The woman standing in the mist sounded apologetic, seemingly embarrassed that she couldn’t give him an imdiate answer.
Jenkins, who was kneeling before the tree to prepare the ritual, quickly replied,
“There’s no rush. The Joint Conference of the Twelve Orthodox Churches is still in preparation and won’t begin until next Saturday at the earliest. Our negotiations with the Church won’t start before the middle of next month...”
He paused for a mont, the thought crossing his mind that in late next month, it would be the one-year anniversary of his arrival in this world. Looking back, the year had been truly difficult, but it had also been fulfilling and interesting.
“You even know the date of the Orthodox Church’s conference? It seems you’ve prepared quite well,”
Magic Miss remarked with a light laugh.
“Of course. After all, this could be considered the most important event since the ergence of what people perceive as the new sect of the God of Lies.”
As he spoke, Jenkins rose to his feet, took a small paper packet from his pocket, and sprinkled the gold powder within onto the ground. A gentle breeze, typical of the floating lawns, drifted through the fog-filled cetery, yet the trajectory of the falling powder remained completely unaffected by the wind.
“This is sothing you must consider carefully. Although I believe supporting is the right choice, the decision is ultimately yours to make... Do you have other plans for today?”
he asked suddenly.
Magic Miss thought for a mont.
“I was planning to get my hair done, but I suppose tomorrow would be fine as well.”
“Then why not join today? Are you aware of the recent deaths of the royal heirs? I am... investigating the matter at the invitation of the Williattes. It will certainly be interesting. And, I can offer you paynt.”
After a mont of consideration, Magic Miss agreed. However, she noted that she was currently employed by Miss Windsor, which she considered to be in service of the Williattes, and therefore required no additional compensation.
She was, however, quite intrigued by the ritual Jenkins was setting up. After he had inscribed the Ritter script, he had now carved ancient elven runes onto the tree trunk, which was surrounded by the seven disgusting “offerings.”
“I thought this was a sacrificial ritual, but now it seems more related to hunting. Do you understand elven mysticism?”
“Yes, a very remarkable elder has recently taught a great deal.”
He was referring to the old elf.
“How fortunate. In our era, even the stories of elves have all but vanished.”
The ritual Jenkins was now arranging was an ancient one for Hunting and Tracking, a purely elven mystery and one of the basic rites the old elf had taught him. In the elder’s youth, this ritual was still common. Rangers in the forests would occasionally encounter creatures from the “outside” hiding within the vast woods, and they would need to track them. The most fundantal thod was to use the corpses of animals killed by these “foreign objects” during feeding to perform the Hunting and Tracking.
According to the old elf, contemporary elves rarely used this ritual anymore. But that didn’t an it was ineffective. On the contrary, precisely because of its antiquity and fundantal nature, most counterasures against divination, prophecy, and tracking had little to no effect on it.
Seeing that Jenkins didn’t mind her presence, Magic Miss watched with great interest as the unfamiliar ritual was set up and perford. The core of the ritual array was the vibrant tree. As the ceremony began, a pale green light emanated from the tree and cascaded to the ground, illuminating every rune on the trunk and the earth.
The gold powder clung to the runes as the seven sets of “remains” from the different victims were drawn into the ritual’s sphere of influence. Watching Mr. Candle stand outside the array, softly chanting in ancient Elvish, there was a fleeting mont when Magic Miss felt she was not in a cetery, but in a truly vast forest.
She was certain this was no illusion, but a “truth” beyond the material world captured by her powerful spiritual senses. Coupled with the recent rumors she’d heard about things like the World Tree, her suspicions about Mr. Candle’s identity grew ever more certain.
Soon, as the ritual’s glow receded, the seven sets of remains from the different victims converged, forming a dark red sphere of mixed teeth and fleshy clumps. Jenkins, wearing gloves, picked it up. It felt damp, slick, and soft. He then called for Magic Miss to help him erase the runes from the trunk and the ground; they were ready to depart.
“Why is this ritual so...”
Magic Miss looked at the ball of flesh with so concern.
“Is it really an elven ritual?”
Judging by the results alone, it truly resembled a sacrificial summoning rite from so dark cult.
“You don’t actually believe elves are completely benevolent creatures, do you? While elven ruins and certain historical records might portray them that way, it’s only because the elves were very careful to erase any unfavorable accounts and histories before they left the material world. Add to that the passage of ti and the descriptions of human writers, and it’s easy to imagine them as nothing more than vegetarian rabbits...”
