This was the first ti he'd handled a transaction on his own at Pops Antique Shop. Success was worth celebrating, while failure would just be a lesson learned. He didn't need to take the man's life; Jenkins wasn't that vicious. Using the [Disease Curse] to strike the swindler with a severe illness would be punishnt enough.
No sooner had the middle-aged man left than a young boy walked in, head ducked low. He didn't look very old, with no hint of a whisker on his chin, and his hair looked as though it had been trimd by a gardener with a terrible sense of style. He wore a patched, short-sleeved, button-up shirt.
"Hello, sir!"
He stepped cautiously into the antique shop and placed his tightly clenched right fist on the counter. When he opened it, a pretty button lay in his sweaty palm.
"Sir, I was wondering about this... ah!"
He yelped, pulling his hand back and crouching down to pick up a small cloth pouch from the floor.
Chocolate watched the scene unfold with great interest, its eyes half-closed.
The boy glanced at the pouch, then back at Jenkins, as if to confirm it didn't belong to the shop, before unwrapping it right in front of him.
Tucked securely inside was a jeweled hair ornant that glittered in the sunlight streaming into the shop. A single glance was enough to tell that the item was incredibly valuable.
"Sir, is this yours?"
he asked, feigning innocence.
"No, it's not mine."
Jenkins replied, his hand reaching for sothing under the counter. The whole scene felt vaguely familiar.
"Well, since it isn't yours, maybe... maybe we could..."
He swallowed hard, staring at the jeweled ornant, then looked at Jenkins with wide, unblinking eyes.
Jenkins leaned his whole body against the counter, utterly amazed that even after transmigrating, he could still encounter such a clumsy scam. To soone like Jenkins, who was a master of performance himself, the boy's acting was laughably bad.
"A middle-aged gentleman was just in here a mont ago," Jenkins said, smiling at the boy. "He ntioned he was catching a train out of Nolan and had no plans of ever returning." He was simply repeating the words the man had "unconsciously" let slip.
"So..."
"So, sir, why don't we sell it and split the gold pounds! I swear to the gods, I won't tell the owner of this shop. Sir, you're just an employee here, so we... I know it's not exactly moral, but since this thing fell into our laps, it must be a gift from the gods!"
"How do you know I'm not the owner?"
"Doesn't the sign say this shop belongs to a Mr. Oliver?"
"Oh, so you can read!"
Jenkins nodded in understanding. "That's quite impressive, especially for soone dressed like you. But being literate is a good thing."
He continued, "And now you're going to suggest that, since we're already in an antique shop, I should appraise it? That you trust completely, so whatever price I set, you'll be happy with just half the money?"
The boy laughed awkwardly. "You make a very good point, sir."
Jenkins nodded, then whipped his right hand out from under the table. A slender hunting knife flew out, grazing the boy's hair and spinning once above his head.
"Get out!"
"Sir..."
"Get out! Trying to pull a fast one on ? The patrols from the Docklands pass by here every half hour. If you don't want to end up in jail, stop wasting my ti."
"Sir, you're trying to take it all for yourself..."
The boy was dumbfounded.
"Let guess how this was supposed to play out. There are a few possible endings. First, this is a fake. You did your research and found out I'm just an apprentice who's been learning about antiques for less than two months. So you had the man co in first to sell the bookmark, creating the illusion that he carries valuable things. Then you show up. Since the whole deal is shady, I'd rush the appraisal, think the gems are real, and no matter what price I na, you'd make a profit.
A second possibility: it's real. After we split the money, you'd leave imdiately. Then the man from before would return, demanding his lost property. To avoid losing my job and to protect the shop's reputation, I'd have no choice but to take the loss myself.
A third..."
Before Jenkins could finish, the boy had already scrambled out of the shop.
Shaking his head, he stood up, walked around the counter, and rolled up his sleeves to pick up the lock of hair his knife had just sliced off.
"What an ancient scam," he mused. "Did they really think I'd be an easy mark just because I look young..."
Jenkins sighed, carefully bagging the hairs from the man and the boy separately. Then he picked up the hair ornant and examined it.
"Just as I thought. I can't tell if this is real or fake."
Jenkins had never been the type to expect miracles to fall from the sky, and besides, the whole routine was far too familiar. The first man's acting had been passable, but the little boy had been a bit too nervous.
When Papa Oliver returned, Jenkins told him what had happened, even projecting the images of the two culprits onto the [Book of mories] for the old man to identify.
Papa Oliver burst out laughing. "Jenkins, I've noticed that as long as ladies aren't involved, your wits are always at their sharpest. I run into little tricks like this once or twice a year, so there's no need to panic. I must say, though, I'm quite interested in those follow-up scenarios you described."
That evening, after bidding farewell to Papa Oliver, Jenkins had a quick dinner, left Chocolate at ho, and used his black robe to create a disguise—a young man in a shirt. Carrying the slender sword concealed within his cane, he headed out.
Having missed Mr. Hood's last gathering, it had been a long ti since Jenkins had seen the others. The first Enchanter he'd t after transmigrating was the late Mr. Barnard; the mbers of this group were the next.
"I hope everyone is safe," he prayed silently.
The location for this eting was rather unexpected: the deck of a large cargo ship docked at a remote pier in the harbor.
The ship, nad the "Victory Maria," belonged to a wealthy rchant who led his fleet through Nolan City twice a year, selling rare foreign goods to local traders.
Unfortunately, the rchant had been arrested last month by the Nolan City Police on suspicion of smuggling. Though he was now safely out on bail, he was forbidden from leaving the city limits.
The rchant's other ships had already departed—business, after all, had to go on. Only this empty vessel remained behind with him, as it was in need of repairs. Normally, aside from the watchman who lived on board, no one ever ca near it.
This wasn't because they trusted the city's security, but because the ship was completely empty, and sailing away with it would be no simple feat.
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