Chapter 21 - Back to the light
She looked down, and Vern couldn't decipher her book-like expressions anymore. More than a couple seconds passed by in silence before she replied in a quiet voice, "You're right."
Steeling her expression, she continued, "Yes, I have to become an observer as soon as I can, and my sources tell me that one such opportunity might be available at the Steamscript Relay."
Vern nodded. It only made sense. But he had more questions, so he inquired, "You didn't specifically talk about this, but is observation something like an open secret now? Was it announced to the masses to quell the panic?"
Miss Cera shook her head, "Nothing of the sort," but she didn't continue any further and sealed her lips.
Vern wasn't ready to back down just yet, so he pressed on, "Then if you don't mind me asking, why do you know about observation?"
She narrowed her eyes and replied in that flat tone, "I don't see how that is any of your concern. I don't remember us being close enough to share secrets. Not when you don't like to divulge your own."
Damn. He overdid it. She was right. They were just being polite to each other and hadn't really shared anything of value. It wasn't fair of him to expect any more from her.
The somewhat cheerful atmosphere that had built up shattered as she went back to browsing the books on the shelves.
Seconds passed by as he wracked his brains to find some middle ground.
.
.
.
And he quickly had an idea. It was time for a compromise.
He started again, "I fear I've overstepped my boundaries. So let me put it this way," he paused and adjusted his cuffs as Miss Cera looked back with puzzlement.
He extended his arm in a graceful gesture and said, "How do you feel about the prospect of an exchange? Your knowledge of Observation could prove invaluable to me, and in return, I'm willing to assist you in your quest for enlightenment."
Seconds passed by without a response as he stood there with his hand outstretched. Just before he began feeling like a Savant in the fundamental of awkwardness, her eyes seemed to focus, and she replied, "I can only share general insights and warnings. I won't be able to help you out with anything specific to a viewpoint."
That was exactly what he needed! He didn't even understand what she meant by information specific to a viewpoint anyway. How could one even write down their viewpoint?
So, he responded in an affirmative tone, "That's music to my ears. I wouldn't dare ask for more. I, for one, don't mind following you along to the Steamscript relay hub. As a Savant in mechanical arts and an Observer myself, I will do my best to aid you in your enlightenment."
He reached out with his hand even further and asked, "So can I consider this a deal?"
Cera hesitated for a few more breaths before extending her arm. Her gloved fingers grasped his wrist, and he followed suit. This was the common gesture of affirming friendships and new relations in the continent of Quartzford.
In usual circumstances, people would bless any trinkets worn on each other's wrists, but Miss Cera seemed minimalistic with her gloves, while Vern was lucky to even have cufflinks.
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After what felt like ages, Vern finally left the library and returned to civilization—however devastated it was. He had also grabbed himself a beret and scarf to hide that naturally affable face of his.
There was a lot that had to be done. First, he needed to get his wares from his lodging. His clothing, money, and other vital possessions were still there after all.
Does money even matter anymore? That was a question he would have to figure out himself. Miss Cera's account was somehow jaded, with little information on how exactly the economy of the city fared. However, it would be reasonable to assume that as long as the Royal Lineage remained strong, the currency would come in handy at some point in time.
Miss Cera said Kingsmen are still doing their job, just in a smaller radius. That should mean at least the throne is stable, but who is sitting on it is still a different matter. Not that he cared about it as long as someone was up there, doing their job.
On that note, Miss Cera was still in the library. She was reading up on the sounds made by the typebar. Probably her way of preparing for the oncoming excursion to the relay hub.
She wanted to go tomorrow, but Vern needed more time. So they came to an agreement to meet at the library two days later, around four in the evening. She said it was pretty simple to get to Starfall Heights from the library.
He would have liked to get more information out of her, but she was only becoming more and more unresponsive as minutes went by. She seemed to like her alone time, and Vern wasn't going to intrude on that by needlessly idling around.
He had too many things to do. Like find a way to meet Ariane. It had been three days, and who knew what went through her mind as she saw him disappear in front of her eyes.
If she hadn't changed her residence from the last time he received her letter, she must still be living in the Athenaeum district. The same one where he had ridden the carriage from before the world went to hell.
He would have rushed to her place right away, but according to Miss Cera, that district was under Kingsmen's protection. He would need a better understanding of the situation to worm his way in there without getting his head chopped off.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
So before he could plan any of that, he had to walk quite a distance to get back to his room. Assuming it hadn't burnt down or been subjected to a thorough looting.
Outside was as he had expected. The cobblestone road was flanked by a parade of towering buildings, the archive being the grandest of them. Flags, boards, clocks, and signboards artistically showcasing shops' names hung above the storefronts—jutting out of them like perches in a mechanical jungle.
However, the usual bustle that came with boroughs like this was nowhere to be seen. The salons, apothecary, cane emporium, hat boutique, and many other shops were closed shut. Some were broken in, while the rest looked hardly disturbed.
Maybe thieves have no interest in buying hats? Vern lampooned as he walked on the sidewalks, retrieving a map from his pocket. A new one he had 'stolen' from the library alongside a pencil and a notepad from the foyer, just like any other thief.
He had already jotted down his earlier dream and a few other details, but he would fill up the rest when he was by himself.
