Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 437

**Chapter 437 – Clockworks (Paraphrased)**

“The White Stonemason Guild operates an outpost within the city?”

“They do—it’s a discrete urban location where covert items can be traded anytime. I’m in need of its services. Do you know if Toulon has such a site?”

In the apartment’s living room, Blanton spoke in an offhand tone. The woman known by the alias Mistmartin listened intently, her expression gradually tightening before she responded.

“Back in past assemblies, Stepping Stone told us that if we ever needed to make a transaction outside regular meetings, there was a place for that. Their agents deal in rare and unusual artifacts, though their prices tend to be far steeper than what we’d pay at gatherings—tiered by rank, too. Stepping Stone warned those of lower rank to avoid going unless absolutely necessary.”

Mistmartin’s words caught Blanton’s full attention. He leaned forward.

“From the sound of it, that matches. Can you tell me the exact location?”

“Stepping Stone said it was located on Pebble Lane, branching from Silver Rod Street in the East Harbor District. Along that lane, there’s a clock store named Hoshea Timepieces. Ask to see a ‘Stone Heart’ watch—the staff will lead you to the back.”

“A timepiece shop? Understood. Have you visited it yourself? Anything to watch out for?”

“I did, just once. I’d gone to see about some herbal supplies. Their prices were ridiculously inflated compared to the gathering’s market, so I left empty-handed. As for risks… not much comes to mind. The owner struck me as severe—he scolded his clerks relentlessly over small errors. If you go, best to deal directly with the staff. The shopkeeper… is not easy to handle.”

Blanton gave a nod and placed a slim envelope on the coffee table.

“I see. You’ve been helpful, Miss Mistmartin. This spares me significant effort.” He paused. “Inside are notes from my journeys along the Paths of Silence. A gesture of appreciation. Be careful as you read—Spiritual Poison is a danger, and I’ve indicated how to approach the material safely.”

“This… I didn’t expect this! Just being of service was enough.” Mistmartin bowed deeply, eyes shining. She’d thought merely surviving the encounter would be reward enough—compensation hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“No need for thanks. The Paths of Silence demand we support each other. Stay cautious.”

Finishing his tea, Blanton rose and adjusted his hat. As he stepped to the door, Mistmartin watched in silence.

“One last thing… your tea is excellent.”

He slipped out, the door closing softly behind him. Mistmartin remained still, eyes on its newly painted surface.

……

At a quiet restaurant close to the Golden Dew residential zone, Dorothy sat before a spread-out map of Toulon. With fork in hand finishing a pastry, she traced her finger to the area Mistmartin described.

‘East Harbor District… not far. Likely within walking range. I’ll send Blanton by hired carriage at once.’

Having secured information from local occult practitioners, Dorothy saw no reason to wait. She had Blanton’s corpse puppet hail a carriage just outside Golden Dew and directed it toward the indicated area.

Earlier that morning, Dorothy had mapped out the city’s apothecaries frequented by those dabbling in the arcane. Corpse puppets in canine form kept watch outside their doors, their noses tuned to detect occultists via scent profiles—just as she had once used smell to hunt the living Blanton back in Ygewint.

Though not as precise as the Searching Breath Talisman, the dogs’ sniffing was good enough, if done up close. So far, all was progressing smoothly. Mistmartin had been compensated generously—with rites for Apprentice-level progression, methods for resisting Spiritual Poison drawn from the Church’s Historical Scripture Department, and safe Spiritual Energy refining like Physical Tempering.

“Alright. Time to see what this outpost has in stock…”

After finishing her cake, she called the waiter for tea and leaned back, sipping while Blanton’s body traveled through the city.

Eventually, the carriage arrived at Silver Rod Street in the East Harbor District. Once there, Dorothy maneuvered Blanton down the street. After asking passersby, he located Pebble Lane.

The lane lived up to its name—cobbled and clean, bustling with small storefronts and pedestrians. A sharp contrast to the western alleys’ filth. It didn’t take long before he spotted the sign: Hoshea Timepieces.

The shop’s nameplate looked respectable, and in the display window, a tall pendulum clock sat beneath a layer of dust. Dorothy instructed Blanton to enter.

Inside, clocks dominated the space. The walls, clad in a vintage aesthetic, held numerous timepieces softly ticking, their hands circling in silent rhythm. Nearly all pointed to mid-afternoon.

Along the walls were grand grandfather clocks. Glass cases up front housed pocket watches. Behind the counter sat two young men, both sharpening their gazes as Blanton stepped in. One clerk stood.

“Good afternoon, sir. What brings you in?”

