His mind still on what lay beneath the town, Jenkins left his room again, waking the old bishop in the dead of night. Bleary-eyed and drowsy, the old man listened to Jenkins's questions about an ancient subterranean complex. He stared blankly for a long mont before his senses returned, then shook his head decisively.
"There's nothing under Black Town. Nothing at all," he asserted. "Years ago, a professor ca from the university, claid there might be coal here. The townsfolk nearly tore the whole place apart looking for it. If there was anything down there, they would have found it back then."
Furthermore, the town records held no ntion of any such underground structures. The old bishop concluded that Jenkins must be muddled from sleep, mistaking a dream for reality. He urged him to return to his room and rest, pointing out that dawn was still a good four hours away.
"Could it be," Jenkins wondered, "that in the tens of thousands of years that have passed, soone completely dismantled that bizarre underground complex? Or perhaps it never existed in the physical world at all, but is so kind of subspace that only occasionally connects with Black Town?"
The last story had brought Jenkins no pleasure. Two heavy tales in a row had soured his mood considerably. Combined with Chocolate's strange behavior earlier, he felt as if he'd wasted a whole night's sleep for absolutely nothing.
Still, with only three stories left in the book, he decided he might as well read them before deciding what to do next.
The eleventh story, "The Talking Lion," was set in an even more distant past—so far back that it was filled with descriptions of various non-human peoples. This was an age before their decline, an era when humanity was not yet the dominant force on the planet. All races were growing, warring, cooperating, and thriving.
The only constants were the gloomy sky over the remote country town and the ancient forest beyond its borders, which seed to have stood since the dawn of ti. Even the surrounding landscape had quietly transford through the eons, yet the town remained, still called Black Town, and still just as unremarkable.
It was winter once more. Jenkins entered the town, his boots crunching in the snow. A group of human children, playing in a drift, kindly pointed him toward the local inn.
In this era, the Black Town inn was run by a very old dwarven matron. She took one look at Jenkins, who hadn't bothered to conceal his features, and imdiately spotted his elven blood. She declared that her establishnt didn't welco "pointy-ears," but seeing as he was a half-breed, she'd allow him to stay—for a thirty percent surcharge.
Jenkins didn't mind. He had no money anyway; he was paying for the room with pebbles he'd picked up off the ground.
Compared to the maddening versions he had visited before, this town was larger and more prosperous. A diverse array of races lived together in relative harmony, maintaining a delicate balance. The level of civilization was akin to what Jenkins understood as a traditional fantasy world—an age of brilliant magic and roving adventurers.
Jenkins spent a day wandering through town and was surprised to find no elves. After making a few inquiries, he learned that the local elves belonged to a single, unified clan. They lived deep within the forest and only ca into town for festivals.
On the evening of his arrival, a circus caravan rolled in from a distant city. The townsfolk chattered about it excitedly, hoping the troupe would stay for a few days and liven up the dreary winter.
It wasn't just an animal show; the circus was a massive affair. Once the perforrs had unloaded their equipnt and pitched their tents, they occupied nearly the entire town square. The lively discussion among the people brought a welco dose of cheer and warmth to the cold winter.
The square was the main stage for this story's events, so Jenkins naturally went to join the festivities. A smile on his face, he moved through the crowd just like any other townsman, weaving between tents of all sizes, admiring the curious wares and watching the entertaining shows.
Eventually, he ducked into the fortune-teller's tent, eager to confirm if the reality of this place matched the narrative in the book.
The fortune-teller was a halfling, or so similar diminutive race. As Jenkins took a seat, he found himself wondering if Alexia was pure human. Perhaps her petite fra was a matter of bloodline. He then imdiately realized that voicing such a theory to Alexia would likely cost him a lover.
"Oh, a rare visitor. A half-elf."
The halfling behind the table chirped in a reedy voice, putting down the All-Seeing Card of Apocalypse he was holding and placing a crystal ball in the center of the table.
"What is it you wish to know? Love? Your career? Family? Fortune?"
"Are your divinations accurate?"
"Of course not. If my predictions were always accurate, why would I still be stuck in a circus?"
the halfling asked mockingly.
Jenkins nodded, thinking he had a point, and then said:
"I have no money."
"No money is fine. We can just call it a chat. If I go the whole day without a single custor, the ringmaster gets angry."
He then repeated his question, asking what Jenkins wanted to have divined.
Jenkins was now fairly certain that events were unfolding just as the story described. This ant that if he could eliminate the source of the coming disaster within the circus, he could prevent the final tragedy. But first, he needed to win the trust of the halfling before him. Of everyone in the circus, this little man was the most powerful Benefactor.
"My career."
Jenkins said.
The halfling nodded and squinted at his crystal ball.
"You're going to be a king."
"That's a bit hasty, isn't it? You could at least pretend to chant so gibberish before giving the result. It feels a little dishonest to be so perfunctory."
"You didn't pay . Why should I put in the effort?"
The halfling answered while filing his nails, then glanced up at the crystal ball again and added:
"Well, not necessarily a king. I just saw you sitting on a throne... Damn it, did I get that wrong? How could you be a king?"
He seed to have just caught the weight of his own words. He drumd his slender fingers on the tabletop, his gaze fixed on Jenkins with a newfound interest.
"How fascinating! It's been a long ti since I've foreseen sothing like this. Let's continue. What else do you want to know? I promise I'll give you a proper reading this ti."
The halfling's enthusiasm was practically bubbling over. He rubbed his hands together eagerly, waiting for Jenkins to speak. Jenkins suspected the little man was prone to fabricating sensational tales, but he needed to engage with him to earn his trust.
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