Setting the cat he’d carried all the way down on the counter—a small apology for disturbing its sleep last night—Jenkins announced:
“Is Pops in the back? I’ll go help him. Please, make yourselves comfortable for a mont.”
But he returned just as quickly, his pace hurried. Papa Oliver, rummaging through rchandise in the warehouse, had sternly ordered him back to the front to entertain their guests.
“Aren’t you taking etiquette lessons? Is leaving guests to sit all alone part of what you’ve learned?”
Jenkins, however, suspected Pops had an ulterior motive for shooing him back.
The two lovely young won, having rushed over despite their lack of sleep, were here for Papa Oliver’s help in selecting a suitable gift. The queen of the Fidektri Kingdom was celebrating her birthday this month—her seventy-first, to be exact.
By the standards of the era, reaching the age of seventy-one was astonishing, even for royalty who enjoyed the finest living conditions. But the Fidektri royal line—the Middleton family—had a history of it. Every legitimate heir, barring those who t an early end through assassination or other foul play, lived to a remarkably advanced age.
According to custom and etiquette, every noble family, great and small, was expected to present a gift on the queen’s birthday. Those with the ans also required their adult children to offer presents of their own.
It was an annual affair that should have gone off without a hitch. This year, however, the gifts they had ordered in the first half of the year were lost in a pirate attack while being shipped to Nolan City. Hathaway and Miss Mikhail had only learned the news last night, which was why they had co to the antique shop first thing in the morning.
The three young people didn’t delve into any profound topics, chatting instead about bits of gossip and news from the papers.
Although Hathaway hadn't explicitly told him whether to ntion the Sunday dinner in front of Miss Mikhail, Jenkins wisely kept his mouth shut.
Miss Mikhail ntioned that the Nolan City navy was planning a major operation, sothing she had overheard from the Marquis Mikhail. Hathaway, in what seed like a deliberate shift in topic, brought up Miss Lindsay—the young noblewoman who had organized the Ouija board ga.
“I saw her yesterday,” she said. “She looked completely haggard.”
“Really? Then let’s visit her this afternoon. After all...”
She realized why Hathaway had brought it up and muttered under her breath:
“I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never rashly participate in such a dangerous activity again. But that ti, I invited Mr. Williams to co with us. Wasn’t that safe enough?”
Jenkins pretended not to hear a thing. He felt it was best not to get involved in this particular matter.
“You’re always like this.”
Hathaway said softly. From her expression, Jenkins gathered that for a long ti to co, Miss Mikhail would be hearing her friend repeat this very sentint.
This was a good thing, of course. Ordinary people like Miss Mikhail should stay far away from any supernatural events. It was better for everyone.
Papa Oliver took three tis longer than usual to find suitable gifts from the back warehouse. After seeing the two noble ladies off, he leaned over the counter, jotting in his ledger while chatting with Jenkins about his leisure activities. Jenkins, anwhile, stood up to clear away the teacups.
This tea set was the most expensive porcelain collection Pops owned, reserved specifically for honored guests.
It was another rather dull day. After Jenkins finished transcribing the tadpole-like writing in the morning, Papa Oliver planned to test whether he had been practicing new rituals on his own. Just then, however, a ssage arrived from Miss Bevanna. Jenkins's baptism had been rescheduled for next Wednesday evening. The Church would arrange for soone to cover his arithtic class.
The location was unchanged: beneath the great tree in the Evergreen Forest. It was said that a complex ritual perford there by the New God Cultists had caused the forest’s life-giving spirit to grow much richer than before.
In truth, ever since the day he’d acquired the [Undying Man] ability, Jenkins had suspected the Church's ritual was only one part of a complete ability ceremony. He figured another baptism would be utterly useless, but he couldn't find a good reason to refuse and had no choice but to accept the arrangent.
As Jenkins's studies deepened, Papa Oliver’s lessons grew increasingly difficult. He had moved past the theoretical