Chapter 200

Chapter 200: Interception

The sunlight had still been bright in the morning, but now the sky had somehow turned gloomy. Gray clouds and mist sank down over the city-state of Pland from top to bottom. Distant clock towers and chimneys became hazy ink-wash shapes in the blurred backdrop, while cold wind gusted in fits and starts, its direction restless and unsure.

Two cars drove out from the Underwood family mansion. One went straight onto the main avenue and sped toward the city center, while the other turned onto a shortcut leading to the Lower City, heading into the distance under the darkening sky.

Morris sat in the driver’s seat. He handled the car carefully as it moved along the narrow road and craned his neck to glance at the weather outside.

The sky looked even gloomier than before. The chaotic wind almost began to howl, whipping the colorful flags on nearby towers so they slapped about wildly.

The sudden turn for the worse in the weather gave him a faint sense of unease. It also made him recall what it had been like the last time he went to that antique shop.

Back then the weather had been just as bad.

The elderly man lifted his right hand and patted his forehead to wake himself up a bit. At the same time, he glanced from the corner of his eye at the rune bead bracelet on his wrist.

Only four colored stones still hung between the bracelet’s finely tied knots. These stones, blessed by divine grace, gave off a faint glow in the dim daylight, bringing a sense of calm to the heart.

Rahm’s blessing could keep Scholars alive for a while when they faced knowledge beyond their understanding, but that blessing had only limited effect against truly dangerous Subspace Shadows. Morris did not know what would be waiting for him at the antique shop this time, nor whether these stones could protect him as they had before.

But he still drove on toward the antique shop.

As long as he kept his curiosity in check, as long as he did not open his Eye of Truth again, as long as he did not court death by observing Mr. Duncan and everything around him, he would be safe. That Subspace Shadow had been friendly in attitude, unbelievable as that was. As long as he did not engage in any Boundary Crossing on his side, that being would not harm him.

It might even be able to help.

Morris drew in a slow breath, letting his pounding heart calm down bit by bit.

He knew he had brushed against terrible truths hidden beneath the city’s peaceful surface. As a history Scholar, he had already guessed roughly what those truths were. Yet he had not chosen to report them directly to the Church. Instead, he was hurrying toward an indescribable being from Subspace.

This was undoubtedly an act of defiance, even of Heresy.

But he still made this bold decision.

Heidi had already gone to the Cathedral. Her act of seeking shelter there, together with the subtle message she carried, should be enough to alert Bishop Valentine. Before he set out, he had also offered a brief Prayer. If Rahm still watched over him, then he had at least fulfilled his duty to warn the Church. Now he was heading for the antique shop—walking three paths at once, which would at least raise the chances of success.

Something might have happened to Vanna, and she was an Inquisitor of the Deep Sea Church. If even she could run into trouble, Morris did not dare place all his hopes on the Church.

He could only hope that at the very least the Cathedral itself had not fallen, and hope that sending Heidi to seek refuge there and give the warning had been the right choice.

A sudden peal of thunder crashed. After the booming echo, a clamor rose in the distance.

Morris, who had been driving while lost in thought, jumped at the sudden noise. He instinctively looked toward the source of the commotion and vaguely saw thick smoke rising over a distant building.

It seemed a lightning strike had set the roof on fire—bad weather and bad luck.

That building lay directly in his path. Morris muttered a curse under his breath, then turned onto another narrow road at the side and drove in.

However, he had not gone far before several crazed wolfhounds suddenly burst out of a side alley ahead. A drunk staggered after them, waving a stick. When the drunk saw the car entering the lane, he rushed over, swearing loudly and swinging the stick as if he meant to block the way.

Morris frowned and muttered: “Where did this madman crawl out from…” He pressed the horn hard, hoping to snap the drunk awake and make him move. But when the man heard the horn, he only grew wilder. Still cursing, he rushed right in front of the car and swung his stick down onto the hood.

Morris flinched at the bang. Something seemed to click in his mind. He stared into the drunk’s eyes and shouted in a low voice: “Modazoro Geometric Law!”

