Talk of bankruptcy was, of course, a bluff. Jenkins still had a small amount of savings, and besides, the salaries from both the Church and Papa Oliver were paid weekly. As long as he avoided debt, the great author, Mr. Williams, was in no danger of going broke.
"But I do have so special items you might be interested in. I have a..."
"No," she interrupted. "While a lodestone is valuable, it doesn't quite compare to a numbered Extraordinary item. I need your help, esteed Mr. Candle. When this is all over, the lodestone is yours, free of charge."
This was clearly no spur-of-the-mont decision; Magic Miss had anticipated this all along.
Jenkins grunted, not imdiately offering an opinion. He glanced past her at the night sky, where two moons now hung in a sea of stars.
The weather was perfect tonight, with no inconsiderate clouds to mar the view.
"What is it?"
he asked.
The woman chuckled softly and extended her right hand from beneath her robe, palm upturned. As she recited an incomprehensible incantation, her [Yellow Spell] ability flared before her, erupting in a dazzling aura.
Billowing white smoke rose from her palm, coalescing into the image of a one-eyed man. To be precise, a vicious scar ran down the left side of the man's ferocious face, from forehead to chin. His eye was right in the scar's path, leaving no doubt that it was blind.
"I'm going to kill him. I need a partner."
"Kill him? Hah. At the very least, I need to know who this is. I never do anything illegal... well, hardly ever."
The woman's hand twitched, and the white smoke quivered in response. It swiftly reford into the image of a wanted poster, featuring the very sa man.
"Hoover Pissel, first mate on a ship under the command of the Pirate King, Warren the Skull. You don't need to worry about lying—you can find his wanted poster in the Nolan Daily. But I doubt either of us has the nerve to claim the bounty."
Jenkins narrowed his eyes, studying the ferocious, one-eyed, middle-aged man on the poster. He had a large nose, thick lips that seed to droop at the corners, and the faint outline of a skull tattoo was visible on his right arm. Aside from the lack of a black eyepatch, this man matched every pirate stereotype Jenkins could imagine.
"Do you have any specific intel on him?"
Jenkins asked after a mont of consideration.
Magic Miss knew that going alone tonight would be risky, so providing the necessary intelligence was a given.
"A year ago, he was a level 4 Enchanter. I can't be sure of his current level. He carries one Extraordinary item at most—B-09-4-2737, the Wet Hair of a Vengeful Ghost—but it's not terribly dangerous. He ca to Nolan alone this ti, I'm certain of that. His purpose is to trade with the cultists from the Eye Collectors' Society. He needs an eye."
"Can't argue with that logic."
Jenkins mused internally.
That was the extent of Magic Miss's briefing. She looked at Jenkins and shrugged, inviting his questions.
"Which great deity does he worship?"
"A pseudo-god—the God of the Drowned."
The woman answered without hesitation.
Jenkins nodded again and began to think quietly.
"Magic Miss is a level five Enchanter, with the maximum number of abilities for her rank. She has one Bestowal, an Extraordinary item with a blue aura, and another with a red one. She’s also carrying a fair number of ritual components. Quite well-off, indeed..."
Advancing at higher levels was extrely difficult for an Enchanter. Since Pissel had been level four a year ago, there was no way he could have reached level six by now. This ant Magic Miss was asking for his help simply to leave nothing to chance.
"I can provisionally agree," Jenkins said, "but I have a detection ability. I'll need to observe the situation from a distance before I commit."
Her hood bobbed in a nod. "No problem. We can head over right now."
"I have one more question before we go..."
Jenkins held up a hand, stopping her. He stared at her dark hood as the two silver orbs of light he'd summoned floated back and rged with his chest.
"Why do you want him dead?"
"Do I have to tell you the truth?"
Jenkins chuckled. Asking for honesty in a situation like this was rather pointless.
"Suit yourself," he replied. "Frankly, as long as you're not after so cursed gold coins, I don't really care."
His response was an odd one that she couldn't possibly have understood. Magic Miss simply chuckled, her tone cheerful:
"You'll find out soon enough."
The cost of living in Nolan City was among the highest in the Fidektri Kingdom, a fact most evident in the price of rent.
As a result, cheap tenents had sprung up in the slums. Landlords often owned entire streets of these buildings and couldn't care less who rented them. Criminals, addicts, stowaways—so long as they could pay, anyone could find a foothold there.
To complent the squalid environnt, a wide array of services was readily available to the tenants. Mr. Hoover Pissel, evidently not one to spend a long night alone, erged from a two-story, white-roofed house, a look of satisfaction on his face. He kicked aside a drunk sprawled at the alley's entrance and let out a hearty laugh.
"This damn place."
The man cursed as his foot stepped on sothing soft and squishy. He hitched up his loosely fastened belt and casually wiped his shoe on the drunkard's clothes.
"Damn Nolan, damn the weather, damn the Orthodox Churches."
He kept muttering curses, confident he was alone. He'd already t with the rchant selling demon eyes at a bar that morning. The price had been steep enough to make even a pirate wince.
Still, the problem with his left eye had to be solved. His current appearance was certainly intimidating—the bastards on his ship even joked that he finally looked the part of a proper pirate—but in a life-or-death battle, the limited field of vision was a fatal weakness.
"Damn it!"
He thought back to the man who'd given him the scar. Who could have guessed that a level 7 Enchanter would be traveling on a common freighter?
But the thought of the item he had recently acquired brought a smug satisfaction. "Once I find it..." he thought, "...you'll all be dead!"
Still grumbling, he turned from the alley onto the main road, roughly kicking a loose stone ahead of him. When he spotted two policen with kerosene lamps approaching, he snorted and ducked back into the shadows.
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