As I stepped out of the shop, thrilled, my mind was already racing, plotting when to pluck a hair from the unicorn. Chocolate, however, was growing impatient. It detested being surrounded by so many other cats—a classic case of like repels like, I suppose.
In any case, having reverted to his Jenkins persona and with nothing else on the agenda for the day, he intended to go home and read. But the moment he emerged from the alley, he found himself face to face with Briny alighting from a carriage.
Winter was drawing to a close, and the young women were beginning to shed their heavy layers. Bulky winter coats could hardly do justice to a woman's beauty, and the emerging fashion for early spring seemed to be dresses with delicate, cutout butterfly patterns along the hem.
Jenkins's heart hammered in his chest, a wild, uncontrolled rhythm that only subsided when he saw that Hathaway wasn't with her. Only then did he let out a long sigh of relief.
"Hey, Jenkins! What are you doing coming out of an alley?" ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel(ꜰ)ire.net
The alley Jenkins used to change identities was a dead end; a brick wall blocked the path just a short walk in. Normally, no one would have any reason to go there.
"Chocolate just ran off. I was looking for it."
He lied without a second thought.
Though not particularly pleased, the cat played along with a cooperative meow.
"Chocolate's been a bit listless lately, so I brought it to see a doctor. But this clinic requires an appointment, so I guess I'll have to come back another day."
He gave the cat in his arms a discreet poke, and it reluctantly produced what could pass for a sickly cry. Briny bought it immediately; the cat's performance was as flawless as its master's.
Briny was out today raising funds for food for the stray animals at the City Pet Management Center on the outskirts of town. A few of her friends were in the carriage helping, but Hathaway was conspicuously absent.
Apparently, Hathaway was ill and hadn't left her house in days.
"What kind of illness? Did she catch the flu that's going around, or the plague they're talking about in the papers?"
Jenkins immediately put on a look of concern, wondering if he ought to go and treat her later.
"No, it's nothing serious. She'll be fine in a few days."
Briny's cheeks flushed slightly, and her words were vague.
"Oh, gods, what is it then?"
Jenkins was still asking when he heard the girls in the carriage start to giggle. He paused for a second, then understanding dawned. He mumbled a quick goodbye to Briny and left the street as if escaping.
The thought was still burning in his mind as his carriage neared his home. But just as they were about to reach St. George Avenue, he had the driver turn toward another district.
It was nearing noon, and he needed to find a place for lunch. But as he considered it, he realized that most of his recent misfortunes seemed to begin with the thought, "I need to find a restaurant." With this epiphany, he had the driver drop him right at a restaurant's entrance, a decision that cost him a five-pence fine for illegal parking, paid to a patrolling constable.
Jenkins watched as the officer turned away and slipped the money into his own coat pocket.
The restaurant was conveniently located between Pops Antique Shop and St. George Avenue, so Jenkins was a regular. Sometimes, Pops would even send him to pick up takeout for their lunch.
As soon as he entered, a familiar waiter led him to his usual table. Before even taking his order, the waiter brought out a separate bowl for Chocolate. This was one of the reasons Jenkins liked the place so much—they always remembered their regulars' preferences.
He was halfway through his meal, head bent over his plate, when someone unexpectedly took the seat opposite him. He looked up to find Professor Burns.
"Oh, Professor. Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Viscount Williamette."
He had clearly heard from the church about Jenkins's impending peerage and was teasing him about it.
Although it was a weekday, the professor happened to be free of classes and was running errands in the area, which was why he'd stopped in. He was an apprentice Keeper of Secrets, a role quite different from a field agent like Jenkins, so he wasn't required to abandon his day job and await orders at the church.
They chatted about many things as they ate. The professor had only heard yesterday about the suspected attack on Pops Antique Shop by the Believers of Lies. He'd noticed the brand-new windowpane when he passed the shop earlier, and now he asked with genuine concern if Jenkins or Pops had been injured.
As for the Living Corpse Gem that had shattered the window, the professor's opinion mirrored Jenkins's own. He seemed to have done extensive research on abilities like "Sacrificial Decoy" and knew exactly what sort of core they required.
"It seems the legends are true, then. A-12-1-0044, the Skull Sword of the Departed Soul, can actively impart knowledge to its wielder and even raise a Benefactor's level."
"That weapon is terrifyingly powerful. The abilities it's shown so far already surpass any Mysterious Object I've ever known."
Jenkins couldn't help but exclaim.
"Of course it does. That sword's history is far longer than you can imagine."
At this, the professor glanced around conspiratorially, then leaned in close and whispered in Jenkins's ear:
"According to inscriptions found on ancient stone tablets, its creation dates back to at least the 5th Epoch—an age when civilization was still in its infancy. Time itself can imbue the mundane with power. Even a simple stone, if it survived from that era to this day, would possess transcendent abilities."
He then sat back, watching with satisfaction as astonishment dawned on Jenkins's face.
"In other words, in this day and age, there's almost no weapon that can stand against it."
The professor affirmed with a decisive nod:
"You can't possibly imagine that sword's true power. I heard its current wielder is just a low-level Benefactor? That must be it. The user's own weakness is limiting the sword's potential. Otherwise, a catastrophe would have already occurred."
Jenkins was speechless, his mouth agape. Every plan he'd formulated had been based on defeating the sword in a direct confrontation. But now, it seemed that until he found another drop of divinity, his plans were in serious trouble.
"Looks like I need to get to Shire City as soon as possible."
The professor had been sipping his soup and hadn't heard Jenkins muttering to himself.
"Oh, I was just telling Chocolate to keep its paws to itself."
"Speaking of cats," the professor said, leaning in again, "I heard... you turned into a mouse yesterday?"
This time, Jenkins genuinely looked down at Chocolate, suddenly recalling that his plan for a cake-smeared face had yet to be executed. The cat, which had been peacefully eating, looked up alertly, just in time to catch the malicious glint in Jenkins's eyes.
Though it didn't know what was going on, the cat let out a questioning meow.