Chapter 522: Smoking Mirror

While they waited, the water came to a boil.

Mercury personally measured out the tea leaves and brewed Richard a cup.

As the tea's fragrance wafted through the air, Richard raised an eyebrow.

Say what you will, but the man had connections. He truly lived up to his reputation as a renowned merchant in the Apennine.

Mercury placed the lid on the teapot. "I only have two friends left who sail the eastern shipping routes. Each of them can spare me a few pounds every year.

"If you like it, sir, you can take a little back with you later. On the house."

Between sips of tea, Mercury pulled out the business card again and examined it closely.

He had stamped this particular card himself, so he knew exactly who he had given it to.

Richard set down his teacup, but before he could speak, Mercury beat him to it.

He offered a genial smile.

"There is no need to worry, sir. I know the rules. Since you've come to do business showing your true face this time, we will naturally interact with our true identities."

"But if I were to pretend I didn't recognize you, that would just be me acting ungratefully."

He sat back and placed the Bronze Seal squarely in the center of the table. The implication was clear: the item still belonged to the guest.

"Forget all the prices I quoted earlier."

"Those were for walk-in customers. For a guest like you, we have different pricing."

A knock sounded at the small door. Piero hurried in, cleared the coffee cups from the table, and set down a plate of local pastries.

"By the way, Uncl—Boss, there is an old gentleman standing under the eaves of the tobacco shop at the end of the street."

Mercury, who stuck to drinking coffee, gave a noncommittal hum. "That's normal. People need to take shelter when it rains."

"But he's been standing there for half an hour, and he hasn't turned a single page of his newspaper."

The young man swallowed hard.

"Also... the dog at the butcher shop across the street has been barking all morning.

"Just now, it bolted two steps toward the intersection before dropping to its belly. It still hasn't dared to get back up." Mercury furrowed his brow and returned his coffee cup to the tray.

His hand was a little unsteady as he set it down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the tray. His mind began to race.

To save time in his business, he habitually sorted his customers into categories: passersby, regulars, those worth brewing a cup of tea or coffee for, and those who required him to personally stand up, greet them, and treat them to a meal.

Ever since June, he had placed the young man sitting across from him in one of the highest tiers.

A Virtuoso from the New Continent had been willing to make a dedicated trip just for him. That fact alone demanded Mercury's utmost attention.

Furthermore, after the round table in Rome disbanded, that elderly senior from the furrow had someone pass along a message:

"If you get the chance, find out what exactly is so special about this kid."

Mercury let out an inward sigh.

Even with those instructions, he couldn't exactly force the issue.

"After that gentleman entered the city, did he settle into his lodgings first, or did he go see the sea?"

He suddenly tossed out a seemingly irrelevant question. "Nine out of ten guests arriving from the New Continent go to see the sea first thing. The Mediterranean Sea here is unlike anywhere else."

Richard set down his cup. A moment's thought told him that the merchant had misunderstood, likely mistaking the mentor traveling with him for Matthew.

"Sir, my mentor arrived yesterday afternoon. He had pesto pasta for dinner and complained afterward that the restaurant's tea tasted like dishwater.

"He left the hotel at nine-thirty this morning and has been standing under the eaves of that tobacco shop at the end of the street reading the newspaper ever since."

"...Eats pasta, reads the newspaper."

Richard gave a faint, knowing smile. "That's right. He is nothing more than a Major Adept Scholar of the Classical Records Tradition. He isn't the person you're thinking of."

"..."

Mercury breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed the man who had accompanied the boy wasn't a Virtuoso.

Disappointment flickered across his face, mixed with a hint of liberation.

Richard mentally filed away every shift in his micro-expressions. He already guessed that someone in the Apennine had given orders to keep a close eye on his identity as Hermes.

Still, a Major Adept Scholar was not someone to be slighted either. Mercury gestured to his nephew.

"Piero." "Yes."

"Take that good umbrella from downstairs, pour another cup of this tea, and deliver it to the end of the street. Make sure you carry it with both hands."

Piero hurried out. Mercury closed the door behind him and slid the latch into place.

"Let's go over the goods you requested again. I can get my hands on the bark paper, but it might take some time.

