Clement Antiques

Saturday morning, the sun made a rare appearance in Briston.

Light squeezed through a gap in the curtains, drawing a bright stripe across the floor.

Richard woke later than usual. Yesterday's decoding had overloaded his brain, and his body needed the extra sleep.

He turned over, about to lounge around a little longer.

The clatter of dishes came from downstairs, mixed with his sister's voice.

With no choice, he got up, dressed, and went downstairs.

Only Evelyn was in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist as she arranged bread on the grill.

"Where are Mom and Dad?"

"Dad went to the post office to mail something. Mom's resting in the bedroom. She coughed for ages last night."

Evelyn flipped the toasted bread over with practiced ease.

She had helped their mother with housework since childhood—washing dishes, mopping floors, baking bread. Her hands were far more skilled than those of girls her age.

Before—or rather, two weeks ago—Richard's role in the family had been "the one who needed looking after."

He had been frail and sickly, falling ill at the slightest provocation. Their mother devoted more than half her attention to him, and Evelyn naturally took over the rest.

She was one year younger than Richard, yet sometimes she sounded even more like an older sister than an actual older sister would.

Recently, though, that relationship had begun to shift in subtle ways, because Richard had started taking the initiative to help around the house.

He helped clear the dishes, got up early to shovel ash from the fireplace, and had even tried sewing a button back onto his clothes the day before yesterday. Though his stitches had been crooked, and their mother had taken it back to redo it.

Evelyn's feelings about this were somewhat complicated.

On one hand, she thought it was good. Her brother had finally stopped being a useless sickly burden.

On the other hand, she couldn't quite explain it, but something inside her felt as though it had been moved.

Over the past few years, "taking care of her brother" had become an important part of her sense of place in the family.

Their mother took care of Richard's health, while she took care of his daily life. It was a chain that had been running for a long time.

Now, one link in that chain suddenly no longer needed her.

Judging by his recent performance at school, it could also be said that the link had suddenly begun turning on its own—and turning especially fast.

"The bread's ready." Evelyn brought over a plate and set it on the table. "Spread your own butter."

"Okay."

"The tea's on the stove. Pour it yourself."

"I know."

She watched Richard pour his own tea, spread butter, and cut the bread in half. Then she suddenly asked:

"Big brother, have you been secretly doing something behind our backs lately?"

"Homework. Didn't I tell you?"

"You're lying. Who locks their homework in a drawer?"

Richard chewed a couple of bites of bread and lied without blinking. "It's my diary that's locked up."

"Since when did you start writing a diary?"

"Recently."

"What do you write about?"

"About how my little sister asks more and more questions every day."

Evelyn glared at him, forcefully tore her bread into small pieces, and fed them into her mouth one by one.

After a quiet moment, she suddenly changed the subject.

"Big brother, Mom's birthday is coming up."

"Yeah, the tenth of next month."

"You remembered the date?" The girl looked a little surprised.

The old Richard's memory for this sort of schedule had been practically nonexistent. Birthdays, anniversaries, rent due dates... he only acknowledged them when someone else told him.

"My memory's gotten a little better lately."

Evelyn did not press him on that, but her eyes narrowed.

"I want to buy Mom something." She stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth and said indistinctly:

"A scarf, or a pair of gloves. She's worn those gloves for years. There are holes worn through the fingertips."

"Sure. How much?"

"The cheapest wool gloves cost two shillings and sixpence. Better ones cost three shillings."

She sounded a little dejected when she named the price. Three shillings was no small sum for them.

"We each pay half?" Richard said.

"Where are you getting money?" Evelyn asked bluntly.

It was a small test.

Someone who had never even had enough pocket money before was suddenly saying, "We each pay half." Where did that confidence come from?

"Warren buys me lunch every day now, so I've saved the money I used to spend on lunch. By next month, it should be almost enough."

Evelyn's expression relaxed somewhat. Naturally, she already knew about that.

"Fine, then it's settled. We'll buy the three-shilling pair."

"Yeah, the three-shilling pair."

The siblings clinked their teacups together, filled with cheap black tea mixed with milk.

After breakfast, they went out.

Officially, they were looking for a birthday gift for their mother. In reality, they both needed some fresh air.

Apart from going to school and helping with housework, Evelyn hardly ever had a chance to go out.

