When the green-haired old man sat down, servants were set into motion in droves.
They brought new chairs, cleaned the floor, and helped Simon into a chair, returning every bit of space to normalcy.
As for Clayton, well, he had changed into a new pair of trousers, a privilege not for the other shape-shifters, who could only stay in their monstrous form, seated further apart.
The old man had settled into a new host's seat.
Despite a pale, clean-shaved visage, he exuded a masculine, definitive aura.
"I'm Groner, an Elder of the Council. The brat who has blustered and bluffed here not long ago is my son. My apologies on his behalf."
In a warm, downplaying manner, he effortlessly glossed over the episode a while before, dispelling the suspicion and terror-filled atmosphere here in the ballroom.
It seemed as though, from the very beginning, they had sat in a meeting, while that circus had been the inadvertent crashing of a vase on the floor at one point during that.
"Now I will present you with the Council's situation..."
Groner let his appraising eyes sweep over these 'newborns'. Despite his advanced age, it was still his first time ever seeing such a rush crop up at once.
In the era when the Dark Moon eluded the world, the only way to increase Darkins' number was natural reproduction.
He had never purposely cultivated 'newborns', nor did the others. They only took care to raise their own descendants, if ever.
This was nothing trivial. He had to preside over the banquet personally.
In the preceding months, members of the Council had reported numerous cases of discovering 'newborns'.
They had paid these no heed. Not until the number of 'newborns' soared to a new height and some of a savage species among them caused stir after stir in the lower-class communities did they recall the concept of 'the Day of Trial' and start closely monitoring the city's hospitals, network of sewers, and other places.
These Darkins in the ballroom were the product of their winnowing.
Groner hardly had time to meet with them one-on-one; thus, he could only assemble them at the month's end for collective reeducation.
"The Council is not a brotherhood-like gang. We operate as a legal commercial entity and take advantage of the Pulitzer family's fame only for the time being."
"The government and the Church are well aware of our existence, but currently have no plans to set themselves against us. As long as we exercise good self-restraint, we're still considered citizens of the Kingdom. Correspondingly, should you expose yourself to the public, the government would have to put you on the wanted list. Even though we possess extraordinary powers, our top priority is actually to keep them concealed. Nonetheless, I'm not saying that our powers are just for show. Unless the rules are broken, we do hold the rights to make good use of them."
"Next, I will allow you a glimpse of a few basic facts. Your evaluator may have told you about them, but not in detail."
Groner raised his hand as all the gazes were fixated on him.
"Even though outsiders consider us Darkins the same kind, the differences between us are literally greater than those between monkeys and horses. Even wizards are also classified as Darkins by some religious sects. However, our sole common point is that we unleash our full power at nighttime. "
"Some think it a blessing, some consider it a curse, yet a definitive conclusion has never been reached. But our transformations do drag us down in some ways."
His gaze shifted from table to table, starting with the one occupied by the three masked people.
"The Accursed wield wondrous powers, but the price is known only to themselves. The agony invariably outweighs the joy."
Next were those hideous, paralyzed guests.
"Insectoids, after emerging from their pupae, would become absolutely rational but also forgetful and nerdy, devoid of feelings."
Groner's gaze landed on the table with Clayton at it.
"Shape-shifters, or werebeasts, can usually shield their identities but risk losing control once their nature is triggered. An unfortunate few have lost their normal bodies forever. They would need a ready lie to answer to their family and friends. "
Eventually, his eyes rested on the empty table, yet he said nothing.
The group that the table was meant for hadn't arrived.
"The Council has the means to help you hide yourselves, but not for free."
Groner narrowed his eyes, while his audience began whispering among themselves.
A man, one of the five refusing to reveal his true form, inquired in a baritone, "I wonder what's the price for the Council's aid?"
A sense of familiarity arose in Clayton upon glancing at the man, a figure seemingly leaping off the page of some newspaper.
'Perhaps a well-renowned entrepreneur?'
"We won't ask for money. Rather, we need the intelligence from all sectors of society."
Groner's answer surprised the man. "We are interested in collecting whatever kind of information, even including a specific person's. Surely, when it comes to an exceptional entrepreneur like you, Mr. Jeffery, the way we cooperate can vary."
"I won't transfer my shares lightly."
"No, we don't need them. What we want is channels and opportunities."
Clayton and a few other businessmen were looking thoughtful.
Groner allowed himself a chuckle and, before the man could reply, added, "We're ahead of ourselves, aren't we? You have enough time to think this over."
He beckoned, before a servant off to one side brought a suitcase, which, once spread out flat on the table, revealed its hive-reminiscent innards-hexagonal grids embedded with dark-brown bottles.
"As a pioneer, our fight against our nature has yielded some fruits."
He lifted the suitcase upright to show its contents, but soon laid it back down, picking a bottle out and balancing it between his fingers.
Clayton instantly caught a whiff of a strong herbal scent.
"Here is an efficacious drug for shape-shifters. A single pill per day will free you from the grip of your nature, though your body will also be weakened temporarily. It can also help the Accursed get rid of the anguish for a time. A bottle with thirty-five pills. Update us on your sector once a month, and you will get a bottle."
"What if there is no change in the sector ?" someone asked.
He soon got an answer. "As long as your report holds true, we wouldn't mind that."
"What about the unemployed?" Simon had already recovered, although his nose looked slightly inflamed.
"Then we also have jobs to offer, though underpaid ones." Setting his eyes on Simon, Groner encouraged, "But I suggest that a promising lad like you pursue your own career. If you're willing to learn a skill, the Council will lend you a hand."
The moon Groner had promised stood the fuzz on the nape of Clayton's neck as he listened in.
But given what Groner wanted, all these were nothing but normal early investments.
But this was none of Clayton's concern-for, by now, Groner impressed him as a scrupulous man.
"We do not have many high-paying openings in Sasha. But now our overseas companies are short-handed. If you are willing to work aboard a ship or to spend time with red men in the colonies, we promise not only money, but also more access privileges as compensation. "
Most overseas climes were too inhospitable for ordinary folks, except Darkins.
"What about insectoids? Does the drug work on them as well?" Clayton brought up a question.
He noted Groner's evasion of the drug's effectiveness for insectoids. Their best interests were irrelevant to Clayton, yet he wondered about the Council's attitude.
Though the lines on his forehead had tripled, Groner replied affably, "They are already forming a pupa, now incurable. Going forward, apart from work, nothing would concern them, but we will send money to their families."
'What a sound approach.' Clayton observed.
Groner closed the suitcase and rose from the host's seat. "Everyone, you may take your leave. If you're willing to do as I said, bring the handkerchief home. If you won't join the Council, then leave it behind. Or if you need to think this over, we have guest rooms for your overnight stays."
"To report intel as a member of the Council, besides here, you may also go to 15 Fragrant Pomelo Street, 266 Coconut Street .... All are our outposts and you are welcome to come by at any time."
"I advise that you collect the information first and come apply for the medicine the day after tomorrow."
With no regard to Julius, the Council handled recruitment exactly the way a businessman would.
It was good that no Extraordinary stuff was involved. The familiar feeling made Clayton believe, at ease, that everything remained within his control.
He chose to take the handkerchief away, leaving the ballroom well before the others, who were still pondering a decision.
As for the intel--the antique trade was nowhere you could rake in money with superior intel--Clayton cared little about it.
Just as he was about to make his way out of the Mansion, a call sounded after him.
"Clayton Bello."
Clayton stopped in his tracks and found it to be Philip, the red-clad moustached man, who now had straightened up, by his look.
"Mr. Bello, Elder Groner wishes to see you."