A mass of tangled, chaotic knowledge and memories suddenly flooded into the drunk’s mind, stirring up a brief storm on the surface of his thoughts. The brute probably had trouble even doing addition and subtraction beyond two digits on normal days. He let out a cry of pain and terror and bolted away in panic.

Morris started the car again at once, drove straight past the mad dogs still barking wildly at the roadside, and headed toward the street ahead, which grew darker and darker.

He had shaken off the trouble for now, but Morris’s face did not relax at all. A sudden deep ditch appeared in his field of view, and a steam pipe beside the road burst without warning. Hot vapor roared out and blocked the way. His bad feeling was finally confirmed.

It was not that the weather had suddenly turned bad. It was not that trouble had simply popped up. It was not that he was just unlucky today.

Something was stopping him—stopping him, the one who had noticed the truth, from going any farther.

This was not a forceful blockade, nor a direct lethal threat. The string of accidents felt more like some kind of “stress response”, like an automatic warning rule at work.

How did this warning rule take effect? How had “they” found him? Was it because of his “awakening”, or some specific action he had taken?

He had only vaguely sensed the truth and had never directly confronted the hidden hand behind it, yet he already ran into this string of “obstructions”. Then what about Vanna? What exactly had she discovered, and what had she gone through, that made her vanish from the Mortal Realm entirely?

Morris silently recited Rahm’s holy name and checked the colored stones on his wrist from the corner of his eye. He steered around the obstacles ahead and turned onto a main road leading straight to the Fourth District.

On a broad, straight avenue, how were “they” planning to hinder him now?

Morris blinked. Suddenly, he saw another figure in the rearview mirror besides himself.

A “person” in tattered Monk’s robes, a body thin and shriveled like a skeleton, face twisted into a grotesque smile, sat in the back seat. In the rearview mirror, that withered, eerie figure fixed a gaze on Morris’s eyes.

The withered, eerie figure spoke suddenly, even quite politely: “Good afternoon, Mr. Morris. Where are you headed?”

Morris slammed on the brakes and turned slightly to look at the figure sitting behind him to the side. He said: “I should have realized… When I discussed the ‘Will Heim transmission incident’ with Mr. Duncan, I should have realized it was you so-called ‘Preachers’…” He paused, then asked in a low voice: “When did you slip into this car?”

The gaunt man seemed to smile, making the shriveled flesh on his face bunch up, and said: “Hard to say. Maybe it was yesterday, maybe it was in 1889—when you and your lady first bought this car. You are in such a hurry. Do you have urgent business?”

Morris answered only with silence. The gaunt Ender did not mind. He went on politely: “No matter where you are going, I must ask you not to pass—but I will not take your life. After all, you once offered a Prayer to Subspace in that great fire, so you can be counted as half a compatriot of ours… Ah, don’t tell me you still don’t know who you were praying to back then?”

Morris’s expression shifted twice, then finally turned into a bitter smile as he said: “So that’s how it is…”

The Ender raised one hand, speaking with devout calm: “As we often say, Subspace is the Promised Land. It answers all wishes of all beings and grants fulfillment in a fair way…” Then his gaze fell on Morris. “What do you plan to do next? Try to drive me out? I have learned about the power the God of Wisdom grants His Believers. They say your words can turn knowledge and memory into strength, and that the words you speak can hit as hard as bullets. I would very much like to see it…”

Before the Ender could finish his words, six deafening shots from a large-caliber revolver tore through him and turned him into a corpse. Two bullets hit his heart, one his forehead.

The shriveled body quickly broke apart into pale fragments, then scattered like dust on the wind.

Morris drew his right hand out from where the side seat had hidden it, a revolver still smoking in his grip.

He muttered: “When I’ve already got bullets, why would I waste my breath on you…”

The old Scholar grumbled a few more words, casually reloaded the revolver, and started the car again.

He knew the road ahead would still not be easy. There was no telling what else might block his way. Killing one dim-witted Ender would not end any of this.

That Ender might even come back to pester him again tomorrow. Since the man had dared to get into this car, it meant he did not care at all about dying at this moment.