Living Water Compass

Gordon stared at the speck of powder and slowly let out a breath.

Spirituality was, in essence, supernatural activity. Its relationship to source substance was something like radiation.

Apparently, this was the pollutant in the Blackwater River.

It could accumulate inside living creatures. The fish's flesh and the crevices between their bones were full of it.

First, the fish became strange fish.

One step further, and those strange fish might become Aberrants.

What about people?

People who drank the water, caught the fish, lived along the banks, depended on this river to survive. Gordon shook his head and stopped pursuing the thought.

Two days later, Gordon found a time when Professor Winslow was free and showed him the spiritual powder.

Professor Winslow initially gave it only a glance, then froze for a moment.

Spiritual powder.

This was hardly something one could find by sweeping a broom across the floor.

"Where did you get this?" Professor Winslow asked in surprise.

"Professor, it came from the fish we caught that day," Gordon explained. "Dozens of strange fish. I cut every one of them open and scraped the crevices between their bones clean. I repeated the process for ages before I managed to get this little bit."

Professor Winslow said nothing.

He took a magnifying glass from his drawer. It had a brass frame, a silver handle, and tiny scratches around the rim. It had accompanied him through the examination of many strange things.

There was no mistaking it. Spiritual powder.

"Scraping visible spiritual powder out of contaminated fish." Winslow nodded. "That's exactly the sort of determination to get to the bottom of things my assistant needs."

Honestly, he had always thought Gordon was impatient for quick results. Now it seemed he possessed at least a little of a scholar's rigor and patience.

Looking at the speck of powder, Gordon felt for the first time that staying up that night had been worthwhile.

"You're probably wondering how much it's worth," Winslow said.

"You know me so well, Professor," Gordon said.

"Actually, this amount is nowhere near enough. No one would look at it, let alone buy it. But when I was young, I developed a method. The Spiritual Fumigation Method can attach certain supernatural properties to ordinary objects, turning them into wondrous items. It's an industry now, but it works on small quantities of powder too," Winslow said.

Just what you'd expect from Professor Winslow. Gordon was filled with respect.

A technique that sounded unimaginably powerful was, in the professor's words, merely "a method he developed when he was young."

That meant the speck of powder was more than a research sample. It could also grant supernatural properties to ordinary objects.

"Professor, does spirituality come from source substance?" Gordon asked.

"Spirituality-yes, you could say that. One kind of source substance produces one kind of spirituality," Professor Winslow said precisely.

Gordon voiced his greatest concern.

"If I can scrape spirituality out of fish bones, does that mean... there's source substance in the Blackwater River?" Gordon asked.

"Perhaps." Professor Winslow considered it. "If you really found spirituality in the fish, then there is definitely a portion of source substance in the Blackwater River. You'd best keep that information secret. Essence Hunters will fight over it, city hall will go on alert, and in the end, the discoverer will certainly be the first to suffer."

Gordon understood.

So he changed the subject.

"...What I'm thinking is, if that process really can attach spirituality to an object, I'd like to use the fumigated object's reactions to work backward and identify the source substance polluting the entire river," Gordon said.

"That's the theory." Winslow nodded.

"So I'd like to try the process you mentioned, but I have no idea what equipment to use," Gordon said. "If there's a fee to use it, I'll immediately lose all enthusiasm for scientific research."

Winslow picked up his fountain pen.

"I'll fill out a form for you. Just go straight there. Third floor of the Sherwood Laboratory Building, room 302. There's an operating guide on the wall." Winslow paused, then tore off a sheet of notepaper. "...Never mind. Take my signature. That'll be enough."

Gordon prepared his materials and went to the Sherwood Laboratory Building.

It was one of the most important places in the entire Royal Academy of Natural Sciences University. Here, they analyzed source substance, spirituality, and things beyond human understanding.

After seeing the professor's signature, the attendant, Chester, immediately went from "Who are you?" to "Would you like another pair of protective goggles?"

Gordon received the key and entered the fumigation room, room 302 on the third floor.

The room was small, with white-tiled walls, brass ventilation ducts overhead, and delicate vessels in glass cabinets.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

He wanted to make a compass.

The reason was simple: the Silver Fish Casket had inspired him. These things seemed to keep attracting one another.

For this purpose, he had specifically bought a cheap compass for fifty copper cents.

Gordon read the process manual on the wall three times, making sure he understood Winslow's intention behind every step before starting work.

First, he disassembled the compass and removed the magnetic needle and bearing. He clamped the needle onto a stand and suspended it above an evaporating dish, ready to receive the spiritual mist.

Next, Gordon added separation solution to the evaporating dish and sprinkled in precipitation salts to ensure the spirituality would be fully released.

