Just as evening approached five o'clock and Jenkins was about to finish his shift, another custor unexpectedly walked into the shop. He was a tall, middle-aged man in a wide-brimd hat, the collar of his trench coat turned up to hide the side of his face.
His body was bundled up tightly in his clothes, and he even wore white gloves. Even though Nolan was still in the last throes of winter, such an outfit was decidedly out of season.
"Welco to Pops Antique Shop."
Jenkins said, but it was Papa Oliver who went to greet the custor. Generally, clients dressed in such a manner were here to fence stolen goods or sell off items that were difficult to move.
But such transactions usually took place after sunset, well into the evening—after Jenkins had gone ho for the day—not on a bustling Wednesday evening with the streets still teeming with people.
"What can I do for you?"
Seeing the custor approach the counter, Papa Oliver inquired softly. But the visitor didn't answer directly. Instead, he opened his trench coat to reveal sothing hidden inside.
The flap of the coat happened to block Jenkins's view, preventing him from seeing what it was. But given the clandestine nature of the transaction, the item he was trying to sell certainly didn't co from a legitimate source.
Jenkins pursed his lips and took a small step back. Shops like Pops Antique Shop often acquired shady items within reasonable limits, of course. Naturally, the prices offered for such goods were pushed down to be extrely low.
Papa Oliver didn't yet allow Jenkins to handle such transactions, as he was still just an apprentice. Besides, people looking to offload illicit items rarely chose to co during Jenkins's work hours. This was the first ti all year he had seen soone like this.
Blinking, the young apprentice was surprised by the sight of a red spiritual aura:
"An ordinary person, but that's a numbered item. This is my first real day back at work since the Skull Sword incident... what a coincidence."
Papa Oliver had already taken out his monocle. He called Jenkins over to bring a portable gas lamp to the counter. After connecting the lamp to the special gas pipe interface jutting out from the wall, a dazzling light blazed forth from the fixture.
Papa Oliver put on his gloves, then lowered his head to inspect the object closely.
It was a rusty, silver-white nut. The rust didn't look like it was from the nut itself corroding, but more like a foreign substance clinging to its surface. Though Jenkins was standing so distance away, he could still make out the patterns engraved on it.
Considering it was clearly a product of the steam age, yet was inscribed with ancient text, its value would be imasurable if it were authenticated as a genuine antique.
After getting the mysterious custor's permission, Papa Oliver gently cleaned the nut's surface with fresh water and a small brush. Then, he had Jenkins fetch a thick dictionary of ancient languages from the back warehouse and began attempting to translate the tiny characters on the nut by referencing the book.
The inspection went on for nearly half an hour, during which none of the three n in the shop spoke a word. Papa Oliver and the custor were both fixated on the nut. Jenkins, anwhile, held a rag and mindlessly wiped a shelf, gazing wistfully at the crowd moving through the thin fog outside.
"Should I find the ti to ask Hathaway or Briny out on a date?"
He couldn't make up his mind. Since both young won had made their feelings clear, he couldn't just do nothing. The problem was, both Hathaway and Briny had asked him to keep their relationship a secret from the other, which put Jenkins in an incredibly awkward position.
"Sir, would you be able to tell the origin of this item?"
Papa Oliver's voice ca from behind him, and Jenkins, rag in hand, feigned indifference as he moved a little closer.
"While I was sorting through my father's effects, I dug up so old things he'd buried in the basent. I had the other antiques appraised and sent to an auction house. I found this when I went back to check the basent again yesterday."
It was a lie, but that was to be expected. After all, a custor who showed up looking like this would never reveal the true origin of his goods. It was just that this particular lie was remarkably flimsy.
In truth, Papa Oliver didn't much care what he said. He handed the nut back to the custor, then slowly and deliberately removed his gloves.
"The nut is modern. Worthless. The ancient text on it has so research value, I suppose. I can't imagine who had the ti to carve it on there—that's no easy feat... Four shillings."
Jenkins's right hand, which had been wiping a spot with no dust on it, paused for a mont before he quickly resud his pointless polishing of the shelf.
"Four pounds."
"Are you joking? Jenkins, stop slacking off! I see you just standing there. You're going to polish the finish right off that piece of wood!"
As he spoke, Papa Oliver began putting away the tools he'd used for the appraisal. He affected an air of complete indifference—one of his favorite negotiating tactics.
"Three pounds. I can't go any lower."
The custor's voice was unusually muffled, a clearly disguised affectation.
"Three shillings."
"..."
Jenkins stifled a laugh and continued cleaning the shelves. Even though the shop hadn't been properly open for a while, the shelves were still spotless. Besides, he'd already wiped them down once after lunch.
"Sir, let's stop playing this haggling ga. Twelve shillings. If you want to sell, we have a deal. If you're not satisfied with that price, you're perfectly free to try another shop. But Papa Oliver can guarantee you, that's absolutely the best price you'll find for it anywhere in Nolan."
He deliberately closed the counter drawer with extra force, making the slam resound with just the right amount of finality.
The custor was silent for a few seconds, then decisively tossed the nut onto the counter. Papa Oliver shook his head with a look of feigned resignation, pulled the drawer open again, and began to count out the money.
Not until the bell on the door chid, signaling the custor's departure, did Jenkins approach the counter again. Papa Oliver had already retrieved a small, red velvet-lined box and placed the nut inside. He was now rummaging through so papers, preparing to write a report.
"I rember it's Wednesday, and you have your evening class at the church. Wait a little longer before you leave. I need you to take this item and the report to the church's special items managent center for ."
"No problem."
Jenkins wasn't surprised that Papa Oliver knew it was a special item. He was, however, quite curious about what the nut was used for.
But if they couldn't find a matching number for it in their records, the church's identification process would be a very long one. Every new item to be assigned a number had to go through a rigorous process of appraisal, experintation, and verification. It was complicated, but absolutely vital.
It was ten minutes to six by the ti Papa Oliver finished writing his report. He placed the flat box containing the nut and the report into a file bag and handed it to Jenkins.
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