Chapter 56 Special Treatment

Even though he was defeated cleanly and decisively by Charles, Mr. Lavender remained very excited. Unfortunately, his number had already been called, so he could only stand up with a sigh and leave, though he very carefully tucked away Charles's business card.

After the card game ended, with the organizer gone, no one had the heart to continue playing. Charles was left sitting there, somehow bewilderedly invited into a discussion about royal gossip, forced to express his views on the conflict between Prince Morgus Cavendish—about whom he knew absolutely nothing—and General Marquis Carad of the Third Army Steam Equipment Division.

Fortunately, his number was finally called. Seeing a ready excuse to leave, he hurriedly stood up and, incidentally, handed out business cards to the people around him. It was a wonderful opportunity to drum up business for himself, as anyone who played Lord of Cards was wealthy.

He pushed open the side door of the room and stepped inside, naturally remembering to close the door behind him. The previous Lord of Cards collector who had entered here had already left through the front exit, leaving only an old gentleman behind a desk inside the room. The old man yawned and motioned for Charles to sit down.

The room was not large, and could even be called rather cramped. Only a few picture frames on the walls served as decoration, and the appraiser's desk took up almost a quarter of the total floor space.

As he took his seat, Charles noticed that besides a few gas lamps and various lenses, there was a rather conspicuous black metal box on the desk, filled entirely with torn Lord of Cards. At the very top was the "Ace of Flowers" card from the Delarion Hero series that Mr. Lavender had been boasting about to everyone. It had no special effects, but the artwork was exquisite—though alas, also a forgery.

"Forged cards must be torn up. Did you know that?"

Asked the bespectacled old man. Seeing Charles nod, he signaled that he could present the card to be appraised.

Carefully opening his journal, Charles took out the "Sun 3" [Foundational·Silver Moon] and placed it on the velvet pad on the desk. The gloved old man reached out, took it, and frowned the moment he glanced at it:

"The Silver Moon of the Foundational series?"

He looked up at Charles as if examining a mental patient, clearly disbelieving that anyone would come to have such a card authenticated.

Yet, he still dutifully pulled the lotus-mouthed gas lamp closer to himself, turned the light up to its maximum, picked up a magnifying glass, and began examining the details of the card under the illumination.

Charles, waiting as if for a "lottery ticket he had picked up to be drawn," sat quietly, suddenly feeling much less nervous. But the person sitting on the other side of the desk grew increasingly tense as the minutes ticked by. It was nearly an hour later when he finally looked up, staring intently at Charles, sweat already beading on his forehead beneath his bangs:

"The Silver Moon of the Foundational series?"

It was the exact same question as when Charles first sat down, but the tone was entirely different.

Having roughly guessed the outcome, Charles merely shook his head:

"I suppose so."

He said it with measured restraint. Even though he fancied himself capable of controlling his emotions, now that the moment had truly arrived, he still could not suppress his joy.

"Oh, sir, please wait a moment, please wait a moment. I cannot appraise this card myself; I must go fetch someone else."

The elderly appraiser tremblingly returned the card to Charles, removed his glasses, picked up a towel from a nearby shelf to wipe his face, and then hurried around the desk toward the door:

"Sir, you mustn't run off! I'll be right back! Give me three minutes."

His voice was actually trembling.

"Why would I run off?"

Thought Charles to himself as he watched the door close.

He lowered his gaze once more to the [Foundational·Silver Moon] "Sun 3," looking at the lady depicted in profile on the card holding aloft a silver moon:

"Come to think of it, I really do seem to have an inexplicable bond with the silver moon."

The old appraiser did not take three minutes; he didn't even take one before hurriedly running back. Clinging to the doorframe, he looked as if he had run himself out of breath:

"Wonderful, sir, you're still here."

"Why wouldn't I be here?"

Thought Charles, picking up the card and standing to his feet. Just then, the sound of running footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, and shortly thereafter, a tall, thin middle-aged man in black leather shoes rushed over. He wore a formal black suit adorned with an Ouroboros lapel pin.

"Cynthia Mark, Vice President of the Tobsic Branch of the Seers Association."

The middle-aged man panted as he strode past the elderly appraiser to shake hands with Charles.

"Perhaps you should catch your breath before speaking; I'm not going to run away."

Said Charles, before asking in a low voice:

"So, is this card of mine genuine?"

Mr. Mark invited Charles up to the third floor of the association for a discussion. This time it was a formal reception room, complete with tea prepared by servants employed by the association.

As Charles took a seat on the sofa in the reception room and watched Mr. Mark sit down as well, two more appraisers, both looking considerably older than Reverend August, hurried in:

"Regarding this Foundational series Silver Moon, we need to conduct further authentication, but right here, in front of you. Sir, would you mind waiting just a little longer?"

Vice President Cynthia Mark wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke. Charles keenly noticed that the collar of the shirt beneath his formal suit was already soaked through with perspiration.

"Of course that's fine, but as for the appraisal fee..."

Charles deliberately hesitated.

"It is still five pence, of course. You will not need to pay anything extra."

Mr. Mark replied, taking the business card Charles handed him, looking just as surprised by the "No. 6 St. Derian Square" address as Mr. Lavender had moments before.

He asked again:

"Mr. Hamilton, would you care for some pastries?"

"I think I'll pass for now."

Charles waved a hand. Although the Seers Association was a formal, worldwide institution that would not resort to murder and robbery for a card, as an unattached outlander with no particular influence or power, it was always best to be cautious when away from home.

He looked toward the three elderly appraisers who had been summoned in haste. The trio had already spread out a dense array of tools and lenses on a long table at the far side of the reception room, turning on various lamps of peculiar designs brought in by the servants. The heavy curtains of the reception room's grand floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn tightly shut, locking out the misty, foggy dawn and the silhouette of Yodel Palace beyond:

"Regarding this foundational silver moon... if it is genuine, I would hope the association doesn't go around broadcasting it."

Charles did not look at Mr. Mark, speaking almost as if to himself.

"Of course. The association is absolutely impartial regarding Lord of Cards and will never compromise the interests of any collector; that is our tenet."

Assured Mr. Cynthia Mark, implicitly assuming that Charles, as the owner of the card, was a collector.

He glanced at Charles out of the corner of his eye. The young man was dressed decently, yet did not look like someone of great wealth, though he possessed a very unique temperament. Hesitating for a moment, Vice President Mark asked:

"Would you mind telling us the origin of this card? No offense is intended, but the last time the association laid eyes on it was approximately 127 years ago during the 'Grand City Player' Lord of Cards tournament. That year, Baron Stillwell Byron used this card to enter the finals and caused quite a sensation. The association has always wished to trace the whereabouts of this card over the past century. I truly never imagined I would have the honor of laying eyes on it myself."