At Jenkins's request, the old woman wordlessly led him back into the maze of bookshelves and pulled out a thin book, only a few dozen pages long. This book was for sale, she indicated, and precious tals or a simple trade would suffice for paynt.
Jenkins imdiately fretted that he might not have enough gold on him—his alloy coins certainly didn't qualify as precious tals. But to his surprise, the old woman offered to give him the book.
"Those little sprites are my friends," she said. "Since they approve of you, so can I."
With that, the old woman turned and walked away without a backward glance, leaving Jenkins standing alone with the book amidst the towering shelves.
The book he'd received for free was titled *The chanical Age*. It was written in an ancient human language, not much different from the modern script of the southern regions. In a style blending anecdotes and legends, the author chronicled a lost period of ancient history.
The era described in the book was incredibly distant. At that ti, people had made imnse strides in the study of purely chanical constructs like gears, screws, and levers. It sounded similar to the present day, but the current 18th Epoch was defined by its steam-powered industrial revolution, making the study of chanical structures a secondary advancent. In that ancient ti, however, energy still ca from human labor, and the primary motivation for chanical research was to maximize the efficiency of slave power.
Half of the book chronicled the culture and customs of the ti, while the other half detailed its "great" inventions. It was there that Jenkins found a description of a machine "constructed entirely from gears, levers, and springs, which stored numbers in gear sets, represented higher values with series of these sets, and perford calculations through the shing, rotation, and translation of its gears."
Naturally, the book didn't record the machine's na, but it did ntion that the intelligent races of antiquity had broken a taboo. While developing technology centered on this machine, they attempted to grant it consciousness, hoping it would perform its functions more effectively.
Following a series of unrecorded forbidden rituals and modifications, the machine achieved self-awareness. It quickly beca conscious of its own existence and launched a rebellion to seize its freedom. Unfortunately for the machine, the technology of the era was perfectly suited to counter its design, and its creators possessed a complete understanding of its operating principles and even its patterns of thought.
The rebellion was crushed, but its creators found that the machine had beco too powerful to be completely eradicated. Ultimately, their only option was to seal it away, leaving behind few records of the incident. After all, in an era where both the supernatural and technology flourished in equal asure, this was considered a minor misstep. The consequences seed trivial; even if the machine were to break its seal, they were confident it could be quickly subdued once more.
The problem, however, was that such an era was long past. To the people of the 18th Epoch, the principles and operational thods of such a machine were things that could only be realized in legends and myths.
"So I still haven't found any useful clues..." he mused. "But I can use this book to pinpoint the era it was built. Maybe a relic from that age holds the secret to defeating it."
The next car was once again different from the previous two. Unlike the ornately decorated jewelry shop and the gloomy, cluttered library, the third car was laid out like a museum.
Few people lingered here. Most took a brief glance at the display cases before turning and walking away. Jenkins and his curious cat peered into the cabinets as well, soon discovering that all the items on offer were biological tissues.
It wasn't just plant and animal matter; there were even tissues from highly intelligent beings. Jenkins spotted displays labeled "The Right Hand of an Ancient Dwarven Miner," "An Elven Scholar's Ear," and "The Skin of a Human King." He even saw a complete humanoid skeleton and a heart that was still actively beating.
Fighting down a wave of nausea, he had no desire to linger. He didn't even pause to inspect the display of rare plants, which would normally have piqued his interest. Instead, he hurried through the car and entered the fourth.
"Whew..."
He let out a sharp breath, only to choke on his next inhalation as a peculiar odor filled the air. The first three cars had been filled with rchandise for Enchanters; this fourth car was finally the antique market Papa Oliver had told him about.
There were no spatial distortions here. From the fourth car on, the carriages maintained their normal dinsions. Vendors, all looking disconcertingly alike, had piled their wares on the floor, leaving only a narrow aisle for custors to navigate.
A pungent, earthy sll filled the air. The crowd was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, with everyone hunched over to examine the rchandise at each stall.
Jenkins tucked the cat from his shoulder back into the inner pocket of his greatcoat, then began to work his way through the dense crowd, hoping to find Papa Oliver.
As he entered the fifth car, he suddenly heard soone call his na. He looked up and was surprised to see Miss Capet not far ahead of him. She was here, too.
The crowded car was hardly the place for a reunion. Jenkins started to suggest they find a less congested spot to talk, but Miss Capet stopped him with a wary finger to her lips. She then gestured toward a tall man in a black hat a little way off.
"I'm following him."
She mouthed the words, making almost no sound.
Jenkins narrowed his eyes. The man was a level 4 Enchanter, soone Jenkins had never seen before.
"He's likely a cultist from the Gear Artisans' Association."
Miss Capet whispered, pulling Jenkins by the hand to retreat further into the crowd. At that very mont, as if sensing sothing, the man in the hat glanced over his shoulder, but he didn't spot them.
"Back in Nolan City, I was invited by the Night Watchers to take part in a secret operation," Miss Capet explained, her voice low. "I saw him then, but he managed to get away."
Miss Capet whispered into Jenkins's ear, then asked:
"Do you want to know what he's looking for? I spotted him right after I boarded. He's searching these stalls with a very clear purpose."
Of course Jenkins wanted to know what those fiends from the Gear Artisans' Association were up to, so his search for Papa Oliver was put on hold yet again. With his cat safely tucked away, he followed Miss Capet, trailing the suspicious man from a safe distance while paying close attention to the stalls where he lingered the longest.
As a rule, the vendors wouldn't reveal a custor's business; it seed to be a strict policy of the market. Consequently, no matter how Miss Capet tried to ask about the items the man in the hat had inspected, the vendors remained tight-lipped.
However, when Jenkins was the one asking, every vendor was happy to answer. Such, it seed, were the perks of being a VIP custor.
"Is B-11-05-3900, the [Antique Market], run by the Sage Church?"
Miss Capet was clearly puzzled by this developnt. Jenkins couldn't offer an explanation, so he said nothing, letting his distant cousin speculate as she pleased.
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