Chapter 71……………
The night before the banquet.
“Phew… it’s finally over.”
Everett let out a long sigh after seeing off the last guest.
The endless string of consultations for the banquet had finally ended just thirty minutes before midnight.
Until Marsha came back from closing the tavern, Everett decided to spend the time cleaning the tarot shop, which he had been putting off.
Just then—
“Is no one here? The lights are on, so you’re open, right?”
With the sound of the jewelry shop door opening, a husky female voice drifted in.
Everett stepped out into the corridor and looked down at the first floor.
“Oh? Are you the fortune-teller? Excuse me, fortune-teller, could you give me a reading? I’ve got plenty of money here—look, I’ll pay you as much as you want, just please do a reading for me.”
The woman, shaking a heavy-looking, worn pouch, staggered unsteadily.
She seems drunk…
She looked like she could collapse any second, swaying as she kept repeating the same words.
“Please… just one reading.”
Normally, Everett refused consultations with drunk people, but that word please strangely tugged at his mind.
“My business hours are over for today… but, fine, come upstairs.”
The woman, thanking him over and over, stumbled hurriedly up the stairs.
“Wow…”
Even through her drunken haze, she seemed awed by the mystical atmosphere of the tarot shop.
I thought she looked older… but up close, she seems about Marsha’s age.
She was younger than expected, though unwashed, giving off a foul stench, with her breath reeking of cheap whiskey and meat.
“I heard from someone who’s been here before… but it’s even more amazing seeing it myself.”
She forced down a burp as she gave her compliment. Everett smiled faintly.
“Thank you. You can sit over there.”
“Ah, yes, yes.”
Across the candles, her face showed clear traces of hardship, yet her eyes were bright and innocent.
She carefully placed the same worn pouch from earlier onto the table.
“This is my first time in a place like this, so I’m not sure how much I should pay…”
“The fee depends on the consultation, but don’t worry—it’s not expensive.”
“No, it’s fine. I can pay much more. I may look like this… but I came into some money today.”
For someone who had just come into money, her complexion was dark, her expression far from joyful.
“I see. Then it’s something to be congratulated for, isn’t it?”
“Congratulated…? I don’t know. I drank and ate meat trying to use it up, but it doesn’t run out. I guess money only spends well in the hands of those who know how.”
She gave a hollow laugh.
Everett had intended to exchange only a few words and send her away, but she clearly had a story to tell.
He placed a small candle under an unused teapot to warm some water. The woman, parched since she had arrived, smacked her lips constantly.
When he handed her a lukewarm cup of tea, she downed it in one gulp.
“Thank you. I was so thirsty… but I hope I’m not making you work again because of me.”
“Not at all. I just finished a consultation not long ago. My throat’s dry from talking.”
“Working this late into the night… being a fortune-teller must be tough, too.”
She muttered, nodding to herself.
“My name is Hilde.”
The middle-aged woman, still somewhat drunk, began her story without Everett asking.
“I live on the outskirts of the capital.”
That meant the slums—a place for those too poor to live within the city proper.
“I came into money that never should have come to me. It feels so ominous, I hate even keeping it… but I can’t throw it away either…”
Hilde kept circling around the point without saying it directly.
“I understand. You want me to find out whether you should keep this money or get rid of it, correct?”
Everett pulled out his tarot deck and shuffled quickly.
“Please choose three cards.”
After wiping her dirty hands on her skirt several times, Hilde carefully pointed to three. Taking her drunken state into account, Everett also drew one card himself. He laid out her three choices with his own in a line.
“Well? Fortune-teller, do you see anything bad? I shouldn’t use this money, right?”
Unable to restrain herself, Hilde repeated her questions and muttered nervously.
The cards she had drawn were:
- Seven of Swords – a man running with swords hidden in his arms, signifying theft or guilt.
- Five of Wands – representing strife and conflict.
- The Moon – uncertainty, deception, and unfavorable change.
And the one I drew…
The Tower – a crumbling tower struck by lightning, with people leaping from it.
She asked about money, and this is the spread I get… how am I supposed to read this for her?
Perhaps his expression turned grim, because Hilde quickly asked, nervous:
“So there really is a problem?”
Everett picked up the first card.
“This card usually means escape or theft, but it can also symbolize guilt over one’s actions.”
Hilde, who had unexpectedly come into a sum far too great for someone living in the slums, should have been joyful—but she wasn’t. Everett sensed guilt in her inexplicable demeanor.
She must want the cards to tell her it wasn’t her fault.
At the mention of guilt, her eyes flicked restlessly, as though her secret had been exposed.
“This next card suggests your actions may bring conflict.”
But before he could explain more, Hilde shook her head furiously.
“I really had no intention of selling it. I knew how dangerous it was, so I said I’d never give it away.”
Everett asked gently:
“The other person must have threatened you, then.”
“…Yes. I have no family, nothing to my name. That man said no one would even notice if I disappeared.”
Everett’s curiosity deepened.
What on earth was this “thing” Hilde was talking about?
He wanted to ask directly, but doubted she would say yet. Instead, he refilled her empty teacup.
“How could you deal with threats like that alone? But the last card…”
“What about it?”
“This one suggests not just conflict, but something worse may happen. And it may cause you even greater suffering.”
Hilde groaned, covering her face with both hands.
“What if people find out I sold it? They will, I’m sure of it. I’m the only one left who can even make it anymore.”
“Hilde, do you know what people say about me?”
Many sought fortune-tellers less for prophecy than for a place to pour out their troubles. And Naz—shrouded in mystery, trusted for her absolute discretion—was the perfect confidant.
“Yes, I’ve heard. That Naz has ears to listen but no mouth to speak.”
Everett smiled at her reply.
“Then unburden your guilt to me and go home lighter. That’s what fortune-tellers are for.”
His words shattered the last of Hilde’s defenses.
“My family has practiced alchemy for generations.”
Alchemy?
Everett’s eyes gleamed at her unexpected confession.
“I call it alchemy for convenience, but our family only ever made one thing.”
He nodded encouragingly.
“A magical powder that explodes when mixed and struck with sufficient force.”
“An explosion?”
Hilde called it magic powder—but to Everett, it sounded exactly like gunpowder.
“Yes. It explodes and causes fire.”
She sighed heavily, full of despair.
“Explosive powder… that’s incredible. But Hilde, I’ve never heard of such a thing existing.”
“Of course. There’s no war now, and in peaceful times like these, who would need it? Look at me—what good is it, being able to make explosion powder, when I can’t even afford a full meal?”
“You had this powder in your possession?”
She nodded slowly.
“I need to make some from time to time, or I’ll forget how. I don’t keep it mixed, but I always carry the powder.”
“And someone knew about this?”
“That’s what I don’t understand. I never told a soul. Yet someone found out, came to me, and offered money to buy all of it.”
“Did you… sell it all?”
Her clear eyes hardened with resolve.
“No. Properly mixed, it’s far too dangerous. That’s why I never wrote down the recipe or process. Even if I explained it, fortune-teller, you wouldn’t understand.”
Everett certainly would understand, though she didn’t know that.
“I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. But still…”
Her voice trailed off as she lifted a lock of hair fallen loose.
A dark, swollen bruise marked her temple. Everett cursed under his breath before he realized it.
“After a few beatings, I thought… maybe I’ll die like this. And I wondered, would anyone care that I risked my life to protect it?”
With her torn, filthy sleeve, Hilde wiped her eyes.
Once, she had belonged to a lineage of forgotten magicians.
Now, all she had left was the pride of her bloodline—a pride that barely kept her alive.
