Chapter 1283: Chapter 1283

On the way back to Nolan, Jenkins discussed the tobacco situation with Hathaway, who also expressed her concern over how things were developing.

She hadn't been aware of the matter before his visit. She'd assumed Jenkins had come to see her about the Doomsday Document, not to bring even more dire news.

"You should stay indoors as much as possible, and it would be best if you could stick with Briny. I'm worried about your safety. If you can, maybe you should take your families and leave Nolan for a while."

He spoke with a heavy heart, lifting his teacup and catching a glimpse of his own worried frown in the reflection on the liquid's surface.

"Is that really possible, Jenkins?"

Hathaway asked with a hint of reproach, her gaze shifting to the small kitten nibbling on a piece of cake on the table.

"You actually brought Chocolate with you."

He asked, tapping his finger against his cup. A few ice cubes instantly materialized at the bottom of the liquid, bubbling as they rose to the surface.

Hathaway's request concerned Briny. With the spring term came a bit more free time for both young women. While Hathaway was busy with her Enchanter studies, Briny had found herself with less to do.

Unable to spend time with either Hathaway or Jenkins, she had made some new friends, and Hathaway suspected there was something wrong with them. Orıginal content can be found at novelFirｅ.net

"First of all, I don't know if Briny has gotten involved in some occult gathering again. On top of that, the naval battles offshore are intensifying, and her father, Marquis Mikhail, wields immense power. I'm worried someone might try to harm her. So, if you have time today, I'd like you to follow her for me. Just for the afternoon."

Hathaway's grandmother was visiting that day, so she couldn't be away for long, which was why she was asking Jenkins. Tailing a lady was hardly gentlemanly behavior, but after a brief internal struggle, Jenkins agreed.

Hathaway had followed Briny several times over the past few weeks, so she knew the itinerary for her weekly gatherings with these new friends. All Jenkins had to do was get there ahead of time and observe from a distance.

"Remember to disguise your face. That way, it won't matter even if you're spotted."

Hathaway instructed, worried that Jenkins wasn't skilled in such arts. She went on to share a great deal of her own experience, completely unaware that he was a master of disguise, assassination, investigation, tracking, and infiltration, having performed such tasks countless times over the past six months.

After having lunch with Hathaway and catching up on each other's recent lives, the two said their goodbyes. Before they parted, Jenkins once again emphasized the dangers looming over Nolan. Hathaway simply smiled and reassured him.

"Instead of worrying about us, you should worry about yourself. Jenkins, I've heard about what's happening in Ruen. You need to be careful, caught in that political vortex."

The afternoon rendezvous for Briny and her friends was at Wohanl Camp, on the outskirts of the city. During the summer, autumn, and winter, the open land was used by local timber merchants to store wood.

But in the spring, the camp became a bustling hub for artists, small circuses, fortune tellers (mostly fake), and various performers from all over the Fidektri Kingdom. Villagers from nearby towns would also come to sell trinkets and food, turning Wohanl Camp into a festival-like celebration that lasted the entire season.

This tradition had been going on for many years, and this year in Nolan was no exception. For the past three weeks, Briny and her friends had come here every Sunday afternoon, and Hathaway was desperate to know what they were doing.

"Now, where should I hide..."

Arriving at the camp entrance ahead of schedule, Jenkins paid the one-pence admission fee and began scouting for a suitable hiding spot. Hathaway had told him that Briny was carrying a sachet containing a single-use, passively activated protective charm—a gift from Hathaway herself. Such charms were expensive and could only be crafted by a select few Enchanters. Hathaway had paid a steep price to an Enchanter who called herself "Magic Miss" for it.

It was a protective measure Hathaway had procured for Briny's safety, much like how Jenkins had once given Briny a small, discreet piece of jewelry engraved with his true name for the same purpose.

The aura of that unique charm was strong, so Jenkins didn't need to tail them closely. He just had to find a place to hide, use his Eye of Reality to identify the charm's glow, and then observe its movements from a distance.

The camp was teeming with people, the atmosphere as joyous as a holiday. Flanking the entrance were a vendor selling strangely shaped hats and a middle-aged man with a bamboo basket full of mountain berries. Jenkins thought the hawthorns looked a bit unripe.

He walked past them and continued forward. The path split into three, divided by rows of interconnected merchant stalls. Jenkins chose the middle path, his curiosity piqued by the sights and sounds around him. Chocolate, the Maine Coon perched on his shoulder, was just as fascinated. Then, Jenkins spotted a tent dyed a garish purple with cheap dye, a sign out front bearing the single word: FORTUNES.