"The inland regions around Veracruz were caught in the flames of war last year. The goods have to be shipped out to Tampico first, then brought over on a neutral country's vessel."

"As for the Andean knotted cords, you demanded that the knots must remain completely untouched by anyone else."

"Correct."

"Then that will be difficult. The ones in museums are dismantled the moment they come through the doors, and some private collectors love nothing more than unraveling them right in front of their guests to show them off."

Richard nodded. "So, do you have it in stock?"

"I do. Just before the turn of the year, a family moved back from Lima. The old lady of the house passed away on the ship, and all her belongings were auctioned off. No one was eager to touch those kinds of personal effects. However, it might carry a curse, which you will have to handle yourselves."

He capped his pen.

"And then there is the cochineal dye. You do not need to buy that from me." Richard waited for him to continue.

"The shipments from the Canary Islands go straight into the Empire's ports. There's no middleman involved.

"My stock here, on the other hand, has to come through Iberia. It's actually more expensive than what you would pay back home."

Mercury spoke with absolute sincerity. Once he had figured out this customer's true identity, he had decided to use this transaction to earn a favor.

"Besides, the Germanic Pantheon people are in desperate need of chemical dyes this year. They've bought out all the stock in our neutral ports, leaving almost no scraps behind."

"Finally, the Darjeeling tea..."

Mercury glanced down at the list, then gave Richard a baffled look.

"The tea coming out of Calcutta passes straight through the Imperial Capital anyway. Running all the way here to buy it from me is just taking the long way around..."

Richard offered a faint smile and took the list back.

"My apologies... We must have made a mistake when writing the list."

The professor had deliberately added those two items. An honest merchant would point out the discrepancy immediately. If they did the opposite... it would mean they had no intention of conducting business in good faith.

They spent the next half hour or so negotiating prices. The bark paper would take three months to arrive via Deer Port, so the final price would be settled then. The knotted cords would only cost eight pounds and nine shillings, with Richard covering the shipping fee.

Over the course of their discussion, Richard appraised a few items that Mercury was uncertain about, and the merchant quietly observed him the entire time.

He at least needed something to report back regarding the task that Virtuoso from the furrow had so casually handed down:

In the field of appraising antiquities, this Mr. Hermes displayed a level of capability that far exceeded his Rank and age.

Mercury had tested him by bringing out several masterful replicas that even seasoned industry veterans struggled to identify. Yet, with a single sweeping glance, this young man could accurately pinpoint their flaws ninety percent of the time.

He just couldn't tell if this ability stemmed from the Mask of Hermes, or something else entirely.

With the official business concluded, Mercury pulled a thin ledger from the very bottom drawer of his writing desk.

He had actually hesitated before bringing it out. Doing so was tantamount to tearing his own wounds open in front of an outsider.

"Sir, these are our accounting records for a three-day period in mid-August.

"For those three days, not a single customer on my street stepped foot upstairs."

'Here it comes!' Richard took the ledger, feigning the perfect blend of curiosity and surprise.

"Not a single one in three days?" Richard asked. "To be precise," Mercury replied, "a total of twelve people walked up to the door. I stood by the window and counted them one by one.

"Every single one of those twelve people glanced up at the second floor and then walked away. On the afternoon of the third day, one person even placed a foot on the stairs, only to draw it back."

Richard lowered his head to sip his tea. "How much did you lose?"

"The financial loss wasn't too steep. Converted to your currency, it was only seventeen pounds and four shillings."

"Plus a deposit, and a favor." Mercury's face darkened.

"There were some loose goods over in Livorno. I had already fronted three pounds to hold my place.

"But because this whole ordeal rattled my nerves, I didn't dare make a move and simply cancelled the order."

He pulled out the master plate for his business cards and passed it across the table.

"Since your eye for these things is so sharp, please take a look at this."

Richard didn't shy away. He pulled out Venus's silver mirror to use as a magnifying glass, amplifying his Condensed Mirror Method.

Mercury's lips twitched at the sight of the familiar silver mirror, quietly thankful that he had made a clean getaway that night.

Richard ignored him and studied the master plate closely. This item was even easier to read than the business cards themselves. The cards were merely printed copies, but the master plate was the source.

