Even without seeing the face beneath Mr. Hood's hood, Jenkins could guess his panic.
"Let's hide first and see what this group is up to. They probably aren't here for us, or they wouldn't have made such a commotion."
As Mr. White Cat spoke, he led them to the wall of the spacious warehouse. He whispered a long, unknown incantation, and the color of everyone's skin and clothes began to shift, blending in with the wall.
It wasn't complete invisibility, but given how dark it was inside the warehouse, no one would notice them unless they walked right up to the group.
Half a minute later, two sturdy n in padded jackets pushed the warehouse doors wide open. A group of n who looked like bodyguards lined up on either side of the entrance, allowing a middle-aged man in a sharp black suit and a bald man, bare-ard despite the winter chill, to walk in together.
The man in the suit was clearly an aristocrat; every subtle movent proved it, especially in contrast to the sowhat brutish bald man.
The two n walked closely together, their voices hushed, so the six people by the wall couldn't hear what they were discussing. They only saw the sturdy man who had opened the doors walk to the southeast corner, where he found a ring pull. With a piercing creak, he opened a trapdoor hidden in the floor.
A few seconds later, the group, standing in the opposite corner, caught the foul stench of fuel. The sll was clearly coming from below the trapdoor.
"I get it! The sll of vinegar was just a cover for this stench. Just how much vinegar did they splash around in here?"
After the trapdoor was opened, only the nobleman and the bald, brawny man went down. The others diligently guarded the warehouse's various exits.
They waited like this for half an hour before the two n reappeared, one after the other, from the trapdoor. Servants splashed fresh vinegar around to mask the odor, and then the whole group left together.
The six people by the wall were all experienced Enchanters. They didn't start talking or moving imdiately. Only after ten minutes, when nothing but silent moonlight stread in through the skylight on the sloped roof, did they let out a long sigh.
"I'm not the least bit concerned about what just happened. In fact, I didn't see a thing!"
Mr. White Cat was the first to speak, then he strode away without a backward glance.
"I don't want to get involved in this either. In tis as dangerous as these, curiosity will be the death of every curious person!"
Miss Magic, Mr. Hood, and Hathaway expressed similar sentints. Before leaving, they all declared that they knew nothing of what had transpired. This was to reassure the two who remained that no matter what they did, the other mbers of the gathering wouldn't breathe a word.
After everyone else had left, Jenkins and Miss Silver Flute looked at each other. Jenkins's eyes could see that there wasn't the faintest trace of a spiritual aura underground, which was why he was bold enough to want to know what was down there. The woman, however, clearly didn't possess such an ability.
"Mr. Candle, whatever we find down there, we'll split the gold pounds fifty-fifty after we sell it. Of course, if you can pay now, I can sell you my entire share at a discount."
It seed she had stayed behind because she was short on cash.
They strained to pull open the trapdoor, and the pungent sll of fuel rushed out. Below was a wooden ladder. Neither of them went down imdiately. Instead, Jenkins summoned his strangely shaped miner's lamp to illuminate the space below.
The space below also looked like a warehouse, though it was less than a fifth the size of the one above. Stacks of wooden crates were neatly arranged, covered securely with heavy ship's canvas, and tied down with thick ropes, leaving only a narrow path to walk through.
Jenkins didn't see any lighting equipnt. The nobleman and the bald man didn't seem to have taken a candle or an oil lamp with them when they went down.
"Though it's probably not my place to say this, I feel I should give you a word of warning."
Before they acted, Jenkins said to his companion, "I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but excessive greed is often the harbinger of self-destruction."
"I understand."
It was unclear whether Miss Silver Flute had recognized the goodwill in Jenkins's words. After her simple reply, she took the lead and jumped down through the opening.
Jenkins followed close behind, holding the miner's lamp high and letting its silver-blue light spread outwards. But such a cold light was never good for illumination, so he looked at the woman, hoping she could co up with sothing.
"I can summon a fireball for light, but you must understand, the air here is thick with fuel. If a fla..."
"I understand."
Jenkins motioned for her to stop. He placed the miner's lamp on a crate, then, without damaging anything, he untied the ropes and lifted the canvas. He saw straw poking out from the gaps between the wooden planks of the crates.
This was necessary packing material to prevent the contents from being damaged during transport; foam wrap didn't exist in this era. It was just like the goods received and sent out by Pops Antique Shop.
"These can't all be smuggled antiques, can they?"
Jenkins muttered to himself.
"Why would they use fuel to transport antiques?"
Miss Silver Flute retorted, her pale hand extending from beneath her robe to rest on a wooden crate:
"I think I've figured out what this is. It's certainly valuable, but finding the right buyer will be difficult."
Her delicate-looking hand tapped lightly on the crate. With a soft pop, the nails at the four corners of the lid shot out. She lifted it to reveal six smaller wooden boxes packed tightly inside.
Jenkins took out one of the boxes. It was crudely made, splintery to the touch. When he slid open the lid, he saw a steam bomb nestled inside.
He now understood why the group from earlier hadn't used any open flas for light.
"Munitions?!"
The two spoke in unison. They opened another crate a little further away. Inside was a rifle of a model Jenkins didn't recognize, the oil on it looking as if it had just been applied. According to the serial number, it had been manufactured in the latter half of last year.
"They're smuggling arms?"
Sticking around to investigate with Miss Silver Flute was definitely the right choice. Regardless of whether he could profit from this, discovering these things was a huge gain in itself.
"Mr. Candle, do you have any spatial storage items?"
The woman's appetite was as big as he'd expected; she wanted to haul everything away.
"No."
Jenkins admitted honestly, then stroked his chest again to soothe the impatient cat inside. Agitated, the cat imdiately began to scrabble with its paws at the inside of his pocket, wriggling its way up until its small head popped out smoothly from his collar.
It glanced around before quickly retreating back inside.
"I don't either."
There was a note of regret in Miss Silver Flute's voice.
"In that case, can you find a way to imdiately fence... I an, offload the goods?"
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