"That's what my information says about these little things."
Hathaway nodded. But the wooden puppets, now freed, didn't leave right away.
The five soldiers found a space amidst the clutter on the shop floor and formed a line. They first shot a glare at Jenkins and his cat, then collectively removed their hats in a salute to Hathaway.
"Thank you, beautiful lady, for rescuing us," the lead officer declared. "You have earned the friendship of the Charlotte Legion."
As he spoke, he pulled a tiny object, no bigger than a sesame seed, from his pocket.
"Please, accept this small gift. I hope you have a pleasant day."
Without waiting for Hathaway to refuse, they formed a single file and marched away, straight into the air. Though their feet trod on nothing but air, Jenkins could still hear the crisp, rhythmic stomp of their boots on an unseen floor.
With each step, the soldiers' figures grew fainter until they vanished completely.
"It's alright, if Chocolate likes it..."
Hathaway offered generously.
"No way. I can't let him near something so small. It would be a disaster if he swallowed it."
Jenkins remained firm with his cat. Chocolate squirmed unhappily in his arms but didn't try to lunge for it again.
Hathaway put the tiny bottle away, planning to study it later. But they now faced a new problem: the five missing puppets would surely arouse the old artisan's suspicion.
The puppets weren't valuable, but finding exact replacements on short notice would be difficult. Just as Hathaway was starting to worry, she saw Jenkins open his palm.
Thin black lines appeared above his palm, stretching and intertwining, sketching a rough shape in mere seconds. As Jenkins's brow furrowed in concentration, an unseen hand seemed to refine the lines, making them more detailed and solid. Then, slowly, color began to fill the empty spaces between the black outlines.
In less than thirty seconds, the first puppet materialized in Jenkins's hand. He tossed it lightly, as if testing its weight, then casually placed it on a nearby table.
The red-haired young woman froze, momentarily unable to process what she had just witnessed.
"Is that... creation from the void?"
Hathaway's mind inexplicably flashed to rumors of the incident with the demon. Some were convinced that the new god who appeared then had used this very power—creation from the void. That wasn't entirely shocking; after all, creating matter was said to be the sole domain of gods. But now...
Jenkins was still focused on recalling the exact details of the little soldiers. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he used his Creation Pencil, along with his Book of Memories and the aid of Psychography, to reconstruct the puppets.
"Creation from the void? No, no, no, I don't have that kind of power. This is just... Psychography. Yes, you've heard of the Inherited Sage Church's divine art, haven't you? While I'm not one of their Scribes, there are other ways to learn it. That's all this is—Psychography combined with a few of my other unique abilities to form a chain effect, something that looks like creating matter."
Such a half-truth was usually effective. And sure enough, though Hathaway still eyed his hands with suspicion, she didn't press the matter.
The appearance of B-09-4-3927 was just a minor incident. The more pressing matter for Jenkins was still figuring out who his dance partner for the afternoon would be. As he continued to reconstruct the puppets, he glanced sideways at the red-haired young woman, cleared his throat, and prepared to speak.
He hadn't even gotten the first word out before the shop door creaked open behind him again. This time, it was Briny. Jenkins had to suppress a laugh. It was as if fate itself was having a bit of fun at his expense.
"Oh, Jenkins! Hathaway!"
The blonde young woman hadn't expected to find both of them here. Just then, the old artisan returned from the back of the shop.
The narrow shop was suddenly crowded with four people and one cat. Even with Chocolate perched atop a plaster statue's head, the space felt incredibly cramped.
Playing the part of the gentleman, Jenkins took his suitcase and stepped outside to wait, leaving Hathaway and Briny to their business.
The shop was located in an exceptionally narrow alley, one impossible for any carriage to navigate. Jenkins stood under the eaves, holding his cat, and watched the distant fog for a moment. He debated whether he should take a stroll around the block and come back later.
Just as he was pondering this, the blonde young woman pushed the door open and greeted him from the threshold.
"Oh, Briny. Are you finished?"
He said, readjusting his grip on the cat. Chocolate had started to slip, and he had to hoist him back up.
"Not yet. Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm also here to pick up some jewelry. For the ball this afternoon..."
She smoothed her hair, a gesture that made the purpose of the jewelry perfectly clear.
"It's such a coincidence running into you here. Why don't we all get lunch together afterward, and then head to the ball? Do you still need to see Papa Oliver?"
"No, Papa gave me the day off."
Jenkins shook his head and sniffed. It wasn't the flu; the city air just had a particularly foul smell today.
"I think you'll enjoy the ball. It's really quite fun."
She looked into his eyes with a smile, and for some reason, his mind drifted back to that last night on the train, to a vision of pale skin under the moonlight...
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Jenkins's arms had sagged again, and Chocolate nearly tumbled to the ground. The cat let out a cry of extreme displeasure.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll enjoy this afternoon... I wanted to ask you something."
He finally worked up the nerve to ask the question—it certainly wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.
"Who, may I ask, is my dance partner...? Oh, I mean, one always needs a partner for a ball..."
He regretted the question halfway through but knew it was too late to stop now.
"Your dance partner?"
Briny first gave him a gentle look, her hands clasped behind her back. Then, she suddenly lowered her gaze, as if she'd found something fascinating about the ground in front of the shop.
"Your dance partner, of course, is me."