"Listen closely."
Papa Oliver seed to recall sothing and turned to Jenkins.
"We'll probably run into so fellow dealers in a bit. So of them are Enchanters, but they're not registered. Don't make a scene—just stay quiet and stick close to ."
Jenkins gave a quick nod. In a world teeming with bizarre supernatural forces, you never knew what might be unearthed. Anyone running an antique shop had to have a few tricks up their sleeve, or at least a working knowledge of the occult. Otherwise, they wouldn't have lasted a week.
An elderly man in black leather shoes and a tailcoat stood in the shade of the castle gate. He watched Papa Oliver and Jenkins approach but made no move to welco them.
Papa Oliver exchanged a few brief pleasantries, stating their business. The old man simply nodded and let them pass.
"So that was the butler?"
Jenkins whispered once they were inside the castle.
It was the first ti he'd ever t one. The Williams family had so money, certainly, but not enough to be in the market for a butler. That was a luxury reserved for the true high nobility or the great industrial magnates. After all, you needed a respectable estate to manage, or what was the point?
The butler hadn't been overtly arrogant, but his deanor was hardly welcoming.
"Yes. Oh, and look, that's Stuart—the short one—just rounding the corner. Can't believe he beat here!"
Papa Oliver paid no mind to butlers or social niceties, pulling Jenkins deeper into the castle.
He seed to have studied the castle's layout and the areas open for the sale beforehand, navigating with a confidence that told Jenkins he already knew which rooms were worth their ti.
Along the way, they saw more of their peers: a motley crew of black-market dealers, university professors, shop owners, and scouts from the major auction houses.
Not a single one of them looked to be under forty, and to Jenkins's discerning eye, most were Enchanters.
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
He thought to himself, but with no proof to back up his unease, he couldn't possibly convince Papa Oliver to leave what was clearly a hornet's nest.
"Papa, are there any local legends about this place? Haunted manors, dragons falling from the sky, a hero's long-lost treasure... anything like that?"
"Never. There have been so whispers of hauntings in the city lately, but never out here. Endon Town is too close to Nolan proper; the Church and the police have probably swept this place a dozen tis over. You need to spend less ti with those fanciful knight novels and more with the history texts I picked out for you."
Papa Oliver chided him, his tone a mix of frustration and disappointnt. Jenkins dropped the subject.
The castle did indeed hold so valuables. A handful of footn—whether hired locally for the day or brought along from the royal capital by the estate's prodigal new owner, it was hard to say—were scattered throughout the rooms, quoting prices to the prospective buyers.
The pricing, however, was clearly off. Every ti Papa Oliver heard a quote, he didn't hesitate for a second, simply instructing a footman to place a sticker with his na on the item, claiming it as his own.
"What happens to the things that don't sell?"
Jenkins asked as they walked down a dim castle corridor.
"First, the antique dealers get their pick. Then co the furniture rchants. At the end of the day, it's all furniture from a noble house. The new money, the ones who struck it rich overnight, are more than happy to buy it up to decorate their mansions and project an air of class."
Papa Oliver knew this world well. Those sa upstarts often frequented his shop, looking for anything that looked old and historic to display in their hos. He always guaranteed his pieces were genuine antiques; he never guaranteed they weren't marked up.
Hoping to spot a hidden gem, Jenkins activated his Eye of Reality and scanned their surroundings. But everything on display for sale was mundane, much to his disappointnt.
They descended from the castle's west tower, making their way to the underground storerooms. A castle of this scale was bound to have such a feature. He'd heard it was once a dungeon, but after the Kingdom cracked down on the private use of torture, it had been converted into a cellar.
"It's a little cold."
Jenkins shivered the mont he stepped through the double oak doors.
"Probably so unclean things."
Papa Oliver said with a shrug. "Nothing to be afraid of. Places like this, long abandoned, where people used to die... they're all like this. The... presence... here is still faint. It's fine as long as we don't linger."
"You don't think there are actual ghosts, do you?"
Afraid of being mocked, Jenkins kept the thought to himself. He slipped a hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the pistol Papa Oliver had given him. He hoped it was loaded with special ammunition.
Three other n were already in the storeroom: Professor Burns, whom they'd seen earlier; a Mr. Sanders from the Kingfisher Auction House; and a portly fellow dealer nad Chewill.
His shop was in the Sabine District, where the Williams family lived, making him one of Papa Oliver's local competitors.
"It's all rubbish."
Hearing their footsteps, Chewill turned and shrugged at Papa Oliver. "I thought a noble's castle would have so hidden treasures," he complained. "But this cellar is just filled with broken tables and chairs."
"Haven't you ventured any deeper?" Papa Oliver asked. "This cellar looks quite large."
"It is. It was converted from the old dungeons, after all. Rumor has it that a century ago, they used to lock up peasants who couldn't pay their taxes down here. I even saw a faint bloodstain in the corner just now. Heaven knows what from."
The speaker was Mr. Sanders. Dressed in a khaki hunting suit and a brown hat, he looked less like an auction house employee and more like one of the detectives from Jenkins's novels.
The five n chatted for a mont longer before hailing the footman at the entrance. After requesting five oil lamps, they set off together into the depths of the cellar.
"This place is huge."
As the youngest of the group, Jenkins had no standing to speak and remained silent. On the way over, Papa Oliver had told him about the castle's unusually vast cellar. The previous owner, the old Duke Francis, only ever used the estate during the sumr, leaving the cellar completely unused. To cut costs, he'd never had steam pipes installed, which ant the only light available ca from whatever sources they brought with them.
As they ventured deeper, the n examined furniture from various eras, all of it discarded by the castle's previous lords. Most pieces were faded and worn, but every now and then, one of them would find sothing of interest.
"I felt sothing tap ."
The portly Chewill muttered with annoyance. The others paused, glancing at him. There was no one anywhere near him.
From this distance, Jenkins's eyes couldn't perceive anything like a malevolent spirit. Such entities contained too little spirit for his ability to distinguish their faint aura. Perhaps, he mused, that would change once his Enchanter level increased.
"Probably just your imagination."
When no one responded, Chewill just swung his oil lamp around, then shrugged and paid it no more mind.
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