"Any ritual at all? Do you take for a god, Candle Mr?"
Magic Miss let out a few mocking chuckles, but when she saw Jenkins’s expression remained unchanged, she added:
"I can restore most modern rituals, certainly. But over the course of several epochs, the principles and rules governing ancient and modern rituals have undergone subtle shifts. If you need to reconstruct an incomplete ritual, you'll have to provide with a fragnt to identify—and the more detailed, the better."
"I can do that," Jenkins replied. "But you must swear to your deity that you will not divulge a single detail of this matter to any being—sentient, non-sentient, or intermittently sentient."
Jenkins added this condition to prevent the Church from discovering that the Gem Assembly was being revived. Although most of those who knew the details of the gathering were already dead, a little caution never hurt.
"You're certainly a cautious one."
The woman’s tone was laced with mockery, and Jenkins suspected it was payback for his refusal to yield an inch during their last eting.
"I swear to my Lady, the Lady of Mysteries and Rituals..."
Still, she raised her right hand, palm facing Jenkins, and recited the oath.
Once she had sworn it, she paused for a mont before continuing.
"I should warn you, reconstructing an incomplete ritual is an exceedingly difficult task. My fees are steep, and I collect them even if I'm unsuccessful."
"Do you accept materials or special items as paynt?"
"Of course."
The woman nodded and held out her hand. Jenkins, keeping his own right hand behind his back, conjured a piece of paper from thin air. It bore a detailed sketch of Constantine’s basent—a place he had observed ticulously more than once during a church mission—alongside a written description of the ritual’s intended effects.
Miss Miller would be leaving Nolan soon, and after that, their only ans of contact would be through letters. That was far too slow, and Jenkins was still preoccupied with the matter of the "Savior" she and Miss Audrey had ntioned. Now that they were becoming friends, his chances of getting that information were much higher. How could he possibly let the connection break now?
Besides, she was one of the few people he could talk to about mathematics—a kindred spirit, in a way.
"Not bad, your artistry. Hold on, is this..."
Magic Miss looked up at the man before her. "B-07-4-7711, *Gathering in the Forest*? I’ve only ever heard the na. So that’s its function. Since it requires a specific item to work, the price will have to be higher. Do you have B-07-4-7711 on you? I need to see it."
"Of course."
Jenkins nodded. The painting was folded into a small square and sewn into his underclothes; he’d made sure to grab it when he left Hathaway’s bedroom monts ago.
"Why is it damp..."
The woman grumbled under her breath, unfolding the painting with her white, lace-gloved hands to inspect it.
Seizing the opportunity, Jenkins glanced back. Hathaway was deep in discussion with Mr. White Cat, her head lowered, paying them no mind.
"I think I have a grasp of what this ritual is. You should consider yourself lucky. It isn't particularly complex. The Enchanter who designed it wasn't a master of ritual arts, but they had a certain low cunning. These modifications here... yes, quite obvious. I could even help you refine a few details to perfect the final effect. But the price..."
A faint mote of light from her ability pulsed. The woman had clearly made up her mind. She handed B-07-4-7711 back to Jenkins, then extended a pale hand and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. Her voice turned deliberately, sickeningly sweet as she continued.
"It's not going to be cheap."
A smile touched the corners of Jenkins's lips. He leaned against a nearby tree for support and murmured:
"Na your price, Miss."
The bark of the tree was rough and cool to the touch, yet he could feel the life thrumming within it.
"Ten thousand pounds. Yes, gold pounds."
"..."
It was a good thing he was already leaning on the tree, or he might have stumbled.
"I understand starting with a high asking price, but this is just exorbitant. I knew this would be costly, but not on this scale. Do you have any idea what ten thousand pounds can buy? Even here in Nolan, a grand estate with its own farm and stables goes for about that much. A lower price, please. We are acquaintances, after all."
This was an astronomical figure. The combined net worth of Jenkins and his cat, Chocolate, was probably around that amount. Even among the upper class, very few families could produce that much cash on a mont's notice.
"Restoring a ritual doesn't co cheap. We aren't rchants, so I won't bother with talk of 'at-cost pricing' or anything of the sort. But you must understand: in all of Nolan, I am the only person who can help you."
Her tone was brimming with confidence, and Jenkins had to admit, he couldn't think of anyone else who could do it.
"Is it worth it?"
He asked himself.
"It's only to contact a friend abroad, after all. Letters might be slow, but they still work."
He could feel a seed of reluctance taking root.
"Since coming to this world, my activities have been confined to Nolan. Broadening my horizons would be a good thing."
The scales in his mind tipped again.
"But I don't have that much money..."
The thought struck him again, and he lowered his gaze to the grass at his feet. The blades were withered and yellow, drooping as if they only had a few days left.
He wrestled with his indecision. Magic Miss, standing under the tree, didn't disturb him, simply watching in silence as the man stood with his head bowed in thought.
The cat let out a bored yawn, its little mouth wide open. Its tail swayed gently, its pupils contracting as it peered into the future. Then, unnoticed by anyone, it gave the back of Jenkins's head a light tap. It was getting sleepy and wanted to go to bed.
"One thousand!"
"Twenty thousand!"
Jenkins stared at the woman, knowing he had finally t his match in a negotiation. Before he could and his offer, she spoke first.
"Hmph. Candle Mr, this isn't so countryside market where we haggle over vegetables. Kindly show the dignity befitting an Enchanter. Nine thousand."
Jenkins pursed his lips. The dignity of Jenkins Williams might hold so value, but the dignity of Candle Mr wasn’t worth a single hair on Mr. White Cat.
"Co on, et partway. I'm not a wealthy man. Two thousand pounds."
"Candle Mr, from our limited interactions, I find it hard to believe that a powerful, mysterious, and well-connected Enchanter such as yourself is lacking for gold pounds. And a man who can afford to keep a genuine magical creature? How could you possibly be short on cash? I have to turn a profit, and reconstructing this ritual will require extensive preparations. I need the funds upfront to purchase materials... Eight thousand, five hundred pounds."
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