Chapter 208: Messenger Deer

Wentworth looked at the ebony revolver.

"Its original owner named it."

"He was my first partner when I made inspector. He'd been in the field years longer than I had. I called him Old Kay." Richard's heart stirred; that was the name Wentworth had shouted when the Unresponsive Pit flipped.

"He said the hardwood grip was so dark it looked like ebony, so the name stuck."

"When he died in the line of duty, I claimed it as a memento. Since no one else in his family walked the occult path, I held onto it."

Wentworth lifted the gun out of the velvet.

"It was crafted by an old alchemist on Covent Street in the Imperial Capital."

He turned the gun over, resting it on his palm, and offered the grip to Richard.

"Hold it."

Richard took the revolver.

It was nearly fifty percent heavier than his police-issue Webley.

The curved grip fit perfectly in his palm, and the weight was impeccably balanced.

When he raised it one-handed, he barely needed to consciously steady the muzzle.

He activated his Spirit Vision and examined the weapon.

The ring of silver thread outlining the cylinder's six chambers lit up.

An equally fine layer of inscriptions ran along the barrel's inner wall, stretching from the chamber to the muzzle.

It took Richard a moment to figure out the purpose of the small silver stud at the base of the grip.

That stud was the entry point for ether to flow into the gun.

"Basic enchantment," Wentworth explained.

He pointed at the stud.

"The user pushes ether in through here and stores it in the cylinder."

"Once fully charged, the inscriptions attach an exorcism effect to the bullets."

"How strong is the effect?" Richard asked.

"About the same as a single-ring Enchanted Bullet."

Wentworth smiled.

"It won't put a dent in mid-tier or higher evil creatures, but it's more than enough to handle fog shadows like the ones yesterday."

Richard silently ran the numbers.

Enchanted Bullets were consumables; every shot fired was literal money burned away. Ebony, on the other hand, could be reloaded with standard silver bullets, and its enchantment could be recharged.

Wentworth continued.

"Transferring this to you is a private handover. There's no need to file any reports, which saves your record from an unnecessary mark."

Richard looked at the gun and made no hypocritical show of declining.

An enchanted revolver handcrafted by an alchemist would cost dozens of pounds in labor alone.

But the meaning this gun carried could no longer be measured in money.

"I'll put it to good use."

He held the wooden box to his chest.

When he reached the office door, Wentworth called out.

"Richard."

"What is it?"

Wentworth sat back down behind his desk.

He lowered his head, looking utterly exhausted.

"That gun never failed in Old Kay's hands. In the end, the one who failed was me."

"...Don't let it fail in yours either."

"I won't."

Wentworth nodded.

He said nothing more, dropping his gaze back to the unapproved paperwork on his desk.

...

By the time he headed home, it was already afternoon.

The bus pulled into the stop at the east end of Slag Alley, and he stepped off.

The early spring sun was faint, and a few neighborhood children were playing with snowballs in the street.

At his front door, he stomped the snow off his boots and straightened his coat.

Pushing the door open, he saw Margaret in the kitchen.

"You're back?" She poked her head out.

"...I'm back."

Richard hung his coat on the rack by the door and set his satchel by the stairs.

His mother never pried.

She only listened when he was ready to talk.

Hearing the noise, Evelyn came thumping down the stairs.

"Brother!"

She latched onto his arm.

"Where did you run off to? You didn't come home last night. Mom and I waited forever."

"I went on an academic survey with my teacher."

Richard offered his prepared excuse. "We walked around the mining museum to study the industrial history of the old mines."

"Industrial history?" Evelyn pouted. "You're definitely lying."

"I'm not lying. Look..."

Richard fished an old receipt out of his coat pocket—one he had casually picked up at the Branch Office. "This is what we were recording."

"..."

Evelyn took the receipt and turned it over, finding that it was indeed a mind-numbingly boring industrial record.

She handed it back in disappointment.

"Your study trips are way too boring."

"It is pretty boring," Richard agreed solemnly. "But the teacher promised a study stipend, so I tagged along."

"How much was it?"

"Three pounds."

Evelyn's eyes lit up.

"Three pounds!"

Lunch was simple. Margaret had made a pot of beef and potato stew, served with bread.

Richard ate a massive portion. Following last night's drain on his body, [eating] was rapidly firing signals to replenish all kinds of nutrients.

Between bites, Evelyn told him what had happened at school the day before.

The most talkative girl in her class had been called on to recite the royal line of succession.

She had gotten it completely backward halfway through, and the teacher, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, made her write lines as punishment.

Also, the lady who owned the bakery downstairs was newly pregnant.

She had still been in the shop kneading dough herself that morning. The customers had been so scared of startling her that they hadn't dared to speak.

Listening to her chatter, the heavy knot that had been sitting in Richard's stomach since the night before slowly began to loosen.

After lunch, he sat with his mother in the living room over tea.

Evelyn ran off to the kitchen to work on her new pastries.

Richard leaned close to his mother and lowered his voice.

"...Something happened over at the Western Suburbs Mining Area."

Margaret didn't look up, simply blowing on the tea at her lips.

"No need for details. The fact that you made it back alive is enough."

Richard nodded and didn't elaborate.

His mother took a sip.

"Next time there's a field assignment of that scale, don't go if you can avoid it."

"...I know."

"I know you won't listen," his mother sighed. "So just be careful, and don't make us find out only after the fact."

"Yes."

...

The next morning, Richard walked into his classroom.

Warren was in his usual seat. Seeing him walk in, Warren's eyes immediately lit up.

"Richard! Where did you and Mr. Hutton go yesterday?"

"We went around the mining museum," Richard answered casually. "The industrial history of the old mines. It was pretty boring."

"What's there to study in a place like that?" Warren scoffed. "I was wondering why you've been so elusive lately."

