When Jenkins returned ho, Chocolate was resting quietly on his bed. He smiled, relieved, and a sudden whim struck him: what would happen if he tried to enter a cat's dream? After all, since acquiring that ability, he had only ever used it for his 'Soul Departure from Dream', neglecting its primary purpose.
"ow~"
Chocolate's ears twitched a few tis before its eyes slowly blinked open. Upon seeing Jenkins, it leaped affectionately into his arms and gently nudged its head against his arm.
"Never mind," he murmured. "Let's get so sleep."
He sighed, cuddling the cat as he drifted off to sleep.
He slept soundly until ten the next morning.
With nothing scheduled for the day, Jenkins leisurely retrieved the newspaper from his doorstep in his pajamas and slippers. He then prepared breakfast for himself and the cat before finally sitting down.
Thanks to the 5,000 gold pounds he'd received from the Church as compensation, he could, just barely, be considered a wealthy man now. He planned to visit the black market today; after all, gold pounds were worthless if they weren't spent.
Perhaps he could make an anonymous donation to the Church. He'd heard they were still tallying the casualties from the Shire City train accident. The railway company had suffered imnse losses, but in an age without insurance, the families who had lost their breadwinners were in a far more tragic situation.
The air outside was as foul as ever. When he stepped out to the mailbox, the carriages on St. George Street seed to be completely enveloped in smog.
The recent strikes and riots had brought about so changes to the city, but in the end, things had mostly reverted to how they were before.
The sacrifices had not been entirely in vain, however. The newspaper announced that the 'Air Quality Monitoring and Protection Act' had passed its final parliantary review and was expected to be officially implented kingdom-wide by the end of the year.
In that sense, those dreadful cultists had actually done so good—or at least, he could temporarily think so until he learned of their true intentions.
The professor and Papa Oliver probably wouldn't be done with the shield until evening, so Jenkins planned to stop by the antique shop later in the day.
"Due to pirate sightings off the coast of Nolan City, the Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe has postponed its departure and is expected to extend its stay in the city..."
Jenkins murmured the headline to himself, guessing that the appearance of the notorious Pirate King, Femishue the Destroyer, had prompted the municipal authorities to issue a warning for all seafaring vessels. The Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe had originally planned to travel by sea to Eldron, the City of a Thousand Trees, but it seed they would be delayed for a while.
"I'll head to the Church this afternoon," he mused. "First, a visit to the Bishop, then I'll ask Captain Bincy about the Gear Germs incident."
He thought to himself leisurely as he continued to read the paper.
Chocolate, having already lapped up all the milk in its bowl, was now staring thoughtfully at the glass in front of Jenkins.
"Chocolate, eating too much isn't good for you."
Jenkins, keenly sensing the cat's intentions, leaned down and lifted it onto the table. The tiny creature hardly took up any space at all.
"You'll have to grow up faster," he teased. "Then you can eat as much as you want."
He gently stroked the cat's fur, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
Chocolate was the closest living being to him now, even more so than Papa Oliver. After all, a cat couldn't spill his secrets.
"Show a different color!"
He whispered the command, and seeing the cat turn its head toward his milk, he pushed the glass over.
"ow~"
With a soft, kittenish cry, Chocolate's black and white fur swiftly turned a solid white. It imdiately nudged Jenkins's hand with its nose, urging him to pour out the milk. ŔÀꞐȫᛒƐS
Ever since drinking that potion concocted by Old Jack, Chocolate's intelligence had been advancing by leaps and bounds. The special ability that ca with it was the power to freely change its fur color. This would be incredibly useful; in the future, if he needed Chocolate's help with certain tasks, there would be no fear of it being recognized.
"I can't use the black cat form anymore; too many people saw a black cat traveling with the Saint that day. As for the white cat... I'll call it Vanilla. Compared to Chocolate, which gives a first impression of being 'dark' and 'hard', the soft, fragrant 'Vanilla' is a much more suitable na for a female cat."
Muttering these mischievous words, Jenkins wiped his mouth with a napkin from the corner of the table, went to the washroom to freshen up, and then returned to his newspaper.
"The steam pipe renovation project in the Sabine District is proceeding in an orderly fashion. It is reported that during construction, workers unearthed several heavily corroded human skeletons. The Nolan Police Departnt is currently investigating the matter with the help of several eager consultants. Further details to follow..."
These so-called consultants were figures like private detectives who assisted the police with their cases. Soone like Sherlock Hols from his previous world, for example, would be called a police consultant here.
Papa Oliver also held the title of consultant for the police. As an expert in antique appraisal, he was sotis invited to assess the value of confiscated goods or to identify the origins of certain cultists based on their ritual implents.
But Jenkins suspected the investigation into the heavily corroded bones would lead nowhere. After the octopus incident a few months ago, both the police and the Church had beco extrely sensitive to missing persons reports. However, aside from the usual average and those who died due to Mysterious Objects, there had been no large-scale, malicious disappearance cases in the city for the past six months. The skeletons, therefore, likely dated back a very long ti.
In an age that didn't even have fingerprint identification, solving such a case would be more difficult than teaching Chocolate how to speak.
Turning his head to the window, he saw his neighbor, the widow Mrs. Margaret, hailing a carriage from the street corner. She gave the driver an instruction, and the carriage slowly headed east.
Her attire seed a bit too heavy for the day. Even though it was October, the temperature surely hadn't dropped enough to warrant a fox-fur shawl.
"What's it to ?"
Shaking his head, Jenkins gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"The annual dredging of the Westminster River is now underway. Citizens are advised to avoid the bridges in the following districts..."
"Good thing I moved," he mused. "Otherwise, I'd have to take a detour just to get to the antique shop."
Nolan City was a coastal tropolis with well-developed transportation by both land and water. More than a few rivers wound through its urban sprawl, but the most famous and vital among them was the Westminster River. It served not only as the city's primary source of fresh water but also as a crucial starting point for the kingdom's inland shipping routes.
Every sumr, travelers from all across the kingdom delighted in taking in the views of the city from the banks of the Westminster while also enjoying Nolan's seaside vistas.
On sumr nights, the smog that perpetually shrouded the city would recede to its lowest point of the year, and watching the bustling city gradually quiet down from the riverbank was an imnsely enjoyable experience.
At least, that was the version printed in the newspapers by the Nolan City Hall to promote tourism and attract sumr visitors. The actual citizens of Nolan, however, were not in the habit of strolling about at night—especially not along the dangerous riverbanks.
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