A plan formed in his mind. He strode confidently toward the tent, pushed aside the curtain flap, and stepped inside. A short while later, for the modest sum of a single one-gold-pound banknote, Jenkins had secured the use of the tent for the entire afternoon.

The original owner was a burly, bald, middle-aged man with tanned skin, draped in a pretentious crimson robe and adorned with an array of strange amulets. A pungent aroma of incense clung to him.

He was delighted by Jenkins's proposal, remarking before he left that this would free him up to go to the other side of the camp and manage his stall selling protective charms.

The ventilation in the tent was poor, and the man's overpowering scent lingered stubbornly in the air. Still, it was much quieter than outside. In the half-hour Jenkins sat behind the small table with the crystal ball, only one person came in—a dejected middle-aged man who paid ten pence for a career reading. The place was perfect for keeping a low profile.

Half an hour later, Briny and her friends finally arrived. Wearing his monocle, Jenkins spotted the glow of the protective charm and watched as it entered the camp grounds.

He also confirmed that there were no Enchanters near her, a discovery that eased his mind; the most dangerous possibility Hathaway had feared was not the case.

According to Hathaway's observations from the past few weeks, Briny and her friends would head straight for the cluster of temporary wooden towers in the center of the camp after entering.

Today, they chose the middle path, which, as fate would have it, led them right past the tent where Jenkins was hiding.

It seemed that any situation with the potential for an accident was bound to result in one when Jenkins was involved. Before he could even react, he heard the excited chatter of young women outside the tent, followed by the distinct sound of someone suggesting they go inside for a look. It was only then that Jenkins realized he was in trouble.

"Why does this always happen to me?"

He hastily rose from his chair, pulled a robe from a large wooden trunk the bald man had left behind, and threw it on. But before he could pull up the hood, the curtain was drawn back. Jenkins had no choice but to sit back down, revealing the face he had disguised with the black robe.

"Welcome to the Old..."

He almost said "Pops Antique Shop" but managed to catch himself, turning the slip into a series of coughs. Fortunately, the young women who had just entered paid him no mind.

Briny and her friends, six in total, were all beautiful young women in their early twenties. They poured into the tent, chattering excitedly as they took in the crude interior.

To Jenkins's eye, the decor was remarkably careless. The bald man hadn't shown even a shred of sincerity; he was clearly operating on a "let the suckers come to me" basis.

But the ladies didn't seem to mind. They had come in simply for a bit of fun.

"Sir, what are your prices for a reading?"

The tallest of the group, a slightly plump young woman with beautiful brown hair the likes of which Jenkins had never seen, was the first to ask.

Jenkins kept his words brief, worried his manner of speaking might give him away. He sat stiffly behind the table, hands clasped, and surveyed the ladies with what he hoped was a placid gaze.

He was unaware, however, that his scrutinizing look was putting them under immense pressure. His unnervingly calm eyes, combined with the strange pressure he exuded (a divine aura) and his chaotic, indistinct presence (concealed by the black robe), transformed the playful atmosphere of the fortune-telling tent into something far more solemn.

"Is everything five pence?"

A dark-haired girl standing in the back inquired.

"Yes, all fortunes are five pence."

Jenkins nodded, hoping they would leave quickly.

"I'll have a love reading, then."

The tall woman who had spoken first said with a smile. Her companions behind her erupted in laughter, and the group immediately dissolved into a playful commotion.

"Pay first, reading after."

Jenkins stated with a stern expression, trying his best not to look at Briny. Hathaway had warned him that even if one's face, height, and build changed, their eyes were very difficult to alter.

"Alright, five pence."

The tall woman took five coins from her purse and placed them on the table. Jenkins immediately swept them into his palm and said offhandedly:

"Your love life will be very smooth. The person you desire will appear within six months. But you must be careful to seize the fleeting opportunity. If you miss this chance, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

Jenkins himself had no idea what he had just said.

"Is that all? Aren't you going to use cards? Or this crystal ball? You're not even going to look at my palm?"

The shortest woman, the one with red hair, asked. Her voice was sharp, not with the innocent shrillness of a child, but like the piercing cry of a bird.

"Unnecessary. Only those without talent rely on props."

Jenkins justified himself, desperate for them to leave so he could get back to spying on their movements.