Chapter 79: Copper Lamp in Hand

Richard quickened his pace. He could not delay getting the Sphinx Oil Lamp any longer.

It was less than a half-hour walk from his house to the alley where Clement Antiquities sat.

He headed south along Grafton Street, passing the department store branch where he and Evelyn had looked at gloves.

The window displays had changed; autumn and winter scarves and hats had replaced the gloves.

He turned into the alley. Under the overcast sky, the wooden sign for Clement Antiquities looked even darker, a fresh chip of paint missing from its surface.

The copper bell chimed as Richard pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The shop remained exactly as he remembered it.

The shelves lining the four walls were packed with old curiosities, all bathed in the yellow glow of the ceiling gas lamp.

Albert Clement sat behind the counter, oiling an old blade.

"You're here?" the old man asked without looking up.

"I am."

"The lamp is over there. It hasn't moved."

Richard walked over to the shelf near the window.

The Sphinx Oil Lamp sat right where it had been, a fresh layer of dust obscuring most of the patina on its wings.

He picked it up and tested its weight, feeling the same solid, heavy heft.

"Two pounds," the old man said. He set the blade on the counter and held out his hand.

Richard pulled two one-pound notes from his inner pocket, flattened them on the counter, and slid them across.

Clement picked up the bills and held them to the light to check the watermarks.

The last time the boy had come in, he had worn a faded coat with frayed cuffs—the very image of a penniless student.

Today, he wore the same coat, but his entire demeanor was completely different.

Clement folded the bills, in no rush to put them away. "Young man, where did you scrape together two pounds over the last month?"

"Competition prize money."

"What competition?"

"The Cicero Cup."

The old man's fingers paused on the drawer handle.

He slowly turned his head, fixing his gaze on Richard through his copper-framed glasses.

"The Cicero Cup? The one in the Imperial Capital?"

"Yes."

"What place did you take?"

"Second."

The old man slipped the bills into the drawer and stood up.

"You're a student at Greenwood?"

"I am."

"A Greenwood student took second place in the Cicero Cup?"

"Yes."

The way Clement looked at Richard completely changed.

The old man walked around the counter to the door and flipped the wooden sign from "Open" to "Out."

"Sit."

Richard pulled over a folding stool and sat down.

Clement returned to his seat behind the counter, took a sip of tea, and looked at him.

"Mr. Clement, is there something you need to discuss?"

The old man set his teacup down.

"I worked at Stuart Auction House for thirty years. On the surface, the auction house has one appraisal process, but in reality, there are two.

"The second process is only initiated for specific goods.

"When an item brought in for auction exhibits inexplicable anomalies during standard appraisal, the appraisal department transfers it into the second process."

"The Imperial Capital headquarters keeps two staff consultants on the payroll to handle special appraisals each year.

"But the branches don't have that budget. When a branch encounters a suspicious item, they either have to send it back to headquarters to wait for a consultant, or the branch manager has to figure out a solution on their own."

Clement took off his copper-framed glasses and wiped the lenses with an oiled cloth from the counter.

"Those big buyers in the Imperial Capital always conduct a risk assessment before making a move.

"They will fight over supernatural items with clearly defined functions. People will happily pay ten or twenty times the price for those.

"But an item with an unknown function could be a treasure, or it could be trouble. Most people would rather leave it untouched."

"Transferring them for appraisal is a hassle too. Who do you give it to? How long is the wait?" Clement spread his hands.

"Experts on the Scholar path are even rarer than Spirit Vision consultants. There are only a handful of Inscriptiology professors at Imperial Capital University in total.

"The appraisal schedule is packed from the beginning of the year to the end. It's completely normal for an item to sit for six to eight months waiting to be seen."

"Clients can't wait that long, and the auction house doesn't want inventory taking up space in the storeroom.

"Once the auction window passes, these items with ambiguous appraisal results are either returned to the client or cleared out at rock-bottom prices to secondary markets, antiquities shops, and flea markets."

He pointed a finger at Richard.

"The lamp in front of you slipped out exactly like that.

"The auction house bundles up these unsold items and distributes them through internal channels to affiliated antiquities dealers across different regions.

"I still keep in touch with some old colleagues at Stuart. Every year, they send me a list of the clearance stock they're dumping.

"The prices are kept incredibly low, calculated at a fifth to a tenth of the original estimated value."

"This lamp cost me two pounds and five shillings. By selling it to you for two, I actually took a loss of five shillings plus shipping."

Richard looked at him. "Selling at a loss?"

"It's not a huge loss." Clement leaned back in his chair.

"Unsold goods just take up shelf space in my shop, so it's better to unload them early.

"Briston isn't the Imperial Capital; there's no local market for things like this.

"Occasionally, a customer will walk in, find the design interesting, and ask the price. But the moment they hear it costs several pounds, they turn right around and leave."

He picked up his teacup and took another sip. "Young man, I'm not telling you all this just to tell a story.

"If you're interested... in the future, whenever I receive a clearance list marked as Category Two, I can call you first.

"You can come see the items in person. If you think they hold value, buy them; if not, just leave them. I won't force you."

Richard was tempted. This effectively gave him another channel to acquire supernatural items.

But after a moment's thought, he asked, "I still don't quite understand. Why are you helping me like this?"

Clement picked up the old blade and resumed wiping it with the oiled cloth.

"I have two grandsons. The older is fourteen, the younger is eleven."

He flipped the blade and wiped the other side.

"The two little guys are ordinary people, and I have no intention of letting them touch that world.

"Whether they end up at the tax bureau, the railway bureau, or a bank counter... living a peaceful, stable life in the Surface World is better than anything else."

He wrapped the blade in oiled paper, his movements slow.

"But life in the Surface World isn't easy either.

"The factories in Briston have gone through three rounds of layoffs this year. The tax bureau exams get harder every year, and the streets are overflowing with grammar school graduates.

"If my grandsons want to gain a foothold in the city, relying solely on grades and diplomas won't cut it. They need connections."

He placed the wrapped blade into a drawer beneath the counter.

"I worked in the auction house for decades, but all the connections I made are entirely within the antiquities circle. Those connections can't help my descendants.

"You're different. The top three winners of the Cicero Cup generally go on to do quite well for themselves.

"Whether it's the academies, the Church, the auction houses, or even the official government system.

"As long as you establish a firm foothold in the Imperial Capital, the relationships and resources you hold will be far beyond what a retired old man like me could ever manage."

He folded his hands on the counter and looked at Richard.

"I'm building this bridge for you. Once you cross it, if I ever need a recommendation letter for a good school, or a favor asking about a job, I'll swallow my pride and come to you. If you can help, lend a hand. If you can't, I won't force it.

"It's as simple as that."

He pulled a business card from the holder on the counter and handed it over.

"The single most useful lesson I learned in all my years at the auction house is this: it's not the objects worth betting on—it's the people.

"An object's value has a ceiling. A person's does not."