He wasn't going to pretend that he was some noble scion of righteousness, but he understood the difference between swiping some stationery from the Coven with nigh-infinite wealth compared to looting the livelihood of honest men.
He hadn't seen it for himself, but if 'only' two-fifths of the population had disappeared, then the society would start rebuilding sooner or later. People were too afraid and hesitant to come out right now, but some kind of order will be achieved. It would be one thing if a larger fraction of lives were eradicated, but this was definitely in the realm of plausibility for recovery.
That was to say, anyone losing their merchandise or shops were going to have a harder time getting back on their feet once society started rebuilding.
However, it won't be exactly the way it was before. How did observers fit in this situation? That needed more than just a secondary thought.
Five chimes resounded from the clocktower, giving him a general direction to move towards since his lodging was right next to it in Fulham borough. But there were no carriages this time around.
So he charted a route that skirted around the edges of both the boroughs in between. It wouldn't be very smart of him to walk through neighborhoods where he could be surrounded easily. Unlike a certain lady he knew, he didn't have a four-state vapor blaster that could act as a potent deterrent against the robbers.
According to Miss Cera, it was a lawless land out there, and rogues could jump him at any moment.
He doubted that circumstances would prove as dire for him. She was a beautiful lady, so it only made sense that she attracted much more attention than a man. Just by the nature of her being a woman, many would assume her to be an easy target and take action.
However, it would be stupid to not take any precautions. So he put the map back into his pocket and picked up a broken pipe from one of the wrecked stores as he started his long march. Something was better than nothing.
Crossing the bridge, which was just as majestic but much more desolate than before, he exited Silverthread district.
In no time, he was greeted with the sight of humans, which was in line with reason. From what he read, Silverthread district was more of a market than a residential borough, so people weren't commuting to their workplaces in this situation. This borough, however, was called Seraphim's Square. According to the map, it was dotted with places of worship and was the spiritual center of the city.
People walked around in groups, sparsely filling the winding thoroughfares and quaint lanes branching off of them. In just his sight, he saw a few groups. The one in front of Vern was an odd bunch. They had three women and four men, but that wasn't the peculiarity. Four of them held makeshift weapons, just like Vern, but the rest looked quite sickly.
He didn't see any flesh wounds on them from altercations, so it had to be internal or chronic ailments. But why would they move around if they weren't feeling well? The healthy ones could get rations by themselves. What was the need for all of them to move? Were they chased out of their living quarters?
One would think space was something that would be in abundance right now. I guess the greed of men knows no bounds.
But he shook his head and minded his own business. Vern kept his distance from them while walking along the riverside, and they did the same.
Minutes passed by as he traversed the waterfront in the ambient beauty of the city before he noticed another group of people exiting from an alley ahead of him. He slowed down to ensure he wouldn't be too close to them.
But then he noticed—two men in this group had a parchment in their hand. This threw him for a loop until he realized where this sense of deja vu was coming from.
He shifted his gaze—and as anticipated, someone in the first group was clutching a paper too. The sickly woman who was supported by the other one was holding onto a yellow paper with all her strength.
Not just that, now that he had become aware of it, he saw it everywhere. On the doors of the houses, on the lamp posts, on the derelict carriage that had smashed into a mailbox. The poster stuck to everything.
His eyes weren't good enough to read the tiny text at the bottom, but the title was clear. 'Mother Asea's Tears: The Miracle of Healing.' Then he squinted harder and discerned the subtitle, which said, '5:00 PM at Plaza of Existence.' There was more, but he didn't want to break the status quo with other groups just to get a better look.
Are all these people going to check out this miracle of healing? That's very gullible of them—
Vern paused mid-thought. Wait, that's not right. What if Observation is added to the equation? That's got to be it. Observation can be used for healing? Were they going to do that in front of a whole crowd? Didn't that run against their idea of staying hidden? Why was Observation popping up everywhere now that the world had gone through that disaster? It didn't make sense.
After thinking about it for a few seconds, he made up his mind. He was going to follow them.
He would go and see what this miracle was all about. It might have already begun since the poster mentioned 5:00 PM, and it was a little past that. But any information or interaction with Observation was more than welcome in his books.
As the road began to widen, many lanes merged into this road as more and more groups joined him in his walk along the riverside. Some were smaller groups of two or three, while most were at least five.
I guess being late doesn't matter much.
In another few minutes, the road became wider than ever as the actual cobblestone road curved into a path to the bridge southwards towards Edison Enclave. To his right, however, his sight opened up to a huge plaza where stood a towering statue of a graceful woman under the sky.
Far behind the bronze sculpture was a majestic arch-shaped edifice, hundreds of colossal pillars propping up its ceiling, while in front of it was a wooden stage on which stood a few people.
However, what made him furrow his eyebrows was the crowd gathered around the platform. From a single glance, it looked like more than a few hundred people were gathered, and more were joining every second. That's when he heard a booming voice amidst this raucous crowd.
"Blessed by the eternal grace of Mother Asea, another soul has triumphed over their frailties, rejuvenated through the nurturing warmth of the Mother's tears!" proclaimed an imposing man on the stage as he supported a healthy man who looked giddy.
"All praise her everlasting gaze!" yelled the imposing man, thrusting his fist up in the air.
The crowd thundered back, "Under her watch, we stand!"
"Beneath her gaze, across the land!"
"Under her watch, we stand!"