Hugh was sprawled over his desk, sketching in his notebook. The newest page depicted some method of roasting cafeteria poultry that Richard had never seen before.

"Want to see?" Hugh pushed the notebook over. "I drew it from imagination yesterday. 'Charcoal-Roasted Briston Winter Pigeon'."

"You imagined this?" Richard took the notebook.

"Yeah." Hugh nodded solemnly. "I plan to go to the market next spring to buy one, just to see if a real pigeon actually looks like this."

Richard burst out laughing.

"This is way too detailed."

"A painter must be rigorous," Hugh said with a straight face.

Mason leaned across the aisle.

"Richard, did you hear? Over a dozen people died in a strike out in the Western Suburbs yesterday."

"...I heard."

"Are you serious?" Warren leaned in.

"It's true. The workers clashed with the foremen, and the militia got deployed again."

Mason lowered his voice. "My dad came back fuming last night. The workers over at the flour mill in the south of the city wanted to strike too, but he and the workshop director shut it down."

"..."

Richard said nothing.

Grey walked in through the back door of the classroom just then.

"Morning."

She nodded to the group and set her bag down.

"Richard, I made you almond crisps for lunch."

"Thanks."

"You've lost weight again." Grey studied his face.

Richard knew very well that he hadn't simply lost weight; the lack of sleep over the past few days had just left him looking haggard.

Richard was absentminded throughout the morning classes.

Ever since [Speculation] activated, the way he absorbed lectures had changed.

When a teacher told a short anecdote, his brain would automatically parse out its structural pillars, weak points, and implicit biases.

By the end of the class, it was far noisier inside his head than outside.

After school.

Richard left the classroom and headed up to the third floor of the library.

Mr. Hutton hadn't returned today. He was likely still dealing with the fallout at the mine.

Inside the private reading room in the corner, Richard set his satchel down on the table.

He took out the chunk of mid-concentration Ether Condensate he had been allotted during yesterday's debriefing and placed it on the desk.

Sweeping his Spirit Vision over it, he could see the uniform, semi-transparent layer of ether coating its surface.

After a moment of thought, he stowed the condensate back into the inner pocket of his satchel.

He had no immediate use for it; he would save it to nourish supernatural items later.

Next, he pulled out his notebook.

Since the start of winter break, he had amassed just enough material for the Theogony Salon's next gathering.

He re-evaluated what he could bring to the table.

Any intelligence related to the Unresponsive Pit was absolutely off-limits.

It was heavily classified within the Branch Office. The more he knew, the less he could speak of it on the outside.

What he could offer were a few semi-finished thesis models on the inverse transformation of certain Spell Formulas he had on hand, as well as some improvement plans for standard Spell Formulas.

He could also bring out a few pieces of his allotted loot to see if he could trade for anything useful.

Richard closed the notebook.

By the time he finished organizing everything, it was nearing six in the evening.

Most of the students on campus had already left.

The streetlamps flickered on, casting a pale yellow glow over the snow.

Richard emerged from the library and walked down the main path toward the school gates.

Just as he reached them, he stopped.

Crouched at the street corner outside the gates was a deer, looking as though it had been waiting for a long time.

Richard's gaze was instantly drawn to it.

It was a light brown fawn, roughly a third the size of an average horse.

Its antlers were small and two-pronged, having recently sprouted, and the forks still bore a layer of unshed pale velvet.

The moment the deer saw him, it stood up, staring straight at Richard with large amber eyes.

Richard checked the pedestrians on the street.

A mother holding her child's hand was passing right by the animal.

The child looked toward the candy shop his mother was pointing to, not sparing a single glance at the deer.

A worker walking his bicycle bypassed it from behind. The tires nearly brushed its tail, yet the worker remained completely oblivious.

It seemed that on the entire street, Richard was the only one who could see it.

The feedback from his Spirit Vision told him that this deer was also a Spirit Realm Messenger.

But its aura was completely different from the flapping moth or the polite gray-robed humanoid.

The moth had been mechanical, while the gray-robed puppet was cold and gloomy.

The deer emanated a pure scent—a blend of forest wildness and spirituality.

It looked at Richard, then turned and walked into an alley.

After a few steps, it looked back.

Richard followed.

The high walls flanking the alley blocked out the streetlights, and the snow on the ground had been trampled into gray slush.

The deer lowered its head, nudged its neck, and dropped a letter to the ground.

Richard bent down to pick it up.

The emblem on the cover was the Caduceus of Hermes.

He raised his head.

The deer stood less than three paces away, making no move to leave.

It lifted its head and gently nudged Richard's chest.

Richard felt a warm flow of ether.

It was verifying something he was wearing.

Richard looked down.

The spot it had nudged was exactly where he wore the Silver Ring that Madam Marie had once left a "kiss" upon.

He had kept it on him all this time.

After "sniffing" the Silver Ring, the deer gently shook its antlers, as if deeply nostalgic.

Then, it turned and trotted out of the alley.

By the time Richard fully processed what had happened, the deer had completely vanished.

The alley was completely empty, leaving only his own footprints stamped into the gray slush.

Richard stood there for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

This messenger deer very likely knew Madam Marie.

Coupled with his earlier deductions regarding Hecate's identity, the probability of that theory had reached over ninety percent.

Richard didn't dwell on it any longer, looking down to open the letter.

Inside was Hecate's familiar handwriting, informing him to attend a gathering the day after tomorrow at the usual time.

The signature at the bottom remained a torch and a key.

After reading the letter, he walked out of the alley.

The streetlamp at the intersection was still shining brightly. A few students returning late hurried past him toward the bus stop.

Richard trailed behind them, making his way to the stop as well.

The headlights of a bus turned the corner.

The vehicle pulled over right in front of him, the doors swinging open with a clatter.

He stepped on board.