Chapter 46: Tickets

Chapter 46: Tickets
The next day, we arrived an hour early. I thought that would give us plenty of time.

I was wrong. The scene before us was staggering.

The main road outside the Grand Prophet's Manor was packed.

The ticket booth sat in a small pavilion to the left of the manor's main gate. Ticket sales began at five in the afternoon, but the line had already snaked from the front of the pavilion all the way to the far end of the manor's outer wall.

I made myself estimate the length of the queue. Two hundred people. Possibly more. A single lecture session could accommodate one hundred listeners, which meant fewer than half the people here today would get tickets.

"This is insane," I said.

"Yes." Rendell's tone made it clear he hadn't anticipated this either.

We took our place at the end of the line.

The middle-aged couple in front of me was speaking in low voices. "My cousin attended one last month. He said the things prophesied for him came true within two weeks." On the other side, a man dressed like a merchant was telling his companion in a hushed tone, "I have to get in this time. The business deal I'm working on has reached a critical point."

Everyone carried a sense of urgency.

Everyone believed they would walk out of that hall with something.

I let my gaze drift toward the mansion. The golden filigree carved into the exterior walls caught the afternoon light and gleamed. Every stone of this building seemed designed to tell every person in this line that the man inside was worth waiting for.

Five o'clock.

The ticket booth opened.

The line began to move. Each person spent roughly twenty seconds at the window. Pay, take the ticket, leave. The entire process had been polished to mechanical efficiency.

The speed of the line's movement made me start calculating.

Based on our position and the distance to the window, there were approximately one hundred and eighty people ahead of us. But there were only one hundred tickets.

I kept my expression calm, but my mind was already working through backup plans. If we couldn't get tickets today, the next session was ten days away.

We didn't have ten days.

Rendell was behind me. He noticed my tension.

"You're calculating," he said.

"We won't make it."

"I counted too," he said. "About one hundred and eighty."

"Right."

"If we don't get in today—"

"There are no tickets tomorrow," I said. "The next session is ten days out."

As the line moved forward, people began to leave.

Those who left all wore the same expression of disappointment. I could see the ticket seller leaning halfway out of the window, delivering the same line to each rejected person: "Today's tickets are sold out. Please come back next month."

After each rejection, the person at the window would freeze for a moment, then begin to argue. "I can pay more." "I came from the north—it took me a month to get here." "I was recommended by so-and-so."

The ticket seller's responses were rehearsed. Each time, he used the same tone to deliver the same words: "The number of tickets is fixed. We do not accept additional payment."

Those who were turned away left angry or dejected, but they all left eventually.

Up ahead, a couple managed to buy tickets. They had been standing within the first hundred, so it wasn't surprising. But I noticed them because of their clothing.

Most people in the line wore the dark, multi-layered fabrics typical of Aethon, each layer's texture revealing something about the wearer's economic status. This middle-aged couple wore Aethon-style clothing too, but theirs had only two layers. The cuffs of the outer layer were frayed and had been carefully mended. The woman's shoe soles, visible from the side, showed years of wear. She wore no jewelry on her wrists.

The way they stood in line was different from everyone else too.

The others carried an air of anticipation, even greed. Merchants hoping the blessing would bring more profit, landowners hoping for abundant harvests. This couple's posture conveyed something else. Their shoulders pressed forward. The woman's hand clutched the man's coat sleeve tightly. The man's eyes were fixed on the ticket window with an intensity that made me realize he, like us, was counting how many tickets remained.

When they reached the window, the man placed a cloth pouch on the ledge. The ticket seller opened it and poured out the money to count.

The money had been separated into several small bundles inside the pouch, each carefully tied with string. From my position, I couldn't determine the source of the coins, but from the way the man set down the pouch, I could tell this sum represented exactly what they had—it looked like they'd been saving for a long time.

The ticket seller counted for what seemed like an eternity before passing over two tickets. The moment the man and woman took the tickets, they grabbed each other's hands.

The woman began to cry, murmuring something that sounded like "our baby will be saved."

The couple left the ticket window and walked toward the main road outside the manor.

"Wait here." I left the line and followed the couple onto the main road.

He was immediately behind me, grabbing my arm. "What are you planning to do?"

"I'm planning to take a gamble."

I called out to them when I was about ten paces away.

"Excuse me," I said.

They both turned around simultaneously. The man instinctively moved to shield the woman behind him. That gesture only confirmed my earlier assessment.

I kept my tone casual, the way one might address a stranger on the street.

"You're here for your child, aren't you?"

The man's face changed after that sentence.

So did the woman's.

Some wordless communication passed between them. Finally, the man spoke.

"How do you know that?"

"I overheard just now. I'm sorry," I said.

I took a step forward, closing the distance slightly.

"May I ask about your child's condition?"

The man hesitated at the question, his expression still guarded.

But the woman spoke up.

"She's six," the woman said. "She's been coughing since winter. Three months now. The first month it was normal coughing. The second month there was blood in it. These past two weeks she's been coughing less, but each time she finishes, she has to lie down for a long time before she can get up."

"Her temperature," I continued.

"She has a fever at night," the woman said. "During the day she's better."

"Is she eating?"

"Less and less."

"Her skin?"

"Her lips have no color. But sometimes her cheeks get very red."

I let those symptoms run through my mind.

Lung disease, possibly a persistent infection. Not severe, but requiring a long treatment period.

Similar to my mother's illness, but with milder symptoms.

"Is she in Aethon now?"

"She's in the room we're renting. My cousin is watching her."

"Marry," the man's voice cut in, protective and wary. His eyes moved back and forth between me and Rendell, who stood slightly further away. "Don't say too much. We don't know them."