The three strokes representing transshipment, guarantee, and solicitation were still etched there.

The scar from where the third stroke had healed was entirely visible. The seam was incredibly familiar—after all, he was the one who had made the cut.

Richard put the mirror away and mused for a moment.

"...It appears someone used your business card as a Spellcasting Medium to take a slash at your fortune."

Mercury's back instantly snapped away from his chair. "Someone slashed my fortune?"

That was the single most important thing to a merchant. No one had ever heard of a luckless bastard succeeding in business.

"This kind of Spell Formula... I believe that is the Moon Hunting Tradition's specialty, isn't it?"

He snatched the master plate back, casually sizing up the young man across from him once more.

In his mind, he ran through his list of suspects all over again.

The insurance firm diagonally across the street, the elderly loan shark on the third floor, his uncle's relatives... He didn't think his peers or the relatives who relied on him for their livelihoods would move against him, nor did they even possess the capability to do so.

Going down the list, the only ones left were the people he had personally handed his business card to. One of those very suspects was sitting right across from him.

This brown-haired, gray-eyed young man had already drunk a third of the Darjeeling tea in front of him.

Mercury let out an inward chuckle.

This young man was nothing more than a Practitioner. He probably still had to wait in line to report to his own country's Branch Office.

For a Practitioner to target a merchant seal that his family had cultivated over generations of business... that was like trying to pry up a ship's anchor with a sewing needle.

The next question was whether someone had acted on his behalf... especially considering the Virtuoso from the New Continent standing behind the boy.

But if a Virtuoso wanted to make a move on him, why go through all this trouble?

That kind of existence only needed to sneeze, and Mercury wouldn't wake up the next morning.

Even taking ten thousand steps back, if that figure wanted to establish dominance for the boy or send a warning across the Apennine Peninsula, they wouldn't have stooped to a petty "three days without a customer stepping upstairs."

Three days, causing him to lose seventeen pounds and four shillings.

Would a Virtuoso's handiwork truly amount to a mere seventeen pounds and four shillings?

Mercury almost laughed out loud. Even his own nineteen-year-old nephew would be embarrassed to pull such a petty, small-minded prank.

If Richard really was the one who had slashed his card, his visit today was equivalent to an arsonist showing up at the victim's front door with a bucket of water, offering to conduct a fire safety inspection.

Besides, the Inspiration of a veteran Minor Adept was nothing to scoff at.

Richard tucked the silver mirror back into his canvas bag, patiently awaiting Mercury's reaction.

Logically, since Richard had targeted Mercury once, he should have felt a slight sense of discomfort despite the three layers of shielding. Yet, he felt absolutely no reaction whatsoever.

What Richard didn't know was that on the fourth floor of the library the afternoon before last, just before the librarian handed him the manuscript of the Mahabharata, he had casually wiped away all the unseen traces Richard had accumulated. That was why Mercury's Inspiration hadn't been triggered.

Richard offered his advice with absolute earnestness. "Sir, I don't believe the person who slashed your business card is necessarily an enemy of yours."

Mercury's head snapped up. "What did you just say?"

"Someone who genuinely wanted to destroy your business would have slashed it time and time again. They would have kept cutting until the wounds couldn't heal, until everyone on this street completely forgot about your shop."

Richard rested his hands on the edge of the table.

"The person who slashed your business card only struck once, and it was the shallowest cut possible. They left immediately after. I'm guessing someone developed a new Spell Formula and merely used your card as a test subject."

The room fell quiet. The rain outside the window had slowed, and down in the alley, a woman was calling for her child to come home for dinner. Mercury let out a breath he had been holding in for over two months. He slumped back in his chair and murmured, "So it isn't an enemy."

"Not being an enemy makes it even harder to handle. When businessmen fight, they can always sit down at the same table in the end. You set out some wine, invite a few mediators, offer an apology, and everything has a price that can be negotiated."

Richard watched the color drain from Mercury's face bit by bit.

"If I'm targeted as an enemy, I can pay for a truce. But if I'm targeted as a test subject... I wouldn't even know who to negotiate a truce with."

Richard didn't say a word. He knew he had to let Mercury say the next part himself.

