Pockum, his resolve steeled, hurled the lantern at Toban, suppressing the searing pain from his severed finger. He climbed atop the wine cabinet and hoisted himself through the skylight.
Upon emerging, Pockum glanced back, revealing a cryptic smile.
"Are you watching me?" he asked.
The projector flickered and plunged into darkness.
Instantly, the basement filled with the sounds of footsteps, anguished screams, and whispers.
Windsi, seemingly unfazed, continued his task—he didn't even flinch when a slight movement grazed his shoulder. Time passed in stillness until the cacophony of noises faded away.
He rose from his chair, picked up the empty glass, and began to clean it.
In the dark, Windsi moved with the precision of a man who knew the space intimately. He reached for the basin without hesitation, noting the slight crack that had appeared on the severed finger placed on the projector's tray.
He returned the glass to the cabinet, then took the finger again.
The film rewound itself, the sound of the reel gently humming. Once the rewind finished, Windsi placed the severed finger on the projector once more.
The projector whirred as the reel began to turn.
He placed a new glass beside it, filling it with red wine—a fresh glass, as the previous one was unsatisfactory for the mysterious guest who preferred not to use one already touched by another.
With everything prepared, Windsi returned to his worn, tattered sofa.
The projector cast its beam once again, the screen before him flickering to life.
"Friend, I know you're watching me," Pockum grinned, lifting a bottle of red wine with the same hand that held the severed finger.
In the castle, the wind and snow howled fiercely, the cold from his wound mingling with the frost.
Pockum's face, hardened by years of hardship, exuded a dangerous ferocity that even the harsh elements couldn't mask. His wolf-like eyes seemed to peer beyond time itself, as though they were staring straight at Windsi.
The wine beside the projector had diminished slightly, and the stifling air of the basement grew colder.
The scene shifted.
Pockum found himself at the black market.
At the counter.
The black market dealer, his smile wide, glanced at Pockum's severed finger. "Well, well, if it isn't Pockum, what a rare guest."
Pockum ignored the pleasantries, pulling a bottle of red wine from his cloak.
"How much is it worth?" he asked flatly.
The dealer adjusted his old, gold-rimmed spectacles, their lenses catching the light with a cold gleam. "Mr. Pockum, I'm afraid I cannot set a price just yet. Please, wait a moment while I fetch the head butler to assess it."
Pockum said nothing but gave a slight nod, taking a seat on a nearby mahogany chair.
The dealer signaled to a shadowy figure, who stepped forward to fetch the butler. As he returned, the butler took a seat beside Pockum, casually remarking, "Mr. Pockum, this wine you carry—it's quite special, stolen from the Duke of Troksia's castle, I presume?"
Pockum furrowed his brow. "You've been asking too many questions," he replied coldly.
Realizing Pockum's displeasure, the dealer quickly apologized.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pockum. I'm Delta Kevin, the butler. You may call me 'Old Butler.' If you don't mind, that is."
The butler's tone softened, and he added, "For any rudeness on my part, I deeply apologize. I assure you, in the future, for your auction items, we will charge only a modest ten percent fee."
Pockum, unwilling to make enemies in such a place, nodded. In their world, those who crossed the black market found themselves penniless in short order.
"Since you've extended such courtesy, Old Butler," Pockum said, "I'll be a frequent visitor. And truth be told, I 'acquired' this wine after taking it from the foolish thief, Edson, who met his end."
"Oh? Is that so?" The butler responded with a smile. "Well, congratulations, Mr. Pockum."
In the black market, it mattered little how an item was obtained. Here, it was simply a commodity.
Soon enough, the butler set a low price of 20,000 Xibis.
"Then, I wish us a prosperous cooperation," Pockum said, shaking the butler's hand as they sealed their agreement.
"Mr. Pockum," the butler added, "we have an excellent physician who could treat your severed finger, at no charge, of course."
"Thank you, Old Butler, but I'm not fond of seeing those who glow," Pockum replied with a wry smile.
"Ah, a pity," the butler sighed, then handed over an invitation. "Please, join us at the auction in three days."
The invitation, a luxurious dark-golden card, was embossed with rose patterns and written in elegant script, likely using a fine quill and gold powder.
Pockum tucked the card away and, with a slight nod, said, "I'll be on my way."
He adjusted his large hat and disappeared into the folds of his coat, leaving the black market behind.
"Old Butler, should we inform the Duke?"
The butler waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
The dealer bowed respectfully, stepping back to join the servants.
A crimson blade slid through the servant's body.
"Apologies, but the dead keep their secrets," the dealer murmured.
Hiss, hiss—
Blood spilled from the servant's mouth, quickly staining the dealer's clothes.
"Clean it up."
"I will, sir."
Three days later.
The black market buzzed with anticipation as rumors spread of the Duke of Troksia's hidden wine being auctioned. Curiosity surged through the underworld as the event drew near.
The venue, a dark, concealed place, was packed with figures cloaked in black robes and masks, their identities hidden.
"The auction is about to begin," Old Butler noted, glancing at the masked figures. "The lamb has yet to arrive."
He chuckled, looking forward to what was to come. "But I'm sure, this one's clever."
Bang!
The gavel sounded, signaling the start of the auction.
A beautifully crafted turquoise enamel hairpin.
Starting bid: 200 Xibi.
"This piece is the favorite of noblewomen, a rare item from a distant land."
"300 Xibi!"
"500!"
The auction hall quieted as Old Butler surveyed the room, slowly calling out, "500 once, 500 twice, 500 three times!"
Bang, bang, bang!
"Congratulations, Lot 33, for acquiring the item."
The atmosphere grew even more charged as the auction continued.
"Now, for the main event of the evening. I'm sure you've all been waiting for this one," the Old Butler said, his voice thick with anticipation. "Let's begin."
The Duke of Troksia's hidden wine.
Starting bid: 20,000 Xibi.