Blanton said nothing at first. He walked around, studying the details of the shop and its wares. After a circuit, he came to the counter, eyes on the pocket watches beneath the glass.

“Is your proprietor not in today?”

“Mr. Filipe is currently away on business. Were you hoping to speak with him?”

“I was merely curious. I’ve heard good things about his craftsmanship and thought to meet him. A shame.” Blanton tapped a watch engraved with ornate patterns. “How much for this one?”

“Let me check… Yes, that one’s priced at eighty Pita.” The Pita was Castiglia’s local currency—roughly 140 to a Pritt Pound.

“That works. I’ll take it.”

Blanton paid using Pita Dorothy had exchanged at the bank the previous day. The clerk handed the watch over directly, bypassing the gift boxes resting on a shelf behind him. Blanton slipped it into his coat pocket without setting the time, his expression hardening slightly.

“One more thing. I’m looking for a different model. Do you carry any of the ‘Stone Heart’ line?”

Both attendants grew visibly tense. One replied cautiously.

“We do carry that kind, but due to their nature, they’re kept in the back. Please follow me.”

The clerk stepped out from behind the counter and unlocked a narrow side door. Blanton followed him inside without hesitation.

They walked through a short hallway into a cramped chamber. Dim gaslights cast wavering light over thick stone walls. A fortified window with iron bars and a narrow transfer slot dominated the far end. It looked like a teller’s booth from Dorothy’s old world—only far more secure, likely resistant to many non-ordinary abilities.

“Any requests must go through here. Please finish promptly.” The clerk withdrew, leaving Blanton alone.

Blanton examined the space before speaking through the slot.

“Do you have any Grimoires centered on the ‘Stone’ theme? If so, how many?”

There was a pause. Then a muffled voice replied from behind the barrier.

“We currently have three such Grimoires in stock.”

“What are the prices?”

“For the three volumes: two thousand three hundred Pita, one thousand two hundred Pita, and eight hundred Pita. Would you like the titles?”

Dorothy quickly did the conversion—about 1,650 Pritt Pounds. The funds she had converted yesterday (roughly 2,000 pounds) would suffice.

“No need. I’ll take them all.”

She had Blanton pass through a bearer’s cheque and the appropriate cash. Shortly after, packages wrapped in greased paper slid out of the slot.

“Thank you for your business.”

Blanton gathered the bundles and walked back through the hallway and shop, enduring the clerks’ wary stares until he exited onto Pebble Lane once more.

Holding the acquisitions firmly, he melted back into the crowd. Meanwhile, in the restaurant, Dorothy sat reflecting. Her mind replayed her impressions from earlier.

‘That clock in the front window was thick with dust—clearly hasn’t been maintained.’

She recalled the state of the shop floor and the behavior of the clocks.

‘Some grime on the ground, and the wall clocks—though running—were slightly off. Timepieces of this make need consistent attention. The delay means someone’s been neglecting them. Odd for a horologist’s store.’

Her thoughts shifted to the interaction at the counter.

‘I bought a watch, and they just handed it over. No time set, no box offered. That’s careless. If Mr. Filipe were around, he wouldn’t allow such lax service. Just how long has he been gone?’

Still pondering, Dorothy directed Blanton to a new location—another watch shop elsewhere in Toulon. Entering, he approached the owner directly.

“Might I trouble you for an appraisal of this watch?”

“Certainly…”

The man studied the piece thoroughly before responding.

“Outstanding build. Definitely the work of a seasoned craftsman—above average in every regard. If you’re considering a sale, I’d offer… two hundred Pita.”

“I see… I appreciate it. I’m not looking to sell right now. Please, take this as a token for your assessment.”

Blanton retrieved the watch. At Dorothy’s instruction, he proceeded to visit more watchmakers and pawnbrokers across Toulon. Each gave appraisals ranging from 150 to 300 Pita. Every figure exceeded the 80 Pita he had paid.

Dorothy’s theory was validated: the original clerk had underestimated the item’s value. He clearly lacked experience.

‘Unbelievable… The White Stonemason Guild entrusted their front to someone so green? That’s hardly their usual standard. Even Tivian’s Golden Pledge Bank runs its mundane operations with precision.’

Back at the restaurant, Dorothy took another sip of tea. Her evaluation of Hoshea Timepieces was now far more nuanced.

She then had Blanton head to a quiet riverside nook. In the secluded spot, he unwrapped the packages. Inside were two weathered books and a collection of loose papers. Dorothy didn’t inspect their contents yet. Instead, she activated Spiritual Sight to examine their energies.

On the back of one volume, faint traces emerged—a Rune aligned with the “Lamp” aspect of the Path-Beacon classification.