Chapter 82: Tutor

After clearing the dishes and heading upstairs, Richard closed his bedroom door.

He carefully took the oil lamp out of his satchel and placed it on the desk.

Once unwrapped from the oiled paper, the Sphinx's bronze face gleamed dark green under the desk lamp.

The dark patina on its wings was heavier than he remembered, likely because it had sat in the shop for an extra month.

He flipped it over to check the base. The seal—a triangle enclosed in a circle—was still there.

The curve of the short lines extending from the triangle's three sides perfectly matched the sample he had copied down at the Imperial Capital University Library.

It was a standard safety valve structure from the priest inscriptions of the Middle Reaches of the Black Soil River.

Whatever was inside the oil lamp was suppressed by the seal. He just had to find a way to unlock it.

But there was no rush today.

Several consecutive nights of intense decryption work had overloaded his brain.

The information density in On Ascension Within the Veil was simply too high. After digesting it, he felt like a wrung-out towel.

He needed to take a breather.

...

On Sunday morning, Richard slept in until the sun was high, a rare occurrence for him.

The sound of Evelyn and his mother talking drifted up from downstairs, accompanied by the clatter of pans and dishes.

Breathing advanced through daily practice, while Learning improved through reading and decryption. As for eating and sleep, he had only just unlocked them, and his experience was still building.

With three Body skills running simultaneously, his physical condition was visibly improving.

Evelyn complained that his appetite had become ridiculously large lately. The hash browns yesterday afternoon had actually been an extra meal she made just for him.

Richard lingered in bed for another five minutes, running through his plans for the day.

His brain needed a rest, so the cipher decryption had to pause for now.

He could use the free time to take care of another important matter.

His aunt Isabella had mentioned the Classical Society's recommendation list back in the Imperial Capital.

Those who made the list were qualified to be hired as tutors by wealthy families in the Imperial Capital. An hour's tuition was equal to a regular worker's daily wage.

Mr. Holland had said the exact same thing even earlier.

But no matter how lucrative the tutoring market in the Imperial Capital was, he lived in Briston. He couldn't possibly take a train to the capital every week for lessons.

Fortunately, the recommendation list covered the entire country. Although Briston was a northern industrial city, it still had its share of wealthy families.

Warren's father was the vice chairman of the North District Coal Mine Union, and Grey's family also ran a factory.

Children from those families attended Greenwood School because it was already considered the best in Briston. Anything better would require a boarding public school in the Imperial Capital.

However, not all wealthy families sent their children to the Imperial Capital. Some preferred to keep their kids close to home and hire private tutors.

Richard got dressed and headed downstairs.

Evelyn pushed a plate of fried eggs and toast toward him. "What are you doing today?"

"Looking for a job."

"What kind of job?"

"A tutor."

Evelyn set down her teacup.

"Teaching what?"

"Latin, classical studies, whatever they need."

Evelyn looked him up and down.

"That shirt won't do."

"What's wrong with it?"

"The collar is frayed, and the color has washed out to a dull gray.

"If you wear that to a wealthy family's house, they'll think you're applying as a handyman."

"I'm just going for an interview, not a ball."

"First impressions are important." Evelyn stood up and ran upstairs without even taking off her apron.

Two minutes later, she came back down with a crisp, white shirt featuring fine blue stripes and subtle patterns around the cuffs.

"This was Dad's. He hardly ever wore it."

"Dad's clothes are too big for me."

"I altered it. I used your old shirt for the measurements, took the shoulders in by half an inch, and shortened the sleeves."

Richard took the shirt and unfolded it.

The stitching was fine and even, with two hidden pleats added to the waist to tailor the loose fit perfectly to his frame.

There was no way she had just started working on this yesterday.

"...Alright, thanks."

"And a tie." His sister pulled out a dark gray necktie.

Richard took the shirt and tie upstairs to change, adjusting the fit in front of the wardrobe mirror.

The shirt fit perfectly and the tie was neat. Combined with the improved complexion brought about by his breathing method training, he looked like a convincing university student.

Evelyn was waiting by the stairs when he came back down. She looked him over. "Passable."

"Would it kill you to give a compliment?"

"Just get going," she said, waving him off.

...

The Classical Society had liaison offices in various cities.

The Briston branch was located on the third floor of an old building in the city center. A bronze plaque reading "Classical Society North District Office" hung by the door.

Richard pushed the door open. The space inside was smaller than he had expected.

It held two desks, a row of filing cabinets, an old-fashioned typewriter, and a half-dead fern on the windowsill.

A man in his forties with neatly combed hair sat behind one of the desks, his pince-nez glasses threatening to slip off his nose.

"Hello, I'm Richard Williams. I'm registered on the Classical Society's recommendation list."

The man glanced up at him and pushed his glasses back into place. "List number?"

Richard recited a string of numbers.

The man opened a ledger on the desk, running his finger down the dense column of names.

"Williams... Williams... Here it is."

He made a checkmark next to the name with a pencil. "Second place in the Cicero Cup, Greenwood School, correct?"

"Correct."

"Currently, the tutoring requests registered in the North District..." He flipped through a few pages. "There are three."

He turned the ledger around for Richard to see.

The three requests were from three different families.

The first was from a retired military officer in the Western Suburbs who needed someone to tutor his twelve-year-old son in Latin and Aegaean.

The remarks column read: "Preference for teachers with a military academy background."

The second was from a textile mill owner looking to prepare his fourteen-year-old daughter for an entrance exam, covering Latin, history, and geography.

The remarks column was empty.

The third request caught Richard's eye.

Client name: Mrs. Edmund Dawn.

Student: Tom Dawn, twelve years old.

Subject requirements: Latin, classical studies.

The remarks column contained two lines:

"Three previous tutors have been replaced. The student's level of cooperation is relatively low; we ask that only patient applicants apply."

Richard stared at the words "Three previous tutors have been replaced."

Three tutors had been driven away, which meant the parents either had very high standards for teaching quality, the child was extremely difficult to handle, or both.

But what he cared about was something else.

The address in the remarks was Highfield Road. That was the most expensive street in the North District.

Coal mine owners, shipping merchants, and bank partners—these were the kinds of people who lived on Highfield Road.

"How much is the hourly rate for the Dawn family?"

The clerk checked the entry. "Two shillings an hour."

Two shillings an hour.

Mr. Holland's statement that an hour's tuition was equal to a regular worker's daily wage was completely true.

A regular worker's daily wage was about that much. This one hour of tutoring paid as much as digging coal in a mine for a whole day.

If he taught for an hour on both days of the weekend, that would be sixteen shillings a month, which amounted to a little over a pound and a half.

It was fifty percent more than the one pound he had estimated.

"I'll give this one a try."

"Alright." The clerk jotted down a few things in the ledger.

"I will send a letter to the Dawn family and attach your information.

"If they agree to an interview, we will notify you of the time and place."

He took a form out of his drawer and pushed it across the desk.

"Fill in your personal information, and include your school transcripts and the Cicero Cup award letter."

Richard pulled the recommendation letters from Mr. Holland and the school out of his satchel, placing them on the desk alongside the award certificate issued by the Classical Society.