Mercury lowered his voice. "The last time someone tried to harm me, they slashed at my ability to 'solicit' customers. If someone genuinely comes after me next time, they won't just aim for my 'solicitation'. They'll strike somewhere fatal."

Richard brushed a hand against the Ancient Bronze Mask hidden in his coat, then picked up his tea for a sip.

"Sir, I have a solution."

Richard held the business card up to the light spilling through the window and continued.

"Your business card is your reflection out in the world. When you pocketed your cards and handed them out one by one in Marseille, Livorno, and the Port of Alexandria, it was the equivalent of handing an invitation to every recipient. Anyone looking to harm you simply needs to hold that invitation, and they can trace the card straight back to your weak points."

Mercury immediately blurted, "What if I take all my cards back?" The words had scarcely left his mouth before he shook his head. "I can't. I've been doing business my entire life. I don't even know how many cards I've handed out."

Richard stood and walked over to the window. Out by the Harbor past San Lorenzo Street stood a magnificent palace. Its front walls were blanketed in vibrant murals depicting knights and shields, with a dragon coiled around the corner.

"St. George's Palace is incredibly famous in the Empire's travel brochures," Richard said.

Mercury remained seated. He had lived in Genoa his entire life; he didn't need to look to know what lay outside the window.

Back still turned to Mercury, Richard continued.

"Machiavelli wrote about Genoa in his Florentine Histories. He said the Genoese never cared how many doges came and went, but no one was ever allowed to touch the ledgers of the Bank of St. George. It was a republic hidden within the Republic of Genoa."

Mercury smiled, promptly dismantling Richard's historical sentiment.

"In 1805, Napoleon shut down the Bank of St. George. On the day the bank closed its doors, my great-grandfather ran down to the docks and wept. The old man hadn't deposited a single copper coin into the Bank of St. George his entire life."

"The bank may have closed its doors, but St. George's Palace still stands by the Harbor. In the hearts of the Genoese, St. George's Palace is still recognized as a place of utmost importance."

Mercury nodded. "In 1903, the Port Authority moved into St. George's Palace."

Richard turned around and explained his solution to Mercury. "Sir, you should take a page out of the Bank of St. George's book. First, register your name with the various institutions across Genoa.

"Join the board of directors at the General Chamber of Commerce if you can. If you can't, attach yourself to a Committee. Wartime shipping, insurance, coal—any Committee will do. All that matters is that someone reads Mr. Mercury's name aloud during the monthly roll call. After that, you need to make a trip to Rome." Mercury's eyebrows shot up at the mention of 'Rome.'

"The Ministry of Finance in Rome is preparing their next issue of wartime bonds. Purchase a bond under your shop's name, and make sure the amount is large enough to land you on the list of subscribers.

"The Red Cross hospital ships are short on bedding and gauze. Make a donation, just enough to get a line printed in the Official Gazette.

"If the War Office is looking for an advisor who understands maritime routes, step in and take the role without taking a single cent in salary."

"And perhaps secure a medal?" Mercury finished the thought for him.

"Exactly. The Order of the Crown. A knight's rank will suffice."

Mercury chuckled at the word "knight."

"Young man, you could grab a handful of knights right off San Lorenzo Street. The olive oil merchant diagonally across the street has a knight's medal. He hangs it by his door every day just to draw in customers."

"Knight's medals are a dime a dozen. Because of that, no one will spare your medal a second glance."

Mercury's smile slowly faded. He picked up the Bronze Seal from the table, rolling it halfway through his fingers as he stared out the window at the knight-covered walls of St. George's Palace. It was a long while before he finally asked, "Once my name is plastered all across Genoa and Rome, if someone tries to tamper with me again..."

"Whoever tries to harm you will first crash into the General Chamber of Commerce's directory. Past that, they'll hit the entire Harbor of Genoa, and at the very core, they'll strike Rome's national bond registry." Mercury immediately grasped Richard's point. "Anyone trying to slash at a country's national debt during wartime will have to ask the entire Apennine if they're willing to allow it."

Mercury set down the Bronze Seal. "You young people certainly have quick minds."

"From August up until now, I have hired four different people to look into my problem."

