Two people and a cat fell from the sky. As they neared the ground, their speed abruptly slowed, as if they were treading on a layer of cotton. Jenkins and the Gear Man landed smoothly on the street, and Chocolate alighted on Jenkins’s shoulder a mont later.
The cat was visibly excited, no doubt intrigued by this novel way of landing.
The rain was still falling, showing no sign of getting heavier or lighter. Compared to the sparsely populated streets of Fifth Queen's Avenue, the downtown area was still teeming with pedestrians, even in the downpour. A carriage carrying a passenger was “stopped” beside Jenkins, and he could see the comical, frozen expression on the running horse’s face.
The target, a newsboy, stood sheltering from the rain at the entrance of a closed silversmith’s shop on the east side of the street, his hand gripping the strap of his satchel tightly. He was hiding there more to keep his newspapers from getting wet; having no custors and being unable to sell his papers was clearly a worse predicant.
The silversmith’s door was secured with a chain, and its display window was boarded up. A notice was posted on the boards, explaining that the owner had gone to the countryside on business and would not reopen until later the following week.
“What’s my objective this ti?”
Jenkins asked, and the Gear Man answered instantly:
“It’s simple. This ti, it’s the ‘Heart of Vigor’.”
“Vigor? Are all the objectives this... conceptual?”
Jenkins studied the boy’s face. It was a bit dirty; he clearly didn’t wash it every day. But he still looked spirited enough. His expression was one of worry about not selling his papers, rather than weariness from the job itself.
“The last target had almost no ‘Heart of Selfless Dedication’ left. I’m guessing this target isn’t exactly the picture of vigor either, is he?”
“That’s for you to figure out. Now, let’s begin...”
As his words faded, the gentle patter of the rain was instantly drowned out by the clamor of pedestrians. The carriage beside Jenkins resud its forward motion, but the horse turned its head slightly to glance at him, perhaps sensing his imnse vitality.
Although the street was crowded with people, so with umbrellas and so without, they all instinctively moved aside for Jenkins and the Gear Man standing in the middle of the road. As the pair walked toward the closed silversmith’s shop, the pedestrians consciously parted for them, even though none could have possibly been aware of the two strange figures there.
Jenkins stepped under the eaves of the silversmith’s shop, while the Gear Man stood before the boarded-up window, watching the scene unfold.
He stroked his cat, then reached into his backpack. After fumbling for a mont, he pulled out a small drawstring pouch, similar in style to the one that held the dice in the Blood Therapy Ancient Town. Inside were coins and banknotes of various denominations.
The Church, considering that anything could happen in a Mysterious Realm, had specially prepared this currency for whatever expenses might arise.
“I’ll take a paper.”
He counted out four one-penny copper coins and held them out.
“Sir, a paper is only two pence!”
The boy spoke up, not because he was too good-natured to deceive a stranger, but because the price was standardized across the city. If he broke the rules, soone would surely co to teach him a lesson.
The newspaper the boy was selling was the Nolan Evening Post, one of the best-selling papers in Nolan and the surrounding areas. So thirty years ago, when the “Knowledge Tax” was still in effect, a single paper cost a full seven pence. After the tax was abolished, the price gradually dropped to two pence. The low price of newspapers indirectly boosted sales, which in turn promoted literacy. As such, the Church of Knowledge and Books had always considered the abolition of the “Knowledge Tax” to be its greatest political achievent in the last century.
“The other two pence are a tip. It's still raining, and I'll have to take shelter here for a while. You wouldn't mind chatting with for a bit, would you? Of course, you're free to leave at any ti. I just want to relieve the boredom.”
Jenkins did his best to make his tone gentle.
“Of course, sir. It would be my honor.”
The boy nodded imdiately. He pulled a dry newspaper from his satchel—one from the middle of the stack, not the damp one on the outside—and only after handing it to Jenkins did he dare to accept the four small copper coins.
Jenkins unfolded the newspaper and glanced at it. The date was late July, 1865, exactly one year earlier than the current ti in the material world.
In other words, the ti in this Mysterious Realm was the very day Jenkins had arrived in this world.
“I set the ti to one year ago today. Doesn’t that make it more imrsive? Oh, except for the year, the date and the ti of day are the sa. It’s evening outside now, too.”
The Gear Man explained, seeing Jenkins look its way.
“One year ago... in the evening...”
That ant in just a few hours... Jenkins blinked but didn't voice any objections. Instead, he began his conversation with the newsboy.
