"Who in the world...?"
The noise from the street had shattered his sleep, and Jenkins couldn't help but groan in protest. He fumbled for his pocket watch. It was only just past six.
"For heaven's sake, it's Saturday!"
He reached over and stroked his cat, which rumbled deep in its throat. Then he dragged himself out of bed, lit the gas lamp, and shuffled into his slippers. Grabbing the overcoat hanging in the entryway, he threw it on and pushed open the door to step outside.
The sky was overcast, and a thick layer of smog clung to the city, plunging Nolan into near-total darkness even at six in the morning.
The streetlamp by his door still cast a sickly yellow glow, allowing Jenkins to make out the figure of a man in ragged clothes squatting on the pavement. He was gathering pieces of scrap metal, a rusty handcart standing beside him.
Clearly a vagrant, or perhaps a junk collector. He must have been passing through when his cart tipped, spilling its contents and creating the racket that had woken Jenkins.
Hearing the door creak open behind him, the man turned, a look of embarrassment on his face. While his face was surprisingly clean, his unwashed hair had a greasy sheen. His eyes were deeply sunken, a tell-tale sign of chronic hunger, yet his build wasn't completely emaciated.
He looked at Jenkins in alarm, then stammered out an explanation:
"It's fine. Take your time."
Nolan City was home to a vast population of vagrants and homeless, a problem that neither the Church nor the city council seemed able to solve. Jenkins felt a pang of sympathy for the man; he had no power to change the times they lived in. And while vagrants weren't typically allowed in neighborhoods like St. George Avenue, he had no intention of driving the man away.
Pulling his collar tighter against the morning chill, Jenkins walked to the fence and retrieved the newspaper the paperboy had shoved through the bars. It was still too early for the milkman or the postman.
A yawn escaped him as he turned to head back inside. He paused, patting his coat pocket, and his fingers closed around a one-shilling coin.
"Here. Good morning, and good luck."
He tossed the coin toward the man under the streetlamp. The man turned instinctively and caught it, staring at the silver in his palm with wide-eyed surprise. He scrambled to his feet, swept off his tattered hat, and gave Jenkins a deep bow.
"Good morning, sir. May you have a fortunate day."
It was just a small moment at the start of the day. Despite the early wake-up call, the weariness didn't linger. Jenkins hoped the scavenger's blessing would hold true and bring him a fortunate day, but his life was never one to lack the unexpected.
An hour later, over breakfast, he read the paper. An article about another homeless man freezing to death in the city cast a pall over his morning.
For the past few weeks, the headlines had been monopolized by the upcoming parliamentary elections. The actual change of power wasn't until June, but that didn't deter the press from their incessant coverage.
Particularly in the last few days, a string of salacious scandals involving several parliament members had been exposed, much to the public's excitement. Jenkins normally had no interest in such matters, but he supposed it made for some amusing breakfast reading.
In his opinion, anyone foolish enough to have an affair and get caught by the spouse had no business being a parliamentarian. After all, it demonstrated a critical lack of intelligence and discretion.
"If I were to have an affair... wait, why on earth would I have an affair?"
He felt a bit disturbed by the direction of his thoughts, completely missing the sight of Chocolate, his cat, seemingly snickering beside him.
Beyond the parliamentary gossip, an announcement about a visiting royal delegation from the Cheslan Kingdom, and a report on the closing of a fifty-year-old serial murder case, Jenkins finally spotted a blurb about the Air Protection Act on page three. It was a tiny article, just a short paragraph, which claimed the act was "proceeding smoothly."
"Proceeding smoothly?"
Jenkins glanced out the window at the gloomy street. "They call this 'proceeding smoothly'?" he muttered.
That's what the paper claimed, at least, but Jenkins doubted anyone actually believed it.
The Air Protection Act wasn't just for Nolan; it was meant to cover the entire kingdom. Yet Nolan, for a multitude of reasons, suffered from the most severe pollution of all.
Two years ago, the municipal government had issued regulations to limit factory emissions, but the toothless decree had accomplished nothing. Jenkins suspected this new national act would suffer the same fate. After all, too many powerful interests were at stake.
As he headed out, he glanced up at the slate-gray sky, reminded of the professor's theory about the fog that shrouded the city's outskirts:
"It is the culmination of mortal sin, nature's retribution, the schemes of Enchanters, and the influence of the supernatural..."
"We'll pay the price for this one day." Follow current novels on NoveI-Fire.ɴet
He murmured to himself.
Jenkins didn't have to collect any debts today, since it was the weekend and no one would be around anyway. Instead, Papa Oliver had handed him a thick tome, instructing him to read it and submit a report within two weeks. Jenkins had the distinct feeling his life was about to become "fulfilling" all over again.
At lunchtime, a street urchin delivered a letter for Papa Oliver. But the old man refused Jenkins's offer to accompany him, instead entrusting the shop to his apprentice's care.
This wasn't his first time minding the shop, and he didn't expect to run into any trouble he couldn't handle. His plan was to while away the afternoon with his book; Chocolate's plan was to while away the afternoon sleeping.
But the unexpected has a way of disrupting the plans of both man and cat, especially when all they want is a bit of peace. Around two o'clock, the door to the antique shop swung open.
"Welcome... Oh, Miss Audrey. And this is..."
It was Jenkins's astronomy teacher, and with her, a sophisticatedly dressed middle-aged woman. The woman carried herself with an air of immense nobility, like the matriarch of some ancient, storied family. But a glance at the color, size, spin, and position of her spiritual aura told Jenkins this was unmistakably the same lunatic Enchanter he'd run into before the incident at 34 De Gaulle Alley.
"Miss Audrey, are you here to see Papa Oliver? He had to step out—something about an issue at our warehouse in the docklands, I believe. Can I..."
"No, Jenkins, I'm not here for Papa Oliver. I'm here for you... as is this lady."
Audrey delivered the last part of her sentence with a tone of extreme reluctance, though the woman beside her didn't seem to take offense.
Jenkins pointed at his own chest, casting a suspicious glance at the stranger beside Audrey before giving a slow, hesitant nod.
"Very well... Please, have a seat. I'll get some tea. I believe a friend of Papa Oliver's sent some excellent tea from Shire City. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me using it for guests."