There were far more people on the streets than on weekdays.

Housewives wrapped in scarves carried baskets to buy groceries. Hawkers pushing carts called out roasted chestnuts on street corners. Newsboys' cries mixed with the clatter of horse hooves, creating a lively din.

"Let's look at gloves first." Evelyn walked ahead, her steps quicker than Richard's.

The cuffs of her coat were a little too short, exposing a section of pale wrist.

Her braid swung behind her as she walked, drawing a lively curve through the dreary gray streetscape.

"There's a department store branch on Grafton Street. They have Saturday discounts."

"How do you know?"

"A classmate told me."

The two turned onto Grafton Street.

The department store branch was not large. Several women's hats and a row of gloves were displayed in the glass window.

Evelyn leaned against the window for a long time, then pointed at a pair of dark brown wool gloves on the second row.

"Those. Three shillings."

The gloves had fine stitching and a thin layer of fleece inside, with durable leather patches added at the fingertips and palms.

Practical, not flashy. They suited their mother perfectly.

"Once we've saved enough pocket money next month, we'll come buy them." Evelyn reluctantly moved away from the display window.

As they walked back along Grafton Street, they passed a side alley.

A faded wooden sign hung at its entrance: "Clement Antiques."

The lettering was ornate, with a tiny copper teapot painted beside it.

Below was a description of its services: "Rare Collectibles · Estate Appraisals · House Calls for Purchases."

Richard stopped in his tracks.

"Evelyn, are you interested in antiques?"

"No." Her answer was crisp and immediate.

"Then look around nearby? I'll go in for two minutes."

"Big brother, you're not interested in antiques either."

"I've become a little interested lately. I want to see the real things after hearing Mr. Hutton talk about those old objects in class."

Evelyn looked him up and down, said, "Whatever," and turned toward the opposite side of the alley entrance.

Richard pushed open the door to Clement Antiques, and a brass bell gave a ding.

The shop was small, perhaps only twice the size of his family's living room.

Shelves covered all four walls, packed with every sort of object:

Bronzeware, porcelain, old clocks, picture frames, candlesticks, oil paintings, small statues missing legs, and silver tableware rusted beyond recognition.

A gas lamp hung from the ceiling. Its frosted glass shade filtered the light into a dim, gentle yellow.

An old man sat behind the counter, his sparse white hair combed back, a pair of bronze-framed glasses resting on his nose.

He was examining something through a magnifying glass.

Hearing the bell, the old man looked up and gave Richard's clothes a once-over. Clearly uninterested, he said, "Good morning."

"Good morning." Richard glanced at the counter.

The old man was examining an old coin, verdigris-green and worn around the edges.

"Young man, what are you looking for?"

"Just browsing."

The old man grunted, turned his attention back to the coin, and continued examining it.

Richard slowly made a circuit of the shop.

He had tried the goods on the stalls at the flea market street, and the panel had shown no reaction at all.

This shop had far more class than those open-air stalls. Its goods were older, more refined, and more varied.

He kept half his attention on the panel's available points, starting at the entrance and scanning along the left wall.

A bronze candlestick. No reaction.

An old pocket watch. No reaction.

A row of ceramic tea sets. Still no reaction.

A small bronze statue missing half an arm. It looked the most mysterious, yet there was still no reaction.

The shelves along the window held objects from even earlier eras.

A bronze oil lamp caught his attention.

Its body was roughly the size of an ordinary person's head, shaped like a crouching Sphinx.

Its wings were folded against its back, its head slightly raised, and its open mouth served as the wick hole.

There was a shallow dish-shaped depression on the Sphinx's back for holding oil.

The entire object was covered in a thick layer of verdigris, but the rust was uneven.

The rust on its belly and base was normal copper green, while the rust on the Sphinx's wings was darker, tinged with deep red, like bloodstains that had dried long ago.

Its style was typical of artifacts from the Black Soil River Basin.

Mr. Hutton had mentioned in class that the priestly class of the Black Soil River Basin used many Sphinx-shaped objects.

In their mythology, the Sphinx guarded the "door" and watched over both the worlds of light and shadow.

As Richard approached the oil lamp, the panel flickered.

[Available Points: 0.01]

He stopped immediately.