“This is quite a nice rain. We need it this season, otherwise more people would be coming down with lung disease. Still, it can’t be good for you, can it? I see you have quite a few papers left.”
Jenkins used this to open the conversation. The boy, though a little nervous, spoke coherently enough. He was a Nolan local, and though his accent was a bit thick, Jenkins could understand him perfectly.
“Yes, sir. My luck’s been terrible today. But there are always a few bad days in a year. At least it's only a light rain, not so bad that I can't sell a single paper.”
“So, this isn’t your first year selling papers?”
Jenkins asked again. The boy answered with so embarrassnt:
“Yes, sir. I’ve been selling them for two years now.”
The boy looked to be only eleven or twelve, but considering that children from poor families were often malnourished, his actual age was probably a bit older.
“Since it’s raining, why not sell your papers at a church entrance, or on the street corners where the clubs are? Or where the coachn wait for fares? I’d think there’d be more business in those places.”
He offered the advice kindly, part of the process of building rapport.
“But that’s soone else’s turf. It was hard enough for to get this spot near City Hall. I can’t go sell in soone else’s territory.”
There were thousands of children trying to make money selling papers, but the number of custors in any given area wouldn’t increase just because the children wished it would. So the newsboys relied on unspoken rules—or the size of their fists—to divide up their territories. It was actually a rather clever system.
“But selling papers isn’t a long-term career. Have you ever thought about learning to read and write? The Church of Knowledge and Books holds open night classes every week. Even if you aren’t a believer, as long as you’re willing to pray to the Sage, the priests wouldn’t mind children like you attending.”
The boy scratched his head.
“Oh, sir, you must be a very devout believer. And thank you for your kindness. But at night, I have to look after my younger brother and sister so my father and mother can go out and find odd jobs.”
In a big city like Nolan, there were plenty of odd jobs available at night—and not just the sort of work you wouldn’t tell children about. There were cargo ships arriving at the docks, porters at the train station, night shifts at factories, and temporary kitchen hands for banquets at noble estates. All of these were ways to earn money.
“That’s a real sha.”
Jenkins said tactfully, then added:
“I probably shouldn’t ask, but since we’re on the topic, I’m curious. What are your plans for the future?”
Normally, children wouldn’t discuss such things with a stranger, not even for an extra two pence. But in this Mysterious Realm, his role was one that people found easy to trust. As long as he didn’t do anything out of line, with a little gentle prodding, the target wouldn’t mind talking about personal matters.
Of course, Jenkins’s kind face and the adorable cat on his shoulder also helped him earn that trust.
“Plans?”
The boy mumbled the word, clearly trying to figure out the aning of the unfamiliar term.
“Nothing much. My father already made an arrangent with the old widower next door. In a few years, I’ll start learning to drive a freight wagon with him. I’ll go on a few runs, and when he can’t do the job anymore, I’ll take over. But I’ll also be responsible for arranging his funeral and all that after he dies.”
This was tantamount to securing an apprenticeship. Though it couldn’t compare to a proper apprenticeship with a craftsman, it was at least a way to support himself—a relatively stable plan for his life.
But a life plan like this would practically confine him for the next thirty or forty years. There would be no brilliance in his future, no passions to pursue.
Jenkins didn’t think the boy needed to have grand ambitions; a stable life was good for him. But at his age, he shouldn’t be so world-weary. He should be looking further ahead, thinking more broadly, using his vigorous youth to imagine and contemplate. That way, even if he did end up becoming a wagon driver, he could at least influence the next generation rather than letting his descendants fall into the sa cycle forever.
This would also be beneficial for society and the era as a whole. Great industrial developnt required more high-caliber talent. It needed the illiterate to quickly transform into skilled workers with so basic education, not just people with their heads bowed, focused only on finding grains of rice in the dirt. Jenkins hoped everyone could lift their heads. Even if they couldn’t change their lives or achieve greatness, they should at least know how wonderful the world truly was.
That was the true expression of “vigor” in youth. Therefore, Jenkins felt he had a responsibility to say sothing. Of course, if this were reality and not a Mysterious Realm, he would probably use a different strategy.
“Are you satisfied with that arrangent?”
“Of course I am. It’s a great thing my father arranged for . My two younger brothers probably won’t be so lucky. They might have to beco porters at the docks, or be forced to leave ho and go to another city. But Father said that since he helped find a livelihood for my future, I have to be responsible for taking care of my younger siblings. It’s only fair.”
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