Chapter 406: Chapter 406
The complete disappearance of an ancient family caused barely a ripple. Even the viscount's obituary occupied only a tiny corner of the local paper, overshadowed by the wanted poster for a man in a black robe on the very next page. The public's attention remained fixated on the plague and the usual stream of celebrity gossip.
Viscount Augustus had indeed followed Jenkins’s advice, setting aside a fifth of his estate to establish an organization dedicated to helping orphans. Though he was gone, others would see to the details, for the viscount’s inheritance was truly vast. Even for a noble family in decline, a name passed down from the most ancient of times had still amassed a considerable fortune.
It was only as Jenkins was preparing to pack for his trip to Bel Diran that he discovered Viscount Augustus had left him an inheritance as well.
When the lawyer found Jenkins that afternoon, both he and Papa Oliver were stunned, especially when they saw the exact figures. Read complete versıon only at novｅlfire.net
"It isn't a great deal."
The lawyer shrugged. "And most of it is in real estate—dilapidated houses and a few factories on the brink of bankruptcy. The viscount didn't wish to burden you, so he tasked us with liquidating these assets into gold pounds before handing them over. I'm afraid that will take some time. You'll likely receive the funds next month, or perhaps even next year."
"That's perfectly fine."
His head was already spinning from the unexpected windfall, and he found himself mentally calculating whether he should buy a few more properties in downtown Nolan.
"The viscount had originally left you more," the lawyer explained. "He said he had no other relatives and that this was just a small gift for a friend. He also asked me to congratulate you on his behalf—the Ritter Prize is the highest of honors. Ah, yes, it would have been a larger sum, but the viscount heeded your advice and allocated a significant portion of his cash assets to help orphans. That is why the amount is what it is now."
"I believe you are exactly the kind of person this era needs. In any case, may the viscount's soul rest with the gods, and may you forever be under their protection."
This left Jenkins with even more complicated feelings.
"It sounds like something straight out of a novel."
In a warm club, Jenkins, Hathaway, and Miss Mikhail were seated in high-backed chairs with plush red cushions. They were arranged in a gentle arc around a circular table laden with pastries, tea, and books.
A subtle fragrance filled the room, one that always made Jenkins want to sneeze if he was exposed to it for too long.
Chocolate was still curled up on Jenkins’s lap, enjoying his master’s gentle strokes.
"An upright, impoverished young gentleman unexpectedly receives a fortune from a friend. From that day forward, he no longer has to worry about his livelihood and is free to develop his talents."
Miss Mikhail smiled, waving a finger in the air. "And good things come in pairs, it seems. I read in the paper that Mr. Williams also won the Ritter Prize?"
"Yes, the award ceremony is next week."
He replied bashfully, leaning back slightly against the chair.
"Does this mean you'll be leaving Nolan soon?"
Hathaway asked, holding her teacup.
"Yes, the plan is to set off next Monday. I must attend Viscount Augustus's funeral; I absolutely cannot miss it. I'll depart right after. Good heavens, I've never traveled so far before. I hope the journey is a smooth one."
"Is anyone accompanying you? Mr. Oliver, perhaps?"
Hathaway seemed particularly interested in the answer.
"Oh no, Papa Oliver has other matters to attend to; he's been quite busy recently. But the Bishop arranged a first-class ticket for me on the steam train. I think that should be sufficient."
After the events of last week, the Church was taking Jenkins's safety extremely seriously. The original plan had been to send a steam-powered airship to pick him up directly; the high council had even finalized all the arrangements.
However, due to the unexpected appearance of the Doomsday Document, the airship had arrived in Nolan ahead of schedule. And Jenkins, for various reasons he couldn't disclose, was unwilling to leave early with it, so he had to take the train instead.
In fact, from what Jenkins understood, Miss Bevanna herself had personally arranged the security detail for his journey. He didn't know the specifics of the plan, but he was certain he would have an escort. If the diocese hadn't required her presence, Miss Bevanna might even have accompanied him personally.
But all that was still some time away. Before leaving Nolan, there were many other matters to attend to.
On Wednesday evening, after finishing his night class at the church, Jenkins chatted for a moment with Captain Bincy, inquiring about the progress of the investigation into the Gear Artisans' Association. Afterward, on the pretext of wanting a stroll through the city, he declined a carriage and set out onto the street alone.
Tonight was the night of Mr. Hood's gathering. This time, the meeting place was rather inventive: the clock tower next to the town square.
The clock tower was as old as Nolan itself and one of the tallest structures in the city. Its spire was visible from nearly every corner of Nolan.
Jenkins, however, didn't think it a very suitable location for a secret gathering. The clock tower was right in the city center, a stone's throw from both City Hall and KalFax Field.
He strolled casually down the main street, hesitated for a moment at a fork, then slipped into an alley. When he emerged, he had transformed into Candle Mr, complete with a black cat.
The closer he got to the city center, the more police patrols he saw. In the winter, especially, even the most dutiful officers began to resent their work. Patrols devolved into lingering for long stretches at alley entrances and street corners, which was a considerable nuisance for anyone trying to move about in secret.
The weather in Nolan had been pleasant for the past few days, and the accumulated snow had long since melted. Carriages still clattered along the wide avenues, while Jenkins, standing in the alley, gazed up at the clock tower, pondering how to get to the top.
He kept to the shadows, cautiously approaching the base of the tower. As he drew near, he saw that the entrance door was ajar. He pushed it open and slipped inside.
The ground floor of the clock tower was a cavernous hall, but City Hall had never found a proper use for the space. Deeper inside, a narrow staircase led upward. The area was devoid of light, save for the serene moonlight that filtered in through a high window, lending the place the atmosphere of a third-rate horror novel.
Chocolate, perched on his shoulder, grew impatient with Jenkins’s hesitation. The cat leaped directly from his shoulder onto the next flight of stairs and began to climb nimbly. Jenkins scrambled to follow, and before he knew it, he had reached the top floor, which was surprisingly spacious. Against one wall, a wooden ladder led even higher, up to the space directly behind the clock’s face.
Just as he expected, Mr. Hood was already there. Holding a faintly glowing candle, he was leaning over a wooden railing, gazing at the complex clockwork of gears turning behind the dial.