Richard didn't interrupt. He simply waited for Mercury to continue.

"One of the four was a woman from Naples. Word was she had told fortunes for three different duchesses. She burned candles in my room for an entire afternoon, only to tell me that my door number was unlucky and that I needed to change it to thirteen."

Richard asked if he had changed it.

Mercury spread his hands. "Number thirteen on San Lorenzo Street is a coffin shop. If I actually changed my address to thirteen, my customers would think I'd gone into the coffin-selling business."

A muffled thud echoed from the direction of the small door. The eavesdropping Piero had probably just bumped his head against the doorframe.

"The second one was from Marseille. He told me to burn every business card I had ever handed out and never print another one again."

"But then your business..."

"He told me that business was merely a worldly possession."

Mercury's face was deadpan. "He charged me four pounds for that. Those four pounds certainly weren't worldly to him."

"What about the third?"

"The third one didn't even show up. He sent a letter saying the problem lay in the orientation of my family's ancestral tomb.

"My family's tomb is in the Staglieno Cemetery. The orientation was mandated by the Municipal Planning Bureau."

"And the fourth?"

Mercury fell silent for a moment.

"The fourth was a gentleman from north of the Alps.

"I paid him the largest deposit I've put down in ten years. He sat in this room for three days, turning the master plate over and over in his hands. Finally, he told me he had two solutions."

"The first was to melt the master plate down, reforge it using my blood, and hand over three years of my profits as his fee."

"And the second?"

Mercury held up a single finger and drew a horizontal line through the air.

"To cut off the stroke for 'solicitation' myself." He lowered his hand. "He said that once I cut it off, no one would be able to cut it a second time, and from then on I would just have to rely entirely on my regular customers."

Richard just looked at him.

"I nearly threw a bowl of soup in his face."

Mercury snorted angrily. "I'm half-convinced that bastard was the one targeting me in the first place."

He let out a sigh and picked up the Bronze Seal again, scrutinizing the young man across the table.

"You seem quite familiar with situations like mine."

"I know a professor in the Imperial Capital who walks the Moon Hunting Tradition."

Richard spoke casually.

Mercury grunted softly and set the Bronze Seal back down.

Richard lowered his gaze and picked up his now-cold tea.

Of course he was familiar with it. He could trace that stroke with his eyes closed. He was essentially prescribing the antidote for a poison he had personally administered.

The Mask of Hermes flared with sudden heat, making his hand jerk. He nearly spilled tea all over his trousers. In a place he could not see, the mask's twin golden snakes constricted, coiling tighter and tighter.

He had slashed a man, sold him the medicine to treat the wound, and the man still had to thank him for it.

'If this isn't the god of trickery, what is?'

Richard set his teacup down.

Still, the medicine he had prescribed was genuine. The General Chamber of Commerce, the Harbor, the national bonds, the hospital ships... When all that social prestige accumulated, it would form an impenetrable shield against anyone who wanted to move against Mercury in the future.

Mercury had already pulled out a checkbook. The cover bore the crest of a lion resting on a shield.

He uncapped his pen. "Your consultation fee. Please, name your price."

"There is no need."

Mercury didn't look pleased; instead, he looked uncertain. "Do you think I'll pay too little?"

"I'm not asking for money."

Mercury set his pen down and narrowed his eyes at the young man.

"If you don't want money, you want something else. Go ahead. I'm listening."

Talking with a smart person always saved so much trouble. Richard gave a small smile.

"I want a single line of text from you."

What he wanted was for Mercury to endorse him from this day forward, ensuring he had a solid line of credit and trust within Genoa.

Hearing this, Mercury flipped his ledger to the freshest page and penned a single line in the local dialect:

"Any item appraised by Mr. Williams shall be regarded by this establishment as having been personally verified."

After finishing, he retrieved a stamp from his drawer and pressed it firmly onto the page.

"Thank you, sir."

"Additionally, if you ever find yourself holding an item you aren't certain about in the future, you can send it to me for an appraisal."

"Where should I send it? Imperial Capital University?"

"7 Flower Moon Street, Donner Antiquities and Sundries. Address it to Mr. L."

