Chapter 270

Chapter 270: A Letter from Afar

Earlier, Father went to the antique shop and stayed there for a long time. When he came back, he was holding an artillery shell. Then he solemnly put that thing in the best spot on the antique shelf and, every few days, he would go and carefully polish it.

Every time she thought about this, Heidi worried a lot about the Old Gentleman’s mental health at home.

“I’m serious, you have no idea how strange it looks,” the young psychiatrist could not help sighing again. “He treats it like a treasure and says it’s a very, very special antique. Every day, before he even washes his face, he has to wipe the shell first. And my Mother just refuses to care about it. If I say a couple of things from the side, she just says: ‘Your Father only has this one little collecting hobby, don’t bother him.’”

Vanna really did not know how to comment on this. She knew nothing about antiques. The deepest impression she had of antiques in her whole life was when, as a child, she practiced a jumping chop with a toy sword and smashed Uncle’s vase. She still remembered the beating from that day. So now, after holding it in for a long time, she only managed to say in a dry voice: “…Mr. Morris is a well?respected history scholar and collector. I think there must be something special in his taste for collecting.”

“That still doesn’t explain hugging an artillery shell like a treasure – even if the shell is real,” Heidi sighed. “That shell is definitely real. At least it’s solid. It’s heavy, really heavy.”

Vanna did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be thinking. After a while she suddenly said: “Let’s talk about that amulet instead. Did Mr. Morris get you another amulet just like the old one?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Heidi nodded. As she spoke, she reached into the front of her clothes and pulled out the ‘crystal’ pendant hanging at her chest. “You’ve seen it. I used to have one exactly the same, but it was destroyed in the last ‘disaster’. The friar who registered me back then analyzed it and said it might have been an item that accidentally picked up supernatural power but usually hid its own special nature…”

Vanna looked at the ‘crystal’ pendant that Heidi had taken out. Her expression seemed thoughtful.

“Do you feel something is wrong?” Heidi could not help asking.

“…After the disaster, the Cathedral was short on people, but we still sent someone to investigate that antique shop,” Vanna said slowly. Her eyes never left the pendant. “The result was that everything was normal. From the shop’s supply channels to the Shopkeeper’s own identity and background, there were no problems at all. Everything was written clearly in the city archives. The thing with the pendant really did seem like a coincidence.

“But I still can’t help caring about it… Heidi, do you remember? I once went to that antique shop with you.”

“Of course I remember,” Heidi nodded. “To be honest, I really have some fate with that shop. The Shopkeeper saved my life at the City Museum. The Shopkeeper’s Niece is also one of my Father’s students. And my previous pendant just happened to come from that shop…

“But you said it yourself. The Church investigated in secret and found nothing wrong.”

Vanna did not answer. After thinking for a moment, she held out her hand: “Can you let me take a look?”

Heidi did not think much of it. She simply took off the pendant and handed it over: “Sure, here.”

Vanna took the crystal pendant, which still held a trace of body heat, and lifted it up to study it carefully in the sunlight. After a long time, she spoke as if talking to herself: “There’s no supernatural aura at all.”

“Right, it’s just an ordinary charm amulet. It’s not even real crystal, it’s glass,” Heidi said. Then she looked a little more seriously at the friend in front of her. “Vanna, you’re a bit too tense. I know it’s your occupational habit as an Inquisitor, but I really think… that Shopkeeper is a very good person. You shouldn’t suspect him.”

“I’m paying attention, not suspecting,” Vanna said, returning the pendant to her friend. “I just always feel that something is off about that antique shop. But I’m not looking at it the way an Inquisitor looks at a Heretic.

“Still, you have a point. Maybe my nerves are a bit too tight.”

Heidi put the pendant back on. Then she glanced at the mechanical clock hanging to the side: “Ah, it’s already this late?!”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have to go,” Heidi said as she stood up and picked up the little case she had put next to her earlier. “I have an appointment this afternoon – that captain who stayed here at the Cathedral in Quarantine Observation for quite a few days.”

Vanna frowned and thought for a moment, then quickly found the matching memory: “The captain of the White Oak? I remember his name is Lawrence… did he run into trouble?”

