At the ntion of piety, Jenkins deftly made the sign of the holy emblem on his chest. "From now on, 'Mister' is just fine. I actually prefer it."
"Of course, Mister."
The girl replied, tilting her head up at him.
Sensing a shift in her mood, Jenkins deliberately steered the conversation away. He led the girl up the incline toward the bridge, watching as carriages thundered past. Through a wind-fluttered curtain, he saw an old gentleman resting with his eyes closed. Jenkins was certain he had seen the man at Marquis Mikhail’s banquet.
"Speaking of which, the Stress family was incredibly lucky not to have been ho that day."
There couldn't be anything suspicious about it; both the police and the Church would have conducted a thorough investigation on that very point.
"My aunt's family has always been very lucky."
The girl murmured, then glanced up at Jenkins again, clutching her now-empty little basket. It had originally held the food she’d brought from the church as a gift for the family they had just visited.
"My uncle lost his job recently, but then, just in ti, a rchant bought their family vase for a great deal of money. It was a lot of money—about thirteen pounds, I think. It really helped ease their financial troubles."
"..."
Jenkins rembered Papa Oliver saying the vase would sell for at least thirty pounds. It seed he hadn't driven the price down too low this ti, likely taking the family's situation into account.
"Actually, the rchant you're talking about was probably Mr. Oliver. I'm his apprentice. We just happened to run into each other around the corner..."
There was no point in hiding it any longer. He had a feeling that the more he lied, the more complicated things would beco.
The girl nodded, her expression showing no sign of surprise. Instead, she asked curiously:
"Mister, aren't you a writer?"
"I am, but writing is just a side job. My main work is at the antique shop."
He paused for a mont before adding, "The main job is what I do for love; the side job is what I do to make sure I can keep doing it. That's what a side job is really for."
A look of admiration appeared in the girl's eyes.
A look of contempt appeared in Chocolate's eyes.
The winter days were short, so even though it wasn't yet five in the afternoon, the western sky was already blushing with color. The fog had thinned considerably during the afternoon, and the brilliant sunset reflected on the river, its image shattered by the ripples from a passing rchant vessel, creating a uniquely beautiful scene.
There were few pedestrians on the bridge. A carriage from the opposite direction hurried past, the wind from its wheels lifting half a sheet of newspaper from the ground. It drifted slowly down toward the water, where the bridge's reflection shimred.
The wind on the bridge was strong. Even with the scarf she'd once salvaged from a trash heap wrapped around her neck, she could feel the chill seeping into her collar. She took a step to the side, letting Jenkins's body shield her from the worst of it. When she looked up again, the man was gazing with great interest at the rchant ships below.
"You know sothing?"
Jenkins's voice was tinged with excitent, his spirits lifted by the sound of a ship's steam whistle. "I read in the paper that steam-powered ships are already being put into service. By this ti next year, it won't be little boats like these passing under the bridge, but massive vessels belching waste and steam! What an interesting era this is..."
"Yes, an interesting era..."
The girl didn't know what else to say. She didn't fully understand his words, so she could only echo his sentint.
"Only those who can keep up with the tis will truly grasp the opportunities available now. I..."
He realized he was saying too much. He hadn't expected to beco so talkative in front of a girl he barely knew.
"When I was in Bel Diran, I t an inventor."
He quickly changed the subject, and the transition felt natural. "He was probably the sort of person who wanted to seize the opportunities of the age, but unfortunately, his inventions were ridiculous. I can't imagine anyone would be willing to invest their gold pounds in him."
"Speaking of investnts..."
This was the first ti the girl, Fini Faithford, had initiated a topic of conversation. She didn't want the gentleman to think she was rely agreeing with him without truly engaging. She must have thought of sothing exciting, because her voice grew a little louder:
"Mister, did you know there's a very profitable investnt opportunity right now? I just heard about it from my aunt and uncle last week!"
"Oh, is that so?"
The two of them had finally crossed the bridge. Jenkins motioned for her to wait as he pulled so copper coins from his pocket to buy an evening paper from a newsboy.
"Yes."
Once they started walking again, the girl continued where she'd left off. "There's a well-known rchant in the area whose daughter has leased a huge mine, but she's short on capital. All you have to do is open an account at Travelers' Bank, transfer money to a specific account, and you're guaranteed to get a considerable return!
"The money you... you gave , I invested a small part of it. And yesterday, I really got a paynt back!"
Jenkins raised an eyebrow. The description sounded familiar, though so of the details were off.
"Mister, everyone near Eldron City in the Cheslan Kingdom knows about it now. My uncle only found out by chance from a letter sent by a relative. They're always so lucky!"
Now Jenkins finally understood. The girl was talking about his own sche.
Has it spread to Nolan already? he thought. Good. The pot is bigger now, which makes it easier for to rob Peter to pay Paul. This is a righteous cause!
Jenkins wasn't sure just how far the story of "Miss Fabry" had spread. But the version of the tale now circulating in Nolan City had deviated significantly from the original story of a poor female student conducting social research.
Although the core premise—send money, make money—remained the sa, Miss Fabry's identity had been dramatically altered in the mouths of the investors. This was a good thing, as it would help confuse any investigators if the sche were ever exposed.
By the ti they returned to the church, the sun had nearly sunk below the horizon, and the faint sound of a bell tower could be heard in the distance. As he parted ways with the girl, Jenkins casually handed her the copy of the Stranger's Story Collection he had just bought. He had plenty more at ho.
The Bishop had not yet returned from the countryside, and nothing of interest had happened at the church. Jenkins had wanted to speak with Papa Oliver before dinner, but the Keeper of Secrets before the Gate of All Things said he had just left half an hour ago.
So, Jenkins let Chocolate go off on its own while he applied for permission to use the Secret Trace Library.
It went without saying where the cat was headed. It was undoubtedly off to watch over those seedlings that might never grow up.
Reviews
All reviews (0)