Jenkins had hoped to close a deal while minding the shop, just so he could boast about it when Papa Oliver returned, but no one gave him the chance.
He spent the rest of the afternoon reading and playing with his cat. He managed to get through a little less than half of *A Naturalist's Guide: Common Dangerous Plants*, and Chocolate seemed perfectly content with the pleasant afternoon. That, it seemed, was the sum of his afternoon's accomplishments.
Papa Oliver didn't return until nearly five in the afternoon. He had trudged through the dense fog, and as he passed, Jenkins's keen sense of smell caught the distinct, smoky scent characteristic of Nolan's air.
"What rotten luck! That damned Morzac—I hope I never lay eyes on him again!"
Papa Oliver started complaining the moment he pushed through the door, not even giving Jenkins a chance to mention what had happened that afternoon. His curiosity piqued, Jenkins couldn't help but ask as he took the old man's hat:
"What is it? What happened, Papa?"
"Some mob boss in the Docklands went berserk, forcing his way into every warehouse in East Dock Three. He nearly smashed our warehouse door in!"
He slammed his hand on the table as he spoke, then quickly schooled his features, placing the stinging hand behind his back and giving it a shake.
"That damned bastard. I knew he'd cause trouble sooner or later. Ever since Morzac Jr. tossed his old man into the sea, I just knew it!"
"What sent him over the edge?"
Jenkins asked, turning to hand Papa a towel. At the same time, he nudged Chocolate away, stopping the cat from rubbing its tail against his book.
"He lost a large shipment of smuggled arms."
Papa Oliver said furiously, grabbing his cup and taking a long swig. Jenkins instantly decided not to comment further. It seemed he might actually have something to do with this.
"Morzac's previous 'boss' was... dealt with by the Church over that vampire business. A man in his position can't survive long without the backing of some noble or official. Rumor has it he managed to latch onto a powerful aristocrat from Bel Diran. This arms deal was supposed to be his pledge of loyalty, but it all went sideways..."
He snorted, then wiped his hands with the damp towel.
"So what happened this afternoon is hardly surprising. If he can't get that shipment back, I'd say his entire family is as good as dead."
"Yes, that does seem to be the case,"
Jenkins answered vaguely. Papa Oliver seemed to find his response odd, but he didn't connect the incident to him.
The unfortunate Mr. Morzac had already been shot dead by officers from Carlfax Yard before Papa Oliver even got back. The interests and secrets of the Docklands were tied to most of the city's elite. Since Morzac had stopped playing by the rules, it was only natural that someone would step in to handle him.
One could imagine that in the period before the sea ice thawed, the Docklands would see no shortage of turmoil; even gunfights were a distinct possibility. The chaos would likely continue until a new boss emerged or a major reshuffle took place. Of course, none of this would affect Jenkins's life... probably. Googlᴇ search novｅlfire.net
After venting about his day, Papa Oliver asked if there had been any customers, and his eyes quickly fell on the suitcase behind the counter.
Jenkins grudgingly recounted the afternoon's events, and Papa Oliver paused when he heard the surname "Broniaons."
"No, that's not a surname. Diviners never reveal their true names... It sounds like... Never mind. Keep going."
His expression grew strange as he listened to Jenkins tell Robert's story from thirty years ago, and he remained silent throughout. Papa Oliver had also lived through the plague three decades prior, so he knew a great deal about that bizarre epidemic. He had assumed Jenkins's awakening bloodline was a mutation unique to his generation; he'd never expected there to have been signs of it in the Williams family a generation before.
"Papa? Papa, what are you thinking about? Is something wrong?"
Jenkins gave him a light tap on the arm when he saw he was lost in thought.
"It's nothing. Go on."
Finally, Jenkins got to the contents of the suitcase and Robert's request, a matter that was causing him a great deal of vexation.
"But what's the big deal? You're just inviting a young lady over for dinner. I doubt either Miss Hersha or Miss Mikhail would refuse."
Papa Oliver's reaction was remarkably nonchalant. "And Robert is right. At your age, it's high time you started considering such matters."
"I can, however, help you with this."
Jenkins shot up straight from behind the counter.
Papa Oliver nodded, setting down his cup. "I know many fine jewelers. The quality of this raw stone is quite good; it would be a shame to waste it."
He even patted the stone as he spoke, completely ignoring the look on Jenkins's face.
Even if Papa Oliver's words felt like rubbing salt in the wound, Jenkins had no choice but to accept the well-intentioned offer. No matter how reluctant he was, he had to carry out the "directive" from Robert and Mary. It was a duty that came with this body.
After giving Jenkins the jeweler's card, Papa Oliver shooed him out of the shop, telling him not to stand around being an eyesore. He seemed to think Jenkins now had more important things to attend to.
But in fact, Jenkins had nothing to do. He would be busy tomorrow, however; he had to give a speech at the church in the morning, a truly arduous task.
"Chocolate, what should we have for dinner?"
His family's maid, Mrs. Mahat, had the day off, and Jenkins was too lazy to cook, so he decided to eat out.
He had planned on inviting Papa Oliver to dinner, but after their conversation, he couldn't possibly share a meal with him now. The old man would undoubtedly spend the entire time dropping hints from every possible angle, urging him to hurry up and resolve his little predicament.
The fog was still just as dense, and combined with the gloomy weather, the entire city seemed to be shrouded in a gray haze. The streets were nearly empty. Jenkins hunched his shoulders, pulling his neck into his collar as he walked close to the buildings.
The front of his overcoat bulged, a clear sign that Chocolate was tucked away inside. But it was still winter, so passersby would simply assume he was wearing extra layers against the chill; few would ever suspect he was hiding a small animal in there.
It wasn't so much a question for Chocolate as it was Jenkins thinking aloud. He desperately wanted to find a quiet place to sit and carefully consider how he was going to face the catastrophe looming at the end of the month.