Seeing off eloping friends was certainly a novel experience. Jenkins had never imagined he would get involved in such a thing. It was a testament to the effort he was putting into his social life, though whether this particular activity could even be defined as “socializing” was another matter entirely.
The trio boarded a carriage waiting for them at the opera house entrance. Hathaway had hired it, assuring them it was completely reliable. The driver was a silent, middle-aged woman, though her tall, sturdy frame had led Jenkins to initially mistake her for a man. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs NovєlFіre.net
As the carriage pulled away from the brilliantly lit opera house, it plunged into the vast, dark night. Fog swirled outside the windows, and the air was particularly foul this evening. Before climbing in, Jenkins had glanced up at the sky, noticing that drifting clouds had completely obscured both moons. The thought of making a dramatic declaration—something along the lines of “a dark and moonless night, perfect for foul play”—flashed through his mind.
Fortunately, he had enough sense to keep the thought to himself. Saying something like that aloud felt like asking for trouble.
Jenkins had heard about Miss Ricke and Garcia more than once at his club over the past year. After their recent vacation at the snowbound manor, he had come to know the two of them, his peers, even better.
He wasn't sure whether to admire their courage or resent them for shirking their responsibilities. But he was in no position to judge. Jenkins was perfectly clear about his role in this affair: he and Chocolate were just along for the ride.
Both the train station and the opera house were on the outskirts of the city, but in different directions. After getting a nod from her passengers, the driver took them along the smaller roads skirting the city's edge rather than cutting straight through it.
After all, this journey needed to be discreet. When it came to elopements, the less attention, the better.
The moons showed no sign of emerging from the clouds; in fact, the fog outside the carriage only seemed to thicken. Jenkins finally closed the window to keep the foul-smelling air from seeping in, though it was hard to tell if it made any difference.
“It was truly wonderful, I mean, that opera was just fantastic. Jenkins, you created a near-perfect stage for suspense, a place where both the criminal and the detective could completely lose themselves in their roles.”
The country roads were rough, and the carriage jolted from time to time. Since Jenkins was seated opposite the two ladies, he had to be ready to steady them, lest a sudden bump lead to an awkward tumble.
“Yes, a closed carriage is indeed a perfect stage.”
Hathaway nodded in agreement.
“That’s exactly what a stage should be. It’s an incredibly small space meant to display a massive story. I think it’s just like that theory from the poet Rawls: condense art, process it, and then present it.”
Briny mentioned a name Jenkins didn't recognize, but he pretended he understood, nodding along.
“The stage may be limited in size, but the stories told upon it are limitless. That’s the magic of opera. I love you... your opera, Jenkins. I truly do.”
Jenkins swore she had paused on purpose. For a moment, his heart had nearly stopped beating. He stole a glance at Hathaway, but her expression was unchanged; she seemed to have noticed nothing.
“I need to change the subject, fast.”
Jenkins reminded himself, glancing first at the faint glow of the kerosene lamp, then out at the fog.
“The Kingdom’s Air Protection Act doesn't seem to be doing much good, does it?”
Jenkins grumbled, hoping to spark a new topic. But Briny rarely followed politics, and Hathaway, who did, couldn't let on in front of her friend. As a result, neither of them took the bait.
He scratched his head in embarrassment, scrambling for a new topic. Unexpectedly, Briny seemed to have the same idea—perhaps she, too, had realized the awkwardness of her earlier pause. Her talent for changing the subject, it turned out, was far greater than his:
“Have you two heard? They say the fog on the city's outskirts at night can be even thicker than in the city proper. Some interesting ghost stories have started making the rounds in the countryside.”
“Oh? What sort of stories?”
Hathaway asked, her interest piqued. She certainly hadn't shown this much enthusiasm for Jenkins's topic.
“Walking skeletons, reanimated corpses... that sort of thing. The usual scary tales, but they take on a rather interesting flavor with this unusually thick fog we’ve been having.”
Jenkins and Hathaway exchanged a look. Both had heard talk of the undead at Mr. Hood's gatherings, and Jenkins, for his part, had encountered them on more than one occasion. They knew these weren't just idle rumors.
This was the first time Jenkins had heard Briny mention the supernatural since the incident with the illegal séance. He was firmly against her dabbling in the extraordinary world—the memory of that night was still vivid—but this time, she seemed to be speaking of it as a mere curiosity, not as something she intended to pursue.
He shot Hathaway a look, silently pleading for her to say something, but she feigned ignorance, leaving him to break the silence.
“Is that so? The undead...” Jenkins scoffed lightly. “Most rumors from the countryside are just tall tales that get exaggerated with each telling. The truth is probably something as simple as a newspaper caught on a branch, flapping in the wind.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s possible.”
The blonde girl looked a little crestfallen, sensing his reluctance to discuss the topic. She recalled his “lecture” in the carriage after the Ouija board game and realized such profane subjects weren’t something to bring up with him.
“The supernatural... séances... the undead...”
She repeated the words to herself, letting out a subconscious sigh.
Hathaway and Jenkins exchanged another silent glance, neither of them knowing what to say.
The country roads were rough, and though the journey was bumpy, they encountered nothing that could be called an “incident.” It was only about ten o’clock when they reached the Nolan City train station, which meant they still had a long wait before Miss Ricke and Garcia arrived.
“I'm suddenly curious,” Jenkins mused aloud. “How are those two planning to sneak away from their families? Garcia could probably climb out a window, but Miss Ricke doesn’t strike me as the agile type.”
“I’m not sure either, but I’m sure they have a plan.”
Briny replied, leaning over to slide the window open. The fog outside remained just as thick.
Just then, the loud whistle of a steam train echoed from the distant tracks. The sound instantly reminded both Jenkins and Briny of their last night on the train. Thankfully, the moons were hidden, so Hathaway didn't see the blush creep across the girl's cheeks.