Then he lowered the glass cover, tightened its four brass fasteners one by one, and began pumping the vacuum pump, his eyes fixed on the pressure gauge.

When the gauge's needle dropped to the first black line, Gordon had created a partial vacuum that would help the spiritual vapor rise.

"Next comes... the temperature..." Gordon lit the alcohol lamp.

The heat dried out the powder. Soon, tiny points of light glimmered inside, and spirituality gradually evaporated from it, gathering into a thin, fluorescent mist visible to the naked eye.

The mist drifted left at times, then sank along the wall of the cover.

To control it, Gordon pressed the pad of his finger against the pressure adjustment knob, turning it only a fraction each time. If the pressure was too high, the mist sank to the bottom; too low, and it dispersed.

When Gordon finally found the right pressure balance, the mist gathered into a stream, forming a miniature spiritual vortex that enveloped the tip of the magnetic needle.

At last, the needle could absorb spirituality little by little.

Only after several minutes did a faint ring of scale-like light emerge around each end of the needle.

It worked.

Gordon extinguished the flame and opened the glass cover with extreme care.

Once he fitted the needle and bearing back into the compass, it began to turn.

At first, it still leaned north, but soon it turned east, then began spinning wildly like a little pinwheel.

Gordon felt this meant two things.

First, the fumigation method had worked. The object really did possess spirituality.

Second, there were too many spiritual sources, all too chaotic. It didn't know which one to point toward.

That was hardly surprising. He felt the Blackwater River had more than one answer to offer. There had to be a whole cluster of clues waiting to be tracked down.

Either way, he was very pleased.

This was the first wondrous item he had made with his own hands.

It might not look like much, and it wouldn't fetch much money. Any dealer he brought it to would only turn up their nose.

But all it had taken was a cheap compass, a pinch of spirituality dug out of fish bones, and a borrowed laboratory.

"Good. I'll call it... the Living Water Compass," Gordon named it. From now on, its purpose was no longer to point north. It would track any spirituality connected to the Blackwater River.

[Living Water Compass. Reporting for duty.]

Gordon also knew how to test it next.

He returned to the dissection room, where the Silver Fish Casket was still quietly "gestating" inside its sealed container.

Gordon entered the room with the Living Water Compass. At first, it kept spinning in place.

Then, when he came within a certain distance-roughly twenty meters-it abruptly stopped.

Like a dog catching its owner's scent.

Gordon lifted the compass.

Now the slender needle pointed straight at the sealed container holding the Silver Fish Casket, no longer trembling.

At the sight, Gordon couldn't help smiling.

In that moment, he knew he had gained another ability.

Later that day, Peter poked his head in, a letter pinched in his hand and a dreadful look on his face.

"Gordon." Peter looked miserable. "I just got back from Old Baz's. He said someone's been asking about us."

"Patrol officers or reporters? Asking about us personally, or looking to buy something? How much have they found out?" Gordon asked without looking back.

"Take a look. We've even got a threatening letter now." Peter placed it on the table.

The Living Water Compass immediately swung its needle toward the letter.

Gordon frowned and opened it.

It seemed to have gotten damp. Inside was just one sheet of paper, bearing a wet handprint. Beneath it was a single line filled with malice.

"'We know,'" Gordon read aloud.

"Exactly!" Peter shuddered. "Old Baz received this letter and asked me to bring it for you to see. He told us to be careful too. We're all in the same boat now. Who knows? The next one might be sent to us."

"A wet handprint and a threatening letter..." Gordon considered it. "What does that make you think of?"

"That business with the Water Monkeys?"

"Ordinary citizens wouldn't care if there were a few fewer Deepclaw Demons in the water."

"Could it be... the Esoteric Cult?" Peter exclaimed in alarm. "Don't tell me the cultists have their eyes on us."

"If it isn't the Esoteric Cult, it's the Water Monkey Protection Association."

"We're doomed." Peter paced in frantic circles. "I just want to study in peace. Ugh... I knew I shouldn't have gotten involved in hunting Aberrants..."

This had gone beyond students running a little business.

"What's there to be afraid of? A man solves problems when they come up," Gordon said. "How much did you make selling the precipitates?"

"After deducting the Sealing Wax, transportation, and the cost of greasing those two fat men's palms at the market, the net profit was twenty-four gold pounds."

"Sell the rest in three months. And give me twenty of those," Gordon said.

"Isn't that split a little too brutal?"

"Not at all." Gordon looked toward the threatening letter. "Didn't you say someone was threatening us? Then we'll have to hire someone who can fight."

Vera's name surfaced in Gordon's mind again, accompanied by very concrete impressions. A trench coat, the Black Sword, thighs.