Chapter 95: Chapter 95
Standing before him were a middle-aged man and a little girl. The gentleman was dressed in a crisp, dark suit, his mustache neatly trimmed into a small patch above his lip. His light blue bow tie was adorned with a gleaming gold pin.
"Daddy, I want that book!"
A childlike voice reached his ears, and the man, Wood, looked down at the adorable little girl. Her face was alight with curiosity as she pointed with a delicate index finger. The ribbon in her short brown hair caught the evening sun, shining even more brilliantly than the gold pin.
The girl was pointing at the book in Wood's hands; due to their positioning, the cover, featuring Snow White, was perfectly at her eye level.
The gentleman inquired about the book's contents in a gentle tone. Wood paused for a moment, then held up his thumb toward the setting sun.
"Sir, I swear by the sun still hanging in the sky, this is absolutely, without a doubt, the perfect storybook for this lovely young lady."
Jenkins, of course, had no idea that today was the release date for his "Stranger's Story Collection" in the royal capital, nor that he had just gained a devoted fan... albeit a male one.
He had spent the entire day rushing around the city. Moving into his own place involved a mountain of paperwork, and since some documents couldn't be processed in a single day, he expected to be busy for some time. At least the water and steam pipes in his new home were connected, so his basic needs were covered.
"Should I swing by the black market, or head back to Papa Oliver's shop?"
Papa Oliver greeted him without lifting his head, his attention fixed on the documents he was flipping through. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel·fire·net
"Dealing with all that paperwork is certainly a hassle."
Jenkins shrugged, looking for something to occupy himself, like finishing his hundred daily repetitions of the tadpole-like script. Ever since that brief experience of godhood, transcribing the strange text no longer triggered any unusual sensations. He'd even secretly tested himself and discovered he could now recall the first few tadpole-like characters from the stone tablet without even looking at the photograph.
But Papa Oliver stopped him. He pulled out a small silver plate, infused it with a flicker of Spirit, and tossed it onto the table.
"A little test for you. Tell me what kind of charm this is, based on its appearance alone."
Jenkins nodded. He leaned his cane against the counter, let his cat, Chocolate, hop onto a nearby reproduction rocking chair, and shrugged off his overcoat, setting it aside.
"It's a silence charm, used for muffling sound."
Papa Oliver nodded, pleased. If Jenkins's talent for appraising antiques was an eighty out of a hundred, his aptitude for the mystical arts was easily a ninety-five. The old man had never once praised his apprentice's progress, and Jenkins had never thought to ask if his learning pace was normal. As a result, he was completely unaware of how astonishing his abilities truly were.
As for Jenkins's emotional intelligence when dealing with women, Papa Oliver would have rated it a twenty.
"I was going to stop by your place to tell you, but since you're here, I'll just tell you now."
He handed Jenkins the stack of papers and announced:
"The entity at the hospital has been dealt with by a black-robed individual, but according to the Church of Death and End's assessment, other possessor spirits are still roaming Nolan. The five major Orthodox Churches met yesterday and decided on a joint operation for tomorrow night—Tuesday. We're going to eliminate the possessed bodies and the spirits in one fell swoop. As a healer, you're required to participate in case of emergencies."
The papers in Jenkins's hands detailed the plan of action.
"So soon?" he asked. "The combat teams only just returned yesterday."
"The Crown holds secular authority, protecting the citizenry in worldly affairs; the Orthodox Churches safeguard the powers of the Enchanters, shielding humanity from arcane threats. This is a sacred covenant forged in primordial times!"
Papa Oliver declared with solemn gravity. Jenkins took a deep breath and nodded in earnest.
"That's the official spiel. Don't pay it any mind."
The old man waved a dismissive hand. "In reality, with the combat teams back, the churches want to put on a show of force. Intimidate anyone who got ideas while they thought our strength was depleted. To use one of your phrases, they're flexing."
"That makes more sense."
That makes more sense, Jenkins thought, but another question surfaced. "Were the possessor spirits that easy to track down?"
When he'd dealt with the spirit in the hospital, the memories he accessed showed the entities scattering across the city moments after their creation. That was why he'd been unable to locate Mr. Barnard's physical body.
"You haven't forgotten why the Church's main force went out to sea, have you?"
Papa Oliver managed a faint smile. "Our church was the one that ultimately secured that Cursed Item. They used it to track down the spirits."
He shook his head, his tone shifting as he let out a sigh. "I've never trusted Cursed Items. They should be sealed and destroyed, nothing more. Otherwise, they're guaranteed to stir up some terrible trouble. I have no idea what those higher-ups are thinking."
And yet, during the incident at the castle, a Cursed Item Papa Oliver carried had saved his life.
"I don't trust them either."
It was one of the rare occasions when what Jenkins thought and what he said were in perfect alignment. From the fragmented information he'd gleaned during the Month's End Whisper, he knew that even the gods detested Cursed Items.
A loathing from the very core of their being.
It was only after he'd said goodbye to Papa Oliver and plunged into the smog-choked street, Chocolate tucked in his arms, that Jenkins had a sudden realization: Hooded Man's perfectly legal gathering was also scheduled for tomorrow night.
"If I miss this gathering, there's no telling when the next one will be."
He stopped short, standing on a street corner as his gaze swept the surroundings.
"This won't do. I have to figure something out."
He knew Miss Skylark was actually Miss Hersha, but approaching her rashly was out of the question. Jenkins wasn't ready to reveal his identity.
Jenkins first took Chocolate home. The two of them shared a perfunctory meal before he summoned the Black Robe from within his spirit, assuming the form of a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy.
He didn't head straight for his destination. Instead, he carefully scaled a few walls, following the arrangement he'd made with Miss Skylark, until he reached a deserted street in the slums, its walls smeared with all manner of filth.
Jenkins pulled out a piece of ritual chalk. Finding a relatively clean patch of wall, he raised his hand and drew a perfect pentagram, sketching a simple little bird just beneath it.
It looked a bit like a chicken.
"Legacy Sage preserve me, I hope Miss Skylark sees this in time."
He prayed silently as he slipped away, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys of the slums from a different direction.
He didn't go far, merely circling the vicinity a few times. He even struck up a conversation with a few local youths who looked his age, casually asking about their "haul" for the day. Only then did he circle back to the trash-littered street, concealing himself carefully behind a stack of discarded metal pipes to await the arrival of night.
The only reason these metal pipes hadn't been stolen was that they were too heavy.