musicians of old

Chapter 825 Sudden Illness
"Whoosh. Whoosh"

The sound of sheets of paper being peeled off one by one.

"So, what advice can I offer, Mr. Nikolayevich Squiaben?"

The air in the attic lounge was somewhat stuffy, and the noise of the guests below could be faintly heard. Fan Ning held a booklet in her hands and stared at the man in the wheelchair opposite the coffee table, asking him a question.

The booklet contains a list and sequence of items to be auctioned in the second half of the session, currently totaling twenty-two items.

"Any suggestions are welcome, whether it's deletion, addition, or annotation."

The chief appraiser of the Van der Schaaf Collection had his hands tucked into his sleeves, and the steam from the ice cubes in his teacup swirled around his top hat.

“This step doesn’t seem to be in the museum’s workflow.” Fan Ning suppressed his doubts and smiled calmly. “Which items need to be displayed depends on the client’s request, the curator’s opinion, and your advice as the appraiser. Mr. Nikolayevich, I am just a senior technician in charge of ‘maintenance and restoration’.”

“But now, here comes the twist.” The man in the wheelchair smiled wryly. “Master Fan Ning, you now happen to have a pen full of ink.”

"Why don't you put it more clearly?" Fan Ning narrowed his eyes.

Fanning was indeed puzzled by the series of unexpected events that had occurred today, just like the strange changes that happened after the "Silver Flute" encountered the "Demon Horn Poems".

If smashing the seven "phantom objects" could indeed trigger some kind of curse on Leicester, then the most crucial issue is that with hundreds or thousands of items in the collection, it's essential to ensure that there's an opportunity to come into contact with these seven "phantom objects" either on or off stage during the second half of the performance.

How to create actionable opportunities? This was a problem that had stumped Fanning, Nancy, and Miss McAdam before, but now, an opportunity had inexplicably appeared with this strange appraiser.

The key issue is that Fanning still cannot distinguish which items on the list are "phantoms," or which other items need to be added.

More importantly, what was this person's motive? Did they know about this hidden story?
"Are you aware of the existence of a so-called 'phantom'?" Fan Ning asked directly, his pen still unable to fall.

“A phantom?” Squier stroked his beard and shook his head nonchalantly. “There are only ‘collectibles’ here, Mr. Technician. But it’s a good ‘sales pitch’ idea; perhaps you have a talent for marketing as well.”

“If you don’t mind, tell me about your relationship with Director Leridge.” Fan Ning flipped through the booklet again, his eyes seemingly deep in thought.

“Relationship. Employment? Cooperation? It’s obvious,” Squierben laughed.

"Is there a 'conflict'?" Fan Ning asked, following his previous line of questioning.

"Conflict is everywhere." The other person picked up their iced tea and took a sip. "Master Fan Ning, you've entered a state of mind, talking about unresolved matters, and then you try to find a rationale for your writing?"

Fanning frowned and stared at the man's face beneath the brim of his hat.

"In fact, rationality exists inherently. For example, as a collection restoration technician, you can write down the limitations of the maintenance methods, techniques, and processing time required for the collection in the remarks column. In this way, some collections that are limited by objective conditions are given the conclusion that they are 'not suitable for auction tonight,' while the possible branches of other collections that are 'suitable for auction' are praised."

"Is this why you invited me up here? To seek professional advice?" Fan Ning frowned. "I've observed some inexplicable stances or motivations you've displayed in previous valuation processes. What role are you actually playing?"

“The one who solicits opinions at each stage.” The man in the wheelchair held up the latest issue of an art review magazine, obscuring most of his face. “Oh, if you frequent council or city hall and have dealt with some junior civil servants, you’ll know there are quite a few people in this kind of arduous job. And sometimes, the sheer volume of work doesn’t equate to fruitful results; you don’t know at which stage crucial opinions will emerge.”

"The more significant the undertaking, the wider the scope of consultation, the longer the waiting time, and the more likely the response will be 'nothing.' Perhaps the initial plan is already perfect enough, and it is not uncommon for revisions to eventually return to the first draft."

The more likely it is to be "nothing".
So, one's own suggestion can also be "none"?
Preliminary plan.
Perhaps there was no rush, and there were still several tens of minutes to consider, but Fan Ning repeatedly scanned the names of the collections, always feeling that his pen could not be put to paper. Silence fell in the attic.

"Doctor! We need a doctor!"

"Mr. Vincent has suddenly fallen ill! Mr. Vincent has suddenly fallen ill!"

Suddenly, a series of anxious shouts came from downstairs. The faint noise and commotion turned into a boiling turbulence like water in a boiler!

"What's going on?" Fan Ning was startled. He rolled up the pen and paper in his hand and turned around to run down the steps.

Squiab, left alone in the attic, yawned wearily from his wheelchair.

"Move aside! Stand at the back!"

"Unrelated personnel, please stand to the back! Thank you!"

"Doctor!! We need a doctor who knows first aid!! Or a pharmacist!!"

At the gallery's crossroads, several assistants anxiously looked around, while security personnel pushed apart the circle of people to ensure a barely adequate amount of air circulation.

Some people were still angrily negotiating with the guards.

"Open the closed doors immediately! What you are doing is murder! Murder!"

Many of the onlookers also made criticisms.

The atmosphere upon entering tonight was somewhat unusual, with a few even feeling that they had been treated improperly.

"The application process is being expedited, ladies and gentlemen." The leader of the guards spoke politely, holding his longsword the entire time. "I think Director Leridge will make an exception for this matter. However, Mr. Vincent has suddenly suffered a heart attack. If we rush him to the hospital, it's a question of whether we can afford the delays. I suggest we try to find a doctor on site who can provide first aid."

Although the guests found the idea of ​​"the gates being closed and an exception being required" extremely absurd and infuriating, there was some truth to what the man said later.

The key issue is not whether they can get out or not, but whether they can get out and probably won't be able to get to the hospital in time.

But when looking for a doctor at the scene, it's either there or there isn't.

The current luck seems to be bad, as none of the guests responded.

The assistant was anxious and kept thinking about it, but he couldn't figure it out. Everyone else was also puzzled. They had always heard that this painter was healthy and energetic, so why did he suddenly fall ill with such a serious disease?

There was no warning.

Could it be that I haven't been resting well lately? Plus, the air in here is too stuffy, and the smell of smoke and perfume is too strong?
Time passed by minute by minute.

"let me see."

Suddenly, Fan Ning's voice came from behind the crowd.