Vincent leaned against an iron lamppost at the street corner, waiting for him.
When Richard emerged unharmed, Vincent nodded, but didn't ask how he'd gotten in.
"Come on. Number Seven's this way."
Richard followed him, sensing the surroundings as they walked.
The Aether concentration along Flower Moon Street was a whole level higher inside the wall than outside.
There wasn't any one spot where it was especially strong. The entire street was immersed in a thicker Aether environment.
The buildings were different, too.
All the flashy storefronts and bright signs outside were gone. Every shop inside the wall had a plain facade.
The signs were small brass plaques set above the doorframes. You had to get close to make out what they said.
As they passed a few shops, Richard deliberately slowed down and took a look.
One brass plaque read "R.T. Mineral Appraisal." The shop was closed, and the windows were pitch-black.
The one next door read "Griffin Archive Custody." Through the frosted glass, he could make out figures moving inside.
Two doors farther on, one shop didn't even have a brass plaque, but a huge man built like a wardrobe stood at the entrance.
The big man folded his arms over his chest. His gaze lingered on Richard for half a second, then moved on.
The shops here probably all dealt in things related to the Veil.
Mineral appraisal might mean valuing resources tied to Occultism, while archive custody might involve storing and transporting encrypted documents.
As for the place without even a sign, with a bodyguard planted at the door... It wasn't hard to guess that whatever they sold wasn't something they'd advertise on a sign.
Vincent stopped in front of a dark brown wooden door.
The brass plaque above the frame was badly oxidized, its lettering mostly obscured by green patina.
Only when he got closer could Richard make out the words: "Donald Antiques and Sundries, No. 7."
He pushed open the door. A brass bell rang with a clear chime.
It sounded almost exactly like the bell at Clement Antiques. Richard felt a little at home.
On the left, near the entrance, stood a row of brass candlesticks and old picture frames. It looked much like an antique shop in the outside world.
Farther in, the items grew less ordinary.
A few stone bowls sat on a middle shelf, beside a stack of leather-bound booklets whose lettering had faded to ghostly traces.
Two walking sticks stood in the corner. One was carved with intertwined snakes.
The staff of the God of Medicine meant this was a reputable shop, not a shady one.
A short, stout man sat behind the counter.
A monocle rested on the bridge of his nose, attached to a fine chain around his neck.
The top of his head was as bald as Mr. Holland's, though the shape was different.
Mr. Holland had a uniformly receding hairline.
This man's hair had simply given up in the middle, leaving rings on either side of his temples, like a woolen scarf wrapped around a smooth hill.
Richard silently grumbled to himself. There really were a lot of bald men around here.
Mr. Holland was bald, and so was Mr. Donald.
They said the water throughout the Empire was generally hard, which wasn't good for the scalp.
But Richard's father, an engineer in Briston, still had a full head of hair despite working with even harder water and in harsher conditions.
His grandfather was getting on in years, but his hair hadn't thinned much either.
The baldness gene probably had nothing to do with him. That was good news.
Donald looked up and recognized Vincent first. "Little Vincent, it's been ages since you last came by."
"Uncle Donald, I brought my cousin today." Vincent patted Richard on the shoulder.
Donald shifted his gaze from Vincent to Richard and looked him up and down.
His eyes lingered on Richard's clothes for a second longer: shirt and waistcoat, sleeves rolled up twice, shoes lightly scuffed.
When he'd finished looking him over, Donald wore a faint smile—not especially welcoming, but not cold either.
"Mr. Donald, my grandfather introduced me." Richard took the sealed letter from his satchel and placed it on the counter.
Donald picked up the envelope with his short, thick fingers. His manner warmed noticeably.
"A letter in Mr. Gerald's own hand. That's a rare thing."
The stool was too tall for him, so he simply hopped down from it.
"Come on. Let's have a look in the back."
Donald led them through the front shop toward the wall at the very back.
An old tapestry hung there, depicting a phoenix reborn in flames. Several threads had already come loose.
He lifted the tapestry. The back room was much smaller than the front, perhaps only a third of its size.
Shelves were fixed to all four walls, but there were clearly fewer items on them, spaced farther apart. Each piece had plenty of room around it.
The moment Richard stepped into the back room, the Seat of the Sun began to tremble faintly.
The Aether density in here was far higher, greater than that of the entire street outside.
But every item was sealed.
His gaze swept over the shelves one by one.
First row on the left: a copper hand mirror, mottled with green patina. Its surface was too worn to show a reflection, and its back was carved with scrolling vines and animal totems.
The panel didn't budge.
Second row: two silver brooches, in the style of early Imperial military officers' accessories.
The panel didn't react.
Third row: an ancient bronze coin, a size smaller than the Silver Coin that had been drained dry.
The panel rose, but at an extremely slow pace, much like when the Sphinx Oil Lamp was sealed.
Beside it sat a brass incense burner, no bigger than a palm, its lid pierced with intricate patterns.
The panel was rising for this one, too, at about the same rate as for the coin. Both were leaking only a minuscule amount through their seals.
Both items had something in them, but they were sealed tightly. He probably couldn't just hold them and get a free boost.
He continued farther into the room.
In the farthest corner of the back room, a section of stone column stood against the wall, reaching about half a man's height.
Dense relief carvings covered what remained of the shaft. The design seemed to be a repeating band of alternating flames and wings.
When he came within three steps of the column fragment, his chest began to burn.
The Aether Field from the column fragment pressed against his Internal Circulation, making it surge violently.
Warmth rushed wildly from the Seat of the Sun, spreading along his blood vessels into his limbs before abruptly pulling back.
Richard stepped away, and the burning immediately faded to a tolerable level.
He took another half-step back, and it disappeared entirely.
Donald glanced at him. "Something bothering you?"
"That column..."
"Oh, that." Donald nudged the monocle on the bridge of his nose with his thumb.
"It's a fragment of a pillar from a Fire Temple in Sassanid Persia. It's the pride and joy of my shop.
"There's a considerable amount of Aether deposited in it, and a high-density Aether Field within. People with stronger Inspiration tend to feel repelled when they get close."
Sassanid Persia was the Second Persian Empire. The First Persian Empire had fallen to Macedonia, followed by the Parthian Empire, and then came the Second Persian Empire.
It was a medieval dynasty, at least fifteen hundred years old.
Fifteen hundred years. Richard quickly compared that with the information he had.
The Copper Pendant and the God-Descending Disk were thousand-year-old artifacts from the Eastern Continent, and each had provided him with one point.
This column was five hundred years older than they were.
And it had been used in rituals at a Fire Temple. Centuries of ritual exposure meant it held far more Aether than an ordinary artifact of the same age.
The thing sealed inside was worth at least two points.
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