As the skinny man had said, the back room of the shop was more spacious than the front, but its eerie atmosphere was even stronger.
The two police officers frowned, seeming unaccustomed to the atmosphere.
The two young men gradually grew more timid. Their pace slowed considerably, and they stopped looking around as much as they had before.
The plump shopkeeper went straight to a shelf and took down a wooden box.
He pushed open the lid, revealing an old fountain pen wrapped in velvet.
It was exactly like the one in the skinny man's home.
I glanced at him to confirm.
The skinny man picked up the pen, opened its cap, then twisted the barrel apart, revealing the pale red ink sac inside.
"Baron Little George's fountain pen. The baron liked to abuse slaves while he was alive. He drained their blood and used it as ink. He left behind this pen and some manuscripts. His descendants sold the manuscripts to someone else. We couldn't find them and only managed to locate this pen," the plump shopkeeper said with a beaming smile.
The two police officers' faces turned ashen, while the two young men went pale, their eyes seeming to shine.
"That's what one of his descendants said, anyway. He even provided his family tree as proof. Oh, and some local historical records. But those records were actually a novel from the last century. The author was a local, though, and his descendants still live there. Some of the manuscripts were originally sold to the author, then later passed on to a publishing house, I suppose. Collectors who read the novel bought the rest," the plump shopkeeper continued, his smile honest and warm.
"Is that for real?" the young man in the gray down jacket blurted out.
"Anyway, that's