Chapter 38: Chapter 38

This approach significantly raised the cost of the book, but the old painter, Grant, felt it was the only way to create a true storybook for children. He and Jenkins hit it off splendidly, and he even came to believe that Jenkins possessed the qualities of a great artist. He promised Jenkins he would promote the book to his students once it was published, which at least guaranteed the collection wouldn't fade into obscurity.

And so, the matter of publication was settled. Jenkins hadn't earned a single penny; in fact, he ended up fifty pounds out of pocket.

Still, he was in high spirits. It was, after all, his first real accomplishment in this world.

Choosing a title for the collection troubled him for a long time. Even though he was essentially copying the stories, calling it 'Jenkins's Tales' or 'The Williams Tales' felt far too brazen.

Names like 'Andersen's Tales' or 'Grimm's Fairy Tales' were out of the question; he would have no way to explain their origins. In the end, he settled on 'Stranger's Story Collection.' Jenkins felt it aptly hinted at the stories' origins, and both his publisher and the old painter agreed that modern children were drawn to titles with an air of mystery.

Printing the book and illustrating it would take time, which meant his plans to earn enough money to move would have to wait.

"I hope people will like my book."

Jenkins prayed to the Sage every day, just like a true believer, though his sudden piety had the distinct air of a last-minute plea.

Thanks to the courage and loyalty Jenkins had shown during the previous week's events, Papa Oliver's fondness for him had grown considerably. One day, during a casual conversation, he "accidentally" let slip that there was a local black market for Enchanters.

There were numerous entrances to the market. The one Papa Oliver had mentioned was located in a remote tavern, and Jenkins decided to use his weekly day off to investigate.

He cautiously purchased a loose-fitting robe and a wide-brimmed hat. Upon entering the deserted tavern, he ordered a "Flaming Whiskey" from the bartender and laid out nine copper pennies on the counter.

"Number 349 sent me."

The bartender nodded, retrieved a comical rabbit mask from beneath the counter, and handed it to Jenkins. The two then walked around to the tavern's back courtyard, where Jenkins descended through the entrance to a cellar.

The black market was situated deep beneath Nolan City. It had originally been an abandoned section of the sewer system, repurposed by some unknown pioneer into a trading post, and had since grown to its current size.

According to Papa Oliver, the market had clandestine managers. This person—or people—had sealed off the section of the sewer from the rest of the network, leaving dozens of passages to the surface to serve as entrances. Places like the tavern they just left not only collected a small entrance fee but were also responsible for standing guard and gathering information.

The market wasn't crowded. Most of the people hurrying past were dressed as strangely as Jenkins, their faces hidden behind masks. Only the vendors selling their wares lit a candle, as was the rule, leaving the entire market shrouded in a deep gloom pierced by only a few scattered points of light.

After descending into the sewer, Jenkins walked about twenty paces east before turning left into another tunnel. There, he found a black-robed figure with a crystal skull set up before them.

"Three tanned skins from a skull serpent, and an ounce of bone powder from the right leg of a forest wolf."

To the naked eye, the sewer was lit only by specks of candlelight, but when he activated his Eye of Reality, his vision was instantly flooded with shimmering patches of colored light.

After running the errand for Papa Oliver, Jenkins felt his luck had been good lately and thought he might be able to find a hidden treasure. He quickly discovered, however, that anything that glowed with color under his sight was priced at a minimum of five hundred pounds, and most vendors only accepted trades.

It was still early. A little disappointed, Jenkins proceeded with his original plan, searching through the dim sewer tunnels. As he passed through a particularly deep patch of shadow, he summoned the black robe steeped in his spirit. No one even noticed his change of attire.

Another half-hour of searching led him to a corner where a man dressed as a clown was crouching. Among Enchanters, there were those who worked as mercenaries and detectives, and this clown was one of the few trustworthy intermediaries.

"I need something investigated."

"What's the price range? Any special requirements?" the clown asked, his voice a dry rasp.

"Just a small matter. Around fifteen pounds."

The clown nodded. "Wait here. Come find me again in half an hour."

He reached down, snuffed out the candle at his feet, and hurried away, vanishing into the darkness at the other end of the tunnel. Jenkins caught the faint, acrid scent of burnt wax in the air and wrinkled his nose.

He had lost his desire to browse any further. He simply stood where he was, leaning against the grimy tunnel wall to wait.

Half an hour later, the clown reappeared and motioned for Jenkins to follow. They left the main area of the black market, navigating several turns through the pitch-black and foul-smelling tunnels before climbing a ladder into what looked like a private meeting room.

The room contained plush, brown fabric sofas and a clean, patterned wool rug. Brass steam pipes ran from a corner into the room, but the gas lamp connected to them was unlit.

The only illumination came from a single candle on a low wooden table set in the center of the four sofas.

A woman with flaxen-colored hair was already seated on one of the sofas. The clown nodded to her, then slipped back down the ladder and disappeared.

The woman's face was indistinct in the candlelight, but a closer look revealed it to be utterly unremarkable—the kind of face you'd forget a moment after seeing it in a crowd. Jenkins, however, could see a yellow speck of light glowing before her. This was clearly not her real appearance.

"Quite a few buildings burned down in the dock fire last week. I need you to investigate the history of those properties. Find out if any of them had connections to Enchanters."

That's right. Jenkins was still preoccupied with the origin of the metal cube. He didn't dare investigate under his own name, nor could he afford a proper detective. This was the only way.

"Thirty pounds. Last week's fire involved followers of the Lord of Myriad Brilliance. This is dangerous work." Dıscover more novels at nοvelfire.net

The woman's voice was also strange, likely disguised.

The Church would never publicize the truth about the fire, Jenkins thought. This woman is surprisingly well-informed.

"Fifteen pounds. This has nothing to do with the cause of the fire. I only want the history of those buildings."

"Twenty-five. It's a complicated job. The area is still cordoned off by the Orthodox Church."

"Twenty. What I'm asking for isn't illegal. I just need information that's difficult to obtain."

"Twenty-two. I'll have an answer for you in three weeks, and I'll cover the middleman's fee."