Neither of them had eaten lunch, so Mrs. Caroline invited Jenkins to stay for a bite. It wasn't a re pleasantry; her invitation was genuinely warm. Seeing how desolate the apartnt felt, Jenkins agreed to stay.
A curious little incident soon followed. Mrs. Caroline’s cat stared at Chocolate for a mont, then suddenly began to tremble from head to tail. It darted under the bed and refused to co out, no matter how they called. This left them both quite perplexed, as the white cat seed perfectly healthy.
Lunch consisted of stewed potatoes—the very sa ones from the basket Jenkins had helped carry. It was hardly a gourt al, but it was edible enough.
Mrs. Caroline, who had likely not spoken with soone Jenkins's age in a long ti, chattered away without pause, even as they ate. She was a Bel Diran native and had lived in the city her entire life. Upon learning that Jenkins was visiting as a tourist, she eagerly recomnded several small shops and local attractions.
She even managed to give him a surprisingly detailed account of the local gangs, though the truthfulness of her stories was another matter entirely.
Sohow, the conversation eventually drifted to local legends. Jenkins didn't mind at all, eager as he was to learn more and broaden his horizons. But then, Mrs. Caroline ntioned sothing that unexpectedly hit close to ho:
"When I was young, there were far more old stories than there are now. The tale of Kren's Seven Masks, for example—that one scared the daylights out of poor Guinevere back in the day."
"Could you tell about it?"
he asked, stroking Chocolate. The black cat, in turn, watched the trembling white cat under the bed with half-lidded eyes.
"I haven't told that story in a very long ti. Let think..."
She paused, thinking for a good half-minute, before suddenly slapping her forehead.
"Oh, right. The story begins long, long ago, in an age before steam. Life was much harder back then, and there were no grand cities like this one. Kren was a legendary bandit chief who preyed on travelers and rchants. The story goes that before the Sage's Church finally wiped his gang out, Kren hid all of his treasure and used seven masks as the keys. Whoever found all the masks would find the treasure."
The story had many more details, of course, but what had terrified a young Miss Audrey were the descriptions of Kren killing and eating people. Jenkins couldn't fathom why a story told to children would need to include such grueso content.
"I suppose every place has legends like that—bandits and treasure..." she mused. "Heh. I hear so author who won a big prize recently wrote a story just like it. Hmph. Just recycling the wisdom of the ancients, if you ask . Nothing so special about that."
Jenkins shifted his gaze, thinking that his decision not to reveal his identity had been a very wise one.
"But this story I'm telling you is true. I an, parts of it are true."
"Oh?"
Pleased to see the surprise on Jenkins's face, Mrs. Caroline continued:
"A few years back... about thirteen years ago, I believe, they discovered the ruins of an ancient city in the hills north of Bel Diran. And inside, they found a mask. It was later believed to be the prototype for the seven masks from the story of Kren's treasure, and now it's kept in the royal treasury."
As she said this, she got up and went into her bedroom. After rummaging around for a good while, she returned holding a black mask.
"Young man, if you're looking for a morable souvenir to bring back for your friends, this would be perfect. All the little shops in the city sell these masks now. The pattern is identical to the one they put on display thirteen years ago."
Jenkins looked down at the mask, then ntally compared it to the two he had unexpectedly co to possess.
They're identical, alright... Could my two just be souvenirs?
He imdiately dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The group collecting the masks surely had a special thod for telling the real ones apart. Regardless, he had no intention of getting involved. He decided he would simply turn the masks over to the Church as soon as he got back. Who knew, maybe they'd even give him a share of the treasure once it was found.
I'm heading back to Nolan City on Monday. This business definitely won't involve !
So Jenkins thought, quite confidently, on that Saturday afternoon.
His visit with Mrs. Caroline lasted until three o'clock. The elderly woman was starting to look tired, so Jenkins tactfully announced his departure.
She tried to convince him to stay for dinner, but Jenkins politely declined. He did, however, plan to stop by on Monday to say a proper goodbye before leaving for the train station. The route from the church to the station cut right across the city, so it would be on his way.
Mrs. Caroline walked him all the way to the mouth of the alley before heading back. Jenkins stood at the intersection for a long mont, gazing out at the cityscape. It was still early, he realized, so he decided against returning to the church just yet.
Economically, the royal capital of Bel Diran wasn't that much more prosperous than Nolan, but culturally, it was in a league of its own. Even Jenkins, who wasn't particularly fond of sightseeing, could find sothing to enjoy here.
With Chocolate in tow, he strolled across a classical tower bridge, spent so ti feeding the white doves cared for by the Church of All Things and Nature in a public square, ducked through a narrow alley to buy a few interesting souvenirs from an unassuming shop, and even caught a distant glimpse of the royal procession.
"I could take his place," he muttered under his breath, amusing himself with an old saying from his forr world. He tapped his cane on the pavent and chuckled at his own audacity.
Passing by Spencer Plaza again, he saw that the circus tent was already half-dismantled. He paused to watch for a mont. He'd realized that morning that the circus folk wanted no further part in the events here.
He carefully dodged a group of boisterous children, taking in the city sights with a quiet sense of wonder. Then, he turned and noticed a crowd gathered on the far side of the plaza's fountain.
A man in a tall black top hat, sporting a thick beard, was standing on one of the benches that ringed the fountain. As Jenkins drew closer, he could finally make out his words:
"...Yes, gentlen—oh, and ladies! This invention is, without a doubt, the greatest of our ti! It transcends the very concept of all modern creations and will mark the dawn of a new era! You must believe when I say that hundreds, even thousands of years from now, people will rember this year! They will rember , and they will rember my invention! Powered by the magnificent force of steam..."
"An inventor drumming up investnts?" Jenkins wondered. Curious to see what the man had actually created, he edged closer, his impatient cat in tow.
"Look here!"
The middle-aged gentleman bellowed, using his black cane to flick up the edge of a canvas sheet beside the bench. A few young n in the crowd laughed and cheerfully helped him pull it away.
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