Mercury's hand froze just as he was about to close the ledger. "Donner? The short fellow from Persia?"

"You know him?"

"My grandfather knew his grandfather."

Mercury's expression turned incredibly subtle.

"Back in the seventies, they spent an entire night arguing in a hotel in Marseille over a batch of bronzeware shipped from Smyrna.

"The next morning, they had breakfast together and went their separate ways."

"And then?"

"And then it turned out the bronzeware was completely fake. Neither of them had bought it, and both of them walked away convinced that their own eye was superior."

'The world really is small,' Richard thought. 'Or maybe the mystical side is just a small circle?'

Mercury returned the ledger to the top of the cabinet and set another pot of water to boil.

Richard glanced at the wall clock. They still had plenty of time before the two hours were up.

"Since I'm here, I'd like to pick up a few things for myself," Richard said. "What are you looking for?" Mercury asked. "You're welcome to look through everything I have at the docks and in the warehouse."

"Old antiques from around the Mediterranean Sea."

Richard paused in thought. "Also, if you have any cursed objects tucked away that you've found difficult to handle, I'd like to take a look at those as well."

Mercury paused with the kettle in his hands.

"I've worked on this street for a very long time, and I have never heard of a customer actively asking for a cursed object."

"Well, now you have." Richard merely smiled.

"Piero, bring over the appraisal basket."

Piero hauled the rattan basket onto the table. Mercury pulled back the oilcloth covering it.

Inside lay a sprig of red coral, roughly the length of a finger. It branched off into three prongs, with a small hole drilled through the tip of each one.

"This was made in a town near Naples that specializes in harvesting coral. It's meant to be hung around a child's neck to ward off the evil eye.

"Three generations of children have worn this piece. The fourth generation went out into the world, decided it looked too rustic, and left it at home."

The coral had been worn against the skin for decades. Its Ether was even and perfectly clean. As Richard took the piece in his hand, a column on his panel gave a faint jump.

"This doesn't count as a cursed object. I keep all the cursed objects locked inside the iron cabinet."

Mercury turned to Piero. "Go open the cabinet."

The painted iron cabinet in the corner had three heavy locks on it. By the time Piero was opening the third one, his hands were trembling.

He pulled a flat wooden box from the cabinet, set it down on the table, and immediately took two large steps back.

The wooden box was lined with linen. Resting on top of the cloth was a rolled-up sheet of lead.

An iron nail had been driven straight through the center of the Lead Scroll. The head of the nail had completely rusted away.

"This came from Carthage. The Romans built a racecourse there, and someone fished this out of a well by the track."

"This should be a Cursed Lead Tablet."

"You recognize it?"

Richard didn't reach out; he merely inspected it visually. "I've read about them. They say chariot racers would pay people to write these to lay curses on their opponents."

Mercury continued his explanation. "The lead sheet has never been unrolled. I paid a man to read its contents through the lead using Spirit Vision: 'Let the horse fall. Let the eyes go blind. Let the hands lose their grip on the reins.'"

"And what became of that charioteer?"

"It happened one thousand seven hundred years ago. No one knows."

Mercury's expression turned slightly grim.

"I only know that the man who fished it out fell from a carriage the following year and broke his leg. The man who sold it to me didn't suffer any falls, but he would go out of his way to detour around a racecourse whenever he passed one."

The third item was a black pottery jug, slightly larger than a standard household teapot—large enough that it needed to be held with both hands.

It was presented as a single jug, but in reality, it was two separate vessels fused together side by side, connected by a short tube at the base.

The left vessel was smooth and rounded with an opening at the top. The right vessel had been molded into the shape of a squatting bird, with a small hole pierced in the back of its head.

"This was excavated from the northern coast of Peru."

He tapped a finger against the round vessel on the left.

"You pour water into this opening, then cradle the jug with both hands and rock it back and forth.

"As the water sloshes into the bird's belly, it forces the trapped air out through this small hole, producing a sound exactly like a real bird call. The locals call it a Whistling Vessel." Piero chimed in from two steps away, "It chirps on its own at night."

Richard shot him a glance.

Mercury pinched the bridge of his nose.

"After I locked it up in the iron cabinet, it started chirping inside."

