News from the New Continent

He closed the door, and the room fell quiet.

Ye Yan walked over to the desk and opened the letter Dr. Watson had given him.

To his surprise, what slid out of the envelope wasn't the letter he'd expected, but a thin sheet of metal coated in wax, its surface covered in spiral grooves.

The instant it touched the air, it gave a click and curled up on its own.

In the blink of an eye, it had formed a delicate cylinder.

Then a mechanical voice, tinged with the passage of time, came from inside: "Please... light... me..."

Ye Yan's eyes flickered.

Was this... a wax cylinder from a phonograph?

He took a matchbox from the drawer, struck a match against the rough strip, and kindled a small orange flame.

Ye Yan brought the flame close to the cylinder. The wax coating on the metal surface immediately began to burn along the spiral grooves like a fuse, hissing strangely.

A wisp of white smoke drifted upward.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore came from the cylinder, followed by the voice of an old man, aged but powerful:

"I've never wanted so badly to meet someone..." The voice paused, and the waves grew louder. "The last time I felt such urgency was with that gentleman."

The flame crept slowly along the grooves, and where the wax melted, the copper beneath was revealed. The man's voice continued, "Please forgive my rudeness. Though it was unintentional, I did steal your knowledge."

There was a sound of chairs and tables being moved.

"Seven days from now, I should have come to apologize in person..."

Suddenly, a dull thud came from the recording, and the old man's voice rose sharply. "But they actually dared to detain my gift! At Peter Cape Port!"

Another crash rang out, followed by the shrill sound of metal hitting the ground. "I ought to crack open some of those bastards' skulls and see if they're stuffed full of moldy balls of shit!"

Faint groans of pain and pleas for mercy came from the background. The old man seemed to take a deep breath.

"Please forgive my outburst. A letter could hardly convey my apology or anger, so I recorded this in case you mistook me for both a despicable thief and a coward making excuses to avoid my responsibilities."

As the last trace of wax burned away, the copper cylinder sprang open and crumbled into ash across the desk.

The room fell silent once more.

But Ye Yan could hear his own heart pounding like a drum.

Though the letter had no letterhead and the recording stated the sender's identity outright, Ye Yan had a strong feeling that the person who said he wanted to meet him was Fabre.

This was Fabre!

The Homer of the insect world, the Virgil of entomology!

Downstairs, Jules was bent over, dusting the top of a bookcase. His feather duster swept across row upon row of books.

Without warning, a roar of delight came from the second floor, making him shudder and drop the duster with a clatter.

He nearly toppled from his three-meter perch, but in his panic, he grabbed the swaying ladder.

Once he had steadied himself, Jules climbed down.

He had just looked up toward the staircase when he saw his nephew—the boy who was usually so composed that it was easy to forget he was still a teenager—charging down the stairs, flailing like a deranged baboon.

Ye Yan's eyes shone with a nearly crazed excitement.

He took the last few steps two at a time and hurled himself into Jules's arms, giving him a bear hug.

"What happened?"

Jules stumbled half a step backward from the impact. He could feel the boy's body trembling with excitement in his arms.

"He's coming to meet me, Uncle Jules!"

"Who?"

"Fabre!"

Jules struggled to pry the overexcited Ye Yan off him, then grabbed his shoulders. As he stared at his nephew's ecstatic expression, his own face grew strange.

Fabre?

Wasn't that a typical man's surname?

His foolish nephew was this excited over meeting a man?

Jules let go with one hand.

His gaze drifted toward his room, where a hunting rifle still hung on the wall.

Should I take out that bastard ahead of time?

No, no.

Jules racked his brain. He really had never seen his nephew spending much time with any "Mr. Fabre."

Although Fabre was usually a man's surname, women did use it too. Maybe... maybe this wasn't some damned Mr. Fabre, but a charming Miss Fabre?

He thought of the women Ye Yan encountered in his daily life.

Was it that baroness, who practically glowed with motherly warmth? Or the witch who hid away, tinkering with strange potions?

It had to be either a lady or a witch.

At the thought, Jules shuddered.

No, absolutely not!

He roared inwardly. Whether an older noblewoman or a dangerous witch, neither was good enough for his boy!

Jules cleared his throat and asked tentatively, "This Fabre you mentioned—is it a man or a woman?"

Ye Yan blinked, confused by the sudden question, but answered honestly. "Of course Mr. Fabre is a man."

Jules's vision went dark. It was as if someone had just struck him over the head with that hunting rifle.

He staggered back to the counter, his expression steeped in sorrow. The droop of his mouth only deepened the gloom on his face. He looked at Ye Yan as if he wanted to say something, his Adam's apple bobbing several times, but in the end, he could only let out a long sigh.

Jules's gaze made Ye Yan's scalp prickle.

He couldn't understand why Uncle Jules had suddenly become so heartbroken. He looked like a lovelorn poet. Had Uncle Jules just remembered some woman who'd dumped him when he was young?

Ye Yan's instincts told him he had to say something, or something unexpected might happen.

"Uncle Jules... did you get dumped?"

The moment he asked, Ye Yan regretted it. He felt he shouldn't have been so tactless.

"I'm not the one who got dumped. You are!" Jules nearly shouted. "How can you...? Society won't accept that kind of relationship! What if people find out..."

Ye Yan finally understood.

How had Uncle Jules's imagination run so wild? How had he managed to leap from a name to all that?

If Ye Yan were a comic book character, his forehead would surely be covered in stress lines.

"Uncle Jules, don't you know Mr. Fabre? He's a scholar as knowledgeable as Archbishop Alvin, and an elder I deeply respect."

"Oh... so that's what it is." Jules relaxed at once, but then tensed up again. "Then... is there a girl you like?"

"Not at the moment." Ye Yan smiled helplessly. "If I meet someone, I'll consider it."

"Good, good." Jules patted his chest in relief. "As long as it's not one of those messed-up relationships."