“He’s a captain who runs back and forth on the Boundless Sea, and he’s at that age,” Heidi said. “It’s completely normal for someone like that to need a psychiatrist’s help.”

She seemed to think of something and her expression grew a bit complicated. But she quickly shook her head. “Compared to most captains his age, Mr. Lawrence is actually not in bad shape. I can’t say more. That’s the patient’s privacy.”

“All right. I wish your work goes well.”

Morris did two things as soon as he came home.

The first was to hug and kiss his Wife.

The second was to carefully wipe the artillery shell on the antique shelf.

He still felt a bit strange in his heart when he brought this thing back, but he knew this strange ‘collection’ had a special meaning.

It stood for his connection with the Vanished. It also stood for Captain Duncan’s “goodwill” toward his Retainers.

That unbelievable ghost captain always chose all kinds of strange ways to show his goodwill. This included, but was not limited to, soup boiled with Deep Sea Spawn, an artillery shell stamped with a steel mark from a century ago, and tutoring the less educated Retainers in reading and writing. At first, Morris felt this was a bit odd, but now he had already adjusted his mindset perfectly.

Whatever Captain Duncan said was right. Whatever Captain Duncan did was normal.

With this mindset, Morris felt he had completely adapted to the atmosphere of the new team.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Morris did not turn around. He already knew it was his Wife.

“You’re about to polish it so much it could reflect a person,” the dignified old lady said with a smile as she looked at her Husband. “Didn’t you say before that antiques should not be polished too often?”

“But this isn’t an ordinary ‘antique’, Mary,” Morris turned his head and smiled at his Wife. “It is part of the sacred miracles.”

The old lady looked up and studied the two special pieces on the antique shelf – a dagger and an artillery shell. After a moment, she suddenly asked: “Will you tell our Daughter the truth later? About these ‘sacred miracles’, and about… your new ‘identity’.”

Morris stopped what he was doing.

There were some sacred miracles that could be kept from others, but not from the one who had gone through the miracle itself.

As the product of a once?incomplete Subspace Prayer, his Wife had lain in bed as an Ashen Humanoid for eleven years. She knew that very well. Now she lived again because of the influence of the Vanished. Of course she would question her own survival.

There was no way around it.

So, after getting the captain’s permission, Morris told his Wife about the Vanished. But he did not tell Heidi.

“…There’s no need yet,” Morris said. “Heidi doesn’t have to come into contact with this for now. And whether we tell her or not… also depends on what the captain wants.”

Just then, the doorbell suddenly rang and cut off the talk between Morris and his Wife.

The old scholar was about to open the door, but his Wife stopped him with a smile: “I’ll go – I haven’t moved around for many years. I need to exercise more now.”

She turned and went to the front hall. Short voices came from the door. After a while, she came back to Morris.

“It’s the Postman,” his Wife handed over a letter. “For you.”

“A letter for me?” Morris was a bit surprised. The first thing he noticed was the high?value stamps on the envelope and a few special postmarks. He frowned. “I did write to a few distant friends, but they shouldn’t be replying this quickly… hm?”

His hands suddenly stopped. His eyes fell on the first postmark that showed where the letter had been sent from. His face grew a bit strange.

“Where is it from?” his Wife asked curiously.

Morris was silent for two seconds, then said in a low voice: “…Frostholm.”

“Frostholm? That’s very far away,” his Wife said. She thought for a moment and then added, a bit unsure: “I remember you have a friend in Frostholm, called Brown or Bren?”

“Brown Scott,” Morris said slowly. His tone, for some reason, became especially low and serious, and the motion of the letter opener in his hand grew especially slow. “Just like me, he is a scholar of history and is deeply devoted to the field of occult studies.”

“Oh, right, Brown Scott. I remember he was quite thin and gave people a very strict feeling,” his Wife said with sudden understanding. “You still keep in touch with him? I remember he moved to Frostholm many years ago, but before he moved, you two really…”

“He is already dead,” Morris suddenly said. “He died six years ago in a shipwreck.”

As soon as he spoke, the room fell silent.