Jenkins explained, then squeezed the ball of flesh in his hand. It imdiately began to glow with a blood-red light from its center, as if a luminous fetus were gestating inside. This, of course, was just an illusion; it was rely a ritual tool for finding the “murderer.”
Although the seven victims might not have been killed by the sa person, the elven ritual of Hunting and Tracking didn’t trace a specific individual, but rather the “creature that caused the death.” This simplified things for Jenkins, as he would likely be able to catch the final suspect all at once.
After climbing over the cetery fence with Magic Miss, the two chatted idly as they followed the direction indicated by the ball of flesh in Jenkins’s hand, heading toward the city. Jenkins ntioned his encounter with Mr. Hood in the Evergreen Forest a few days prior. Magic Miss even expressed concern about whether Mr. Hood’s arm had been “repaired,” using a word other than “healed,” which clearly indicated she knew the truth about it.
Although he had seen Mr. Hood’s face, Jenkins didn’t know where he lived, only that he was a well-known rchant, so he was unaware of what happened that day. Magic Miss, however, was familiar with Mr. Hood’s ordinary identity and suggested that if they could resolve their current business quickly, they could visit him in the evening. She was sure he would be delighted.
And so, the two of them and a cat strolled through the smog-shrouded Saturday morning, taking in the silhouette of the street corners of one of the largest cities of the era. They passed through an alley piled high with discarded tal pipes, walked by the bustling front of an opera house where carriages were parked closely together, encountered a uniford patrolman at an intersection, and brushed past a boy selling newspapers.
Finally, they smiled and greeted a passing flower girl, buying a single tulip from her at a very high price.
He didn’t give it to Magic Miss. Instead, he carefully placed the sticky ball of flesh upon the flower. The ball seed to be absorbed by the bloom, leaving several glowing, blood-red threads upon the once pale-yellow petals.
“There is one thing that the accounts of historians and writers get right,”
he explained to his friend.
“Elves are indeed creatures that pursue ultimate aesthetics.”
“You know a lot about elves?”
“Of course. I have a friend with so elven blood,”
Jenkins said with a nod, which only made the expression on Magic Miss’s face grow even more peculiar.
Following the guidance of the blood-red light, the two eventually arrived at the entrance of an inn hidden in a remote alley in the eastern part of the city. Any establishnt that could survive in such a location was undoubtedly involved in less-than-legal business. Besides the predictable sight of gaudily dressed prostitutes soliciting custors at night, it was likely connected to the black market, gangs, or similar factions.
But that was fine. It made their task much easier.
Pushing open the inn’s door, Jenkins glanced around at the decor and the sowhat grimy wooden floor. He patted the cat on his shoulder, held the flower in his hand, and walked toward the counter.
“Who is staying in the third room on the left, on the second floor?”
he asked directly, his right hand reaching into his pocket as if to retrieve sothing.
“Even if you offered a gold pound, I couldn’t tell you. It’s a matter of professional ethics. If I told you this ti, how could I stay in business?”
the stout, bald, middle-aged innkeeper replied. The morning was already growing warm, and he wore an ugly red shirt. The second button from the top was missing, leading Jenkins to speculate that the man was going through a marital crisis.
“I wasn’t planning on paying you with money.”
With that, he pulled out his gun. Behind him, Magic Miss smiled faintly and turned her head to look in another direction.
“I know you’re not a good man, but I don’t want to cause trouble for a stranger I’ve just t. Now, give an answer, or you can find out if this gun is a toy.”
He subtly activated his Aura of Fear as he made the threat. The effect was excellent.
“A man in his early thirties, living alone. Brown hair, no beard, wears glasses. Often goes out in a black coat. He’s in his room every morning, but likely out in the afternoon and evening. He’s never eaten a al here.”
The fat man rattled off the information imdiately, his body trembling as he tried to back away. Unfortunately, there was a wall behind him, offering no escape.
“Do you know him?”
Jenkins asked again.
“No.”
That was a lie. Jenkins waggled the pistol, and the man twitched violently again, as if having a seizure.
“He’s a well-known ‘chemist’ in Nolan’s East End.”
“Hmm?”
That was a very interesting word choice.
“That is to say, he’s very good at mixing... certain less-than-legal drugs. Yes, the kind you’re thinking of. He has a workshop he runs with a partner, hidden in the mining district. He’s been hiding out here lately, seems he got into so trouble. I heard he’s planning to leave Nolan.”
The man’s information was surprisingly detailed, forcing Jenkins to re-evaluate the worth of his Aura of Fear.
He nodded with understanding, glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, and then motioned for Magic Miss to follow him upstairs.
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