He tilted his chin toward the window.

"The dog at the butcher shop across the street barked for a solid month because the noise drove it mad."

Richard bent over and brought his ear close to the tiny hole at the back of the bird's head.

He could hear the faint whisper of wind inside—a soft exhalation, a pause, and then another—as if someone had pressed their lips flush against the opening and was gently blowing air inside.

For the final item, Mercury walked over to the cabinet himself and brought out a mirror made of obsidian.

"This arrived from the New Continent this past spring."

Mercury propped the mirror upright. "The locals call this a Smoking Mirror."

"There is an ancient god from their lands that shares this exact name. The previous owner was a collector in Marseille who used it to shave every morning."

Mercury dropped his voice.

"On the fortieth day, he told his wife that the man in the mirror had lowered his razor before he did."

The room fell deadly silent. The rain outside had finally stopped, though water still dripped steadily from the eaves.

Richard swept his Still Water around the edges of the mirror. The moment it brushed across the front face, a layer of smoke began to rise off the water's surface.

Before it could fully billow, the Silver Ring against his chest suddenly went ice cold.

He hastily threw the linen cloth over the glass and flipped the mirror face down.

The column on his panel spiked, jumping much more violently than it had for the previous two items.

It lived up to the name of Smoking Mirror. This was easily the piece Richard was most interested in.

"How much for this mirror?" he asked, initiating the bargaining.

"Six pounds. I paid five pounds when I acquired it. Factoring in the shipping, you have to at least let me make my money back."

"If you take that bird-shaped Whistling Vessel, I won't charge you a cent." Richard understood; Mercury was just taking the opportunity to clear his dead stock.

"I'll even pay the shipping costs out of my own pocket," Piero quickly added.

Mercury shot him a withering glare, and Piero shrank back.

"And the lead tablet and the coral?"

"Three pounds."

Richard pulled out the money, and his coin pouch deflated significantly.

...

The two finalized the last few details of their haggling. Once everything was completely settled, Richard headed down to the ground-floor foyer to leave.

Piero, whom Mercury had sent down ahead of time to see him out, was sitting behind the narrow desk, his head bobbing as he dozed off.

The visitor registry lay open on the desk, still turned to the morning's page.

Richard plucked a Silver Needle from his box and aimed it at the registry.

He pressed the tip against the paper and sliced down diagonally along the grain. Snick.

The motion was so light it barely sounded louder than a fingernail scraping across the page.

He withdrew his Still Water and looked down at the registry.

His name and the date were still there, but the reason for the visit on the third line had been completely erased without a trace.

Piero jerked awake and hurriedly wiped his face.

"...Sir, are you heading out?"

"I am."

"It's still raining outside."

"It's fine."

Richard pulled his umbrella from the stand and shook the water off it.

He pushed the door open and stepped outside. Down at the end of the street, under the eaves of the tobacco shop, Mortimer was still standing there, holding his newspaper high enough to block his face.

He reached out from behind the paper and gave a half-hearted wave in Richard's direction. "One hour and twenty-six minutes."

As they walked out of San Lorenzo Street, Mortimer pocketed his Pocket Watch and strolled down the alley alongside Richard.

Richard gave him a brief rundown of how the material acquisitions went, then added, "Professor, I didn't end up buying any Darjeeling tea. The shop owner just gave me some."

The old professor grunted in approval. "Well, at least I won't have to drink tea that tastes like dishwater anymore."

A dozen steps later, Richard pulled out the list and the coin pouch to hand back to the professor. Mortimer pinched the pouch, weighing it in his hand. "This is quite a bit lighter. What on earth did you buy?"

"I bought a few cursed objects that you can't find in the Empire. Two from the Mediterranean, and two from the New Continent."

The old professor frowned. "What do you need a bunch of disgusting junk like that for?"

"I have some research that requires the use of cursed objects."

Mortimer stared at Richard for two solid seconds before his stern expression melted back into his usual lazy demeanor. "Fine. It's not my money being spent, anyway."

As they reached the mouth of the alley, Richard suddenly stopped in his tracks. Tucked away in his inner breast pocket, the Antler Tip wrapped in reins had begun to tremble once again.