Chapter 18: The Diviners' Club

Returning from above the gray mist, Audrey immediately took up her pen and recorded the potion recipe for the "Observer."

"Eighty milliliters of pure water, five drops of autumn water lily essence, thirteen grams of cow-tooth peony powder, seven petals of elf flower, a pair of adult Manhal fish eyes, thirty-five milliliters of ram’s horn blackfish blood."

After considering for a moment, she scribbled the names of various chemical substances around the potion formula, disguising the page as a complex and chaotic collection of scientific knowledge.

She felt quite pleased with her own cleverness, her heart swelling with satisfaction. She even thought she heard her own genuine laughter.

"Well done, Audrey," she praised herself.

…

In a dimly lit basement, flickering with only a single candle's glow, Alger Wilson raised his palm, examining it carefully.

He marveled at the power of Mr. Fool, feeling that being drawn into such a gathering was both dangerous and an opportunity.

A flood of complex emotions filled him, but reflecting on the knowledge he had gained for free today—though not precious—he could not deny it was a gain.

This lifted his mood considerably.

…

Beneath the blazing afternoon sun, Klein stepped out of his home.

At this moment, Klein was unaware that the sun overhead was none other than the eternal blazing sun itself, running wild and bare; he merely marveled at the warmth of the day.

Since he needed to walk from Iron Cross Street all the way to Welch’s residence, he swapped his formal attire, hat, and leather boots for a linen shirt, a worn brown jacket, a matching round-brimmed felt hat, and old leather shoes—thus avoiding the worry of sweat spoiling his costly ensemble.

While walking, Mrs. Slin, a kindly elderly woman with graying hair, called out to him.

Perceiving Klein’s heavy mood, she offered him a cup of sweet iced tea for the great Mr. Fool.

Klein, with a sweet tooth, immediately took a liking to the drink.

In that moment, sweet iced tea officially became part of the Fool’s Church “sacrament.”

Having completed his search, Klein initially planned to return to Black Thorn Security Company but spotted a “Fortune Teller’s Club” along the way.

“Fortune teller’s club…” Klein murmured the name, suddenly recalling his role as a “fortune teller.”

“Hmm, might as well take a look... maybe find some new ideas.” With his thoughts racing, Klein crossed the street, climbed to the second floor, entered the hall, and stood before a beautiful lady at the reception desk.

…

The lady, her brownish-yellow hair neatly pinned up, gave Klein a once-over and smiled.

“Sir, are you here for a reading, or would you like to join our club?”

“What are the requirements for joining?” Klein asked offhandedly.

The woman with her hair elegantly styled explained in a practiced voice:

“Fill out detailed information and pay the annual membership fee—five pounds for the first time, then one pound each subsequent year. Don’t worry, unlike political or business clubs, we don’t require formal recommendations from existing members.”

“That's expensive!” Klein gasped, contributing his own share to global warming.

“Members can use the club’s meeting rooms, various divination rooms, and tools for free; enjoy complimentary coffee and tea; read our subscribed newspapers and magazines; and purchase lunch, dinner, alcoholic beverages, and some teaching materials or divination supplies at cost price.”

Klein’s mind raced, analyzing the value of these perks. He even wondered whether he could take all the free tea and coffee to go.

“Moreover, we invite a famous fortune teller at least once a month to give lectures and answer questions.”

Klein smiled but offered no comment; inwardly, he was thrilled. He felt like a hidden dragon king in disguise.

The three-year term had arrived—welcome back, fortune teller.

“Most importantly, you can find a group of like-minded friends to exchange experiences.”

Ah, exchanging experiences—that might attract Leonard, though Klein himself was not interested.

It sounded promising. However, he had no money… Klein chuckled bitterly before asking, “What if I just want a reading?”

Hearing Klein’s question, the elegant woman with brownish-yellow hair showed no impatience, maintaining a polite smile.

“Our members may freely perform readings here and set their own prices. We only take a small commission. If you wish, you can look through this catalog listing members willing to provide readings and their rates.”

Hmm? Members can make money? Klein’s ears perked up; he listened more attentively.

So paying the membership fee might not be totally unreasonable after all.

“However, it’s Monday afternoon, and most members are at work, busy. Only fewer than five are here now…”

That was excellent; it would easily avoid the paralysis of too many choices.

As she spoke, the lady invited Klein to sit on a sofa by the window at the reception hall, then flipped through the catalog and pointed out the members currently present:

“Hynas Vincent, a renowned fortune teller from Tingen, a regular club tutor, skilled in various divination methods, charges four sulers per session.”

…

“That’s expensive… I could treat Benson and Melissa to two sumptuous dinners for that,” Klein thought, silenced by the cost.

A mere fortune teller trying to squeeze money from Mr. Fool? Not a chance!

Seeing Klein’s reaction, the woman immediately understood and turned to a slightly cheaper option:

“Then this one…”

“…the last one, Gracis, joined the club this year, specializes in Tarot readings, charges two pence per session.”

“Sir, which one would you like to choose?”

Though Klein hadn’t replied, the lady already had a good guess.

As expected.

Without a hint of hesitation, Klein instinctively answered, “Mr. Gracis.”

Correct guess. Excellent—this lady clearly had a knack for fortune telling.

The receptionist fell silent for two seconds before saying, “Sir, I must warn you, Mr. Gracis is only a beginner.”

Implying: you get what you pay for; you might as well try some bargain site and maybe find a steal.

Obviously, the lady was unaware that esoteric arts come with a novice protection period.

“I understand. I will take responsibility for my choice,” Klein smiled and nodded.

Of course, responsibility was irrelevant—just pay the fee.

“Please follow me,” the beautiful lady rose and led Klein through a door beside the reception hall.

There was a short corridor ending in an open meeting room bathed in sunlight, furnished with tables, chairs, newspapers, magazines, and playing cards, the faint scent of coffee drifting through the air.

Two rooms before the meeting room, the receptionist gestured for Klein to stop, quickened her pace to the end, and softly called out:

“Mr. Gracis, someone is here for a reading.”

The person inside pointed at himself: “Me?”