmer. He gave a slight nod. "Senior Hutton has mentioned you quite often lately in our small circle of northern Practitioners."

Richard hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Mrs. MacNeil rescued him.

"Save the pleasantries for later. Mr. Hutton and Mr. Wentworth should be here shortly."

She crossed the yard and set her suitcase in the trunk of the car.

"Richard, come here for a moment."

Richard followed her.

Mrs. MacNeil stood with her back to the others.

"For today's trip to the Western Suburbs Mining Area, Group Leader Wentworth issued the official paperwork for you to join the team.

Your role on-site will be officially recorded as an 'Apprentice Inspector observing the operation'."

"Once we're there, you'll continue to act as Mr. Hutton's assistant.

You can use your camera to photograph the inscription replication process and take notes."

"How much you can piece together afterward is entirely up to you."

Richard nodded. Having participated in a sealing operation once before, he couldn't call himself an expert, but he was no longer a total rookie either.

Mrs. MacNeil continued explaining the deployment for the day:

"When we arrive at the site, we'll set up several lines of defense.

The outermost ring will be the Hunters. Further in will be the practitioners of the Secret path."

"There are two positions in the innermost ring: one is the inscription altar where Mr. Hutton will be working, and the other is for you."

"You'll stand there, nominally acting as Mr. Hutton's recorder, but in reality, you'll be kept safe inside several light barriers."

She let go of the suitcase handle.

"Don't assume you aren't important just because you're new. You proved your worth last time; keep it up today."

"Understood," Richard replied.

As they spoke, Mr. Hutton and Wentworth arrived.

The old gentleman fished a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his coat.

"This is the location map for the Ninefold Stone Ring."

"Today's job will be simpler than what happened in Whitcom."

"Whitcom was an emergency repair on a failing seal. This is just the routine spring inspection for the Western Suburbs Mining Area."

He watched his student tuck the map into his bag and added a reminder:

"Every year, we have to check the gates to see if anyone is trying to use the opportunity to squeeze inside."

"During every spring inspection, we guard against two things."

Richard looked up.

"The first is an outbreak of evil creatures during the window period. When we loosen the ring, the overall power of the seal drops.

The filth deep at the bottom of the pit will surge up through the cracks. That happens every year; we just clear it out according to protocol."

"The other thing..." Mr. Hutton looked at him.

"Is people trying to squeeze in while the ring is loosened."

"Squeeze in?"

"Reverse infiltration. There are always some desperate, opportunistic, or just plain unhinged folks out there.

They try to exploit the few days when the seal is at its weakest to slip into the vulnerable spots, seeking things they can't even clearly articulate themselves."

"Don't assume the Branch Office's rules for entering the shaft are solely meant to defend against evil creatures. Half of them exist to keep out those trying to squeeze their way in."

Richard carefully tucked the folded map deeper into his bag.

"I'll remember that, sir."

...

The sedan was packed tightly as it bumped along a dirt country road heading toward the Western Suburbs.

The afternoon sun wasn't overly fierce, but the cabin was stifling enough to make them sweat.

No one spoke in the car; everyone was silently making their own preparations.

Richard took out his notebook and found the section on the Underground Taboo Songs.

He flipped from page thirty-two to forty-seven, reading through the rules line by line all over again.

[Erudition] had cemented every page and every punctuation mark into his mind, but he still preferred reading the words on the paper.

The seventh song: "Do Not Answer."

"Os mutum, ne respondeas. (Keep your mouth shut, do not answer.)"

"Hear one call, do not reply. Hear two calls, let them pass by. Hear three calls, turn and flee. Hear four calls, crouch where you be."

Ever since [Speculation] had activated, his method of interpreting the materials in his hands had changed.

In the past, all he read was the basic rule: "Do not respond to strange voices down the shaft."

Reading it again now, [Speculation] looked past the rule itself.

If the thing down the shaft was simply calling out names, there would only be two states: answering and not answering.

However, the miners' folk methods had divided the threat into several tiers, with each tier demanding a different response.

The simplest explanation was that the entity's method of calling a name possessed different intensities.

One call was a long-range probe. It was far away and posed no immediate threat.

Two calls meant a mid-range probe. It was closer, but it hadn't locked on yet.

Three calls meant it had already identified your location.

However, it hadn't finished locking on, so turning to walk away could interrupt the process.

Four calls meant the lock was complete. Running was useless because it already knew where you were.

The only option was to crouch down, stay entirely still, and let its gaze sweep past you.

Combined with his experience back in Whitcom, he realized this response mechanism felt remarkably similar to the work done by Scholars.