"Won't that be too exhausting? You could take a day off, you know."
Hearing that Jenkins had no intention of resting, Captain Bincy suggested with a frown.
"That won't be necessary. Besides, after my mathematics class, I have combat training with Miss Bevanna. That's sothing I absolutely can't miss."
Ever since he'd taken on the job of teaching night classes at the church in late autumn, Jenkins had never postponed a single lesson, save for a few special circumstances. But as ti passed, his initial enthusiasm had waned considerably. He was still diligent, but the passion he'd had at the start was gone.
According to his schedule, today's topic was the rather complex subject of currency conversion, which involved non-decimal calculations. While everyone used money, most of the people attending his night class rarely handled anything other than copper pence, which made for a particularly arduous lesson.
The church, eager to encourage the faithful to attend classes on cold winter nights and to attract new converts, had recently ramped up its efforts to promote the evening program. Their thods were clearly working, because tonight, the large classroom for his arithtic lesson was nearly full.
According to Priest Roberts, a significant portion of the "new students" were won from the textile mills and workers from the Docklands. These were people desperate to climb the social ladder through their own hard work, and acquiring knowledge was certainly a step in the right direction.
From a purely probabilistic standpoint, a larger crowd ant a higher chance of sothing unexpected happening. The allure of mathematics once again made itself felt in Jenkins's life, as he did, in fact, encounter a small incident.
The incident wasn't that he'd run into the eldest daughter of the Stress family. Although she did work in a textile mill, the sheer number of people in Nolan with that occupation made such an encounter a highly improbable event.
The real surprise ca when Jenkins, on a sudden whim, swept the room with his Eye of Reality. He was startled to discover a malignant spirit hovering beside a haggard, middle-aged woman sitting in a corner near the front row.
Since this was a church of a Righteous God, the spirit was severely suppressed. Even if Jenkins did nothing, it would likely dissipate before the lesson was over.
"What's this all about?"
He wondered, turning to write on the blackboard so no one could see his expression.
His curiosity piqued, he called for a short break and used the opportunity to inform the church's security squad. Consequently, the woman vanished silently midway through the lesson. A few people noticed her departure, but no one thought anything of it.
The laborers worked exhausting jobs, and arithtic itself had a rather soporific effect, so it wasn't uncommon for students to nod off mid-lesson. Jenkins paid them no mind; there was nothing he could do to change their circumstances.
These people toiled day in and day out just to provide for themselves and their families. As an observer, he pitied them, but he was powerless to change their lot in life. At least, for now.
After the lesson, he headed straight for Miss Bevanna's office. Chocolate, having had a good nap, was now full of energy. Thanks to yesterday's leash incident, the cat was now highly sensitive to Jenkins's every move. Even a simple gesture like reaching out to stroke its head could be misinterpreted as a threat.
"I've already given up on that idea. You don't need to be so guarded."
He whispered this to his cat as they rounded the corner, but the young feline, all too familiar with the writer's talent for deception, wasn't about to believe a word the trickster said.
He rapped his knuckles on the door and entered only after hearing a voice grant him permission. A thick scent of incense hung in the air. Miss Bevanna had clearly been working; beneath a bright, copper-colored lamp shaped like lotus petals, docunts were strewn across her desk.
She didn't have to write the reports herself, but she was responsible for stamping those destined for the Holy See.
"Still working so late?"
he asked, settling onto the sofa.
"Is your class over already? Just a mont, I need to finish these last two reports. We lost two Scribes today. May the Sage watch over them."
The report she was reading had to be about this morning's operation.
"I heard from Captain Bincy that you thought you'd found a den of vampire thralls, but it turned out to be witches instead."
"Yes, the intelligence was completely wrong. Gods, it was a disaster. Are you interested? You can co have a look."
Jenkins hesitated for a mont before getting up and walking over. Although all the reports concerned the sa incident, they were from different sources. He picked up a folder that Miss Bevanna had already finished with, unwound the thin string that held it closed, and pulled out the stack of papers inside.
Clipped to the top was a blurry, black-and-white photograph, clearly taken in a hurry just before the fighting broke out.
In the background, Jenkins spotted a vaguely familiar elderly man.
"Is that Baron Giles Marlowe? I recognize him. We were in the sa carriage on the train to Bel Diran. He was carrying a massive black trunk!"
"Is that so?"
Miss Bevanna didn't get up, but simply tilted her head to look at the man Jenkins indicated. After a mont's thought, she nodded.
"If that's the case, then a few things beco clearer. While we were engaged with the witches, soone else was making a move from a distance. If I recall correctly, Baron Marlowe holds shares in the Oil Ink Mister Club."
She paused for a mont before adding:
"Pops probably ntioned it to you. A while back, soone broke in there at night and killed a long-lived being that resided within a special artifact."
Jenkins nodded. "But didn't the investigation conclude that followers of the Lord of Immortality wanted the man's ashes?"
"Yes, but the followers of the Lord of Immortality didn't carry out the attack themselves. They commissioned the witches from the Witch's House to do it. And this Baron Marlowe... he's almost certainly a follower of the God of Firearms. We only suspected it before, but now we can be reasonably sure."
As she spoke, she passed her hand over the folder, and the wax seal vanished without a trace. This report would have to be rewritten, now that it was missing a crucial piece of information.
"I hope whoever has to rewrite this doesn't find out it's my fault they have to do it all over again."
Jenkins prayed silently.
He had assud the Witch's House would have fled the city for good after suffering such a heavy blow, but apparently, they still had operatives in the area. His first thought was that the won were after the damning stack of letters Miss Miller had left him, but on second thought, that seed unlikely.
Reviews
All reviews (0)