"Good evening, Hathaway."
He still rembered her request to call her Hathaway in private.
"Good evening, Baron."
A small smile played on the young lady's lips as she watched the cat settle onto Jenkins's lap once more.
"Your cat seems a little too clever," she remarked.
"Yes, I gave it a dose of a Potion of Animal Enlightennt. Clearly, it was quite effective."
"A potion with extraordinary properties?"
She looked a little surprised. "So you really do have other Enchanter friends."
"Of course. I may not be very social, but I have a few friends."
As he spoke, Jenkins found himself wondering if Papa Oliver's friends really counted as his own.
"That's good. For Enchanters like us, having friends is crucial. But you must be careful, of course. Not everyone is as trustworthy as I am. Perhaps in a little while, I can introduce you to so of my friends."
Jenkins was certain, however, that she wouldn't be introducing him to "Mr. Candle." After all, Mr. Candle had tailed him before. If they were to et, Hathaway's identity as Miss Skylark would be revealed.
She nodded and reached for a golden invitation resting on the cushion beside her, holding it out to Jenkins.
"Ah, the legendary gold-trimd invitation."
Jenkins mused to himself as he read the invitation.
"A ball hosted by Miss Hersha? Thank you for delivering the invitation personally, but isn't this a little... formal?"
He had already learned about the changes to the ball from Viscount Augustus earlier that day, but he knew he couldn't let on that he was aware.
"Wait, why can't I let on that I know?"
Jenkins questioned himself, realizing that his current identity allowed him to know such things. It was information that even the ordinary Jenkins Williams could have access to.
"I'm getting too lost in the part," he thought, a flicker of alarm running through him. "I can't even keep my own identities straight!"
Jenkins inwardly warned himself to always be clear on "who" he was before he spoke.
Hathaway's explanation mirrored what Viscount Augustus had told him. She also cautioned him, however, that the relationships among the nobility were a tangled web. If he wished to avoid getting caught in it, leveraging his connection to the Church as a form of backing was an excellent option. ɽἈＮỌ₿Ëᶊ
Jenkins understood this, of course, but he thanked her politely all the sa.
Since he had the chance to speak with a noblewoman he knew, Jenkins took the opportunity to ask about Viscount Augustus. Papa Oliver's investigation had been thorough, but a different perspective could always offer new insights.
"Viscount Augustus? Do you an Lord Huntaugustus?"
Surprise flickered across Hathaway's face.
"I don't know the Viscount's full na, but he currently resides in a manor outside the city. His health is quite poor; I believe he's been bedridden for so ti. The address of the manor is..."
"No need, I know who you an."
The young woman lowered her voice, her tone a soft warning. "If you only know him casually, I'd advise against getting too close. The current Viscount Augustus is an exceptionally unfortunate man. Everyone who has ever been close to him has died young. There are whispers... that the Augustus family once unintentionally offended Death and End, and that this curse is the result. Of course," she added, "that's just what people say in private. You won't hear such things spoken of openly."
"Oh?"
Jenkins hadn't realized there was such a story. "Then surely the Church of Death and End would have sothing to say about it? After all, it concerns the very being they worship."
"The Church of Death and End has never comnted on the matter, viewing it as a mortal affair. I looked into it myself once, but there was no trace of any extraordinary involvent. Perhaps... Viscount Augustus truly is cursed by a god."
Hathaway was clearly reluctant to discuss matters involving the gods any further, so Jenkins didn't press her.
She had to et Miss Mikhail soon to prepare for the ball, so they didn't linger on other topics. Jenkins warned her about the suspected appearance of "Gear Germs" in the city, and then they said their goodbyes.
Hathaway hadn't heard the news, but she was clearly familiar with the Cursed Item designated A-08-1-9990.
As he waved and watched the carriage disappear around the corner, Jenkins was debating whether to get sothing for Chocolate to eat or check the external steam ter first. Just then, he saw his neighbor, Mr. Goodman, approaching with a black leather bag in hand, his expression vacant.
"Ah, Mr. Goodman! Good afternoon."
He let Chocolate into the house before greeting the middle-aged man from his gate.
"Mr. Williams? Oh, good afternoon."
Mr. Goodman finally seed to notice Jenkins.
"You don't seem yourself," Jenkins remarked. "It's certainly been colder this autumn than in years past. You ought to take care of yourself."
Jenkins was simply following standard etiquette, making small talk about a mundane topic like the weather. It was, after all, a necessary skill for any proper gentleman—the ability to strike up a conversation anyti, anywhere.
"Is that so?" Mr. Goodman replied. "Oh, thank you for the concern. My personal physician says I'm in decent health, though I do need more exercise. And compared to that blizzard two years ago, this year's temperature is actually quite mild."
Mr. Goodman politely exchanged a few more pleasantries about the weather with his new neighbor. Just as he was about to take his leave, however, sothing else ca to mind. He hesitated for a mont before speaking up.
"Mr. Williams, I'm sure you're aware of the increase in con artists around the city these past few weeks? One must be exceptionally careful. I've heard stories of people losing their life savings."
"Really? I've heard the sa."
Seeing the conversation turn toward a topic of interest, Jenkins leaned casually against his fence.
"Did you see today's Nolan Daily? The paper said that the public assault in the Docklands was related to those con artists. Yesterday morning..."
He recounted the incident from his perspective as an eyewitness, leaving Mr. Goodman visibly shocked.
"Good heavens, I can't believe sothing so dangerous happened right in our midst! I suppose Inspector Black's assessnt must be correct, then. The victim, Robert Coombs, must have been one of the con artists."
Inspector Black had said no such thing, of course. Jenkins had added that detail himself to obscure his true source of information.
"Sothing similar happened to , you know?" Mr. Goodman confessed. "At the Hogg chanical Foundry where I work... we were targeted by them, too. Young Rex in accounting was tricked out of three thousand pounds. Oh, Goddess above, his life is ruined. I don't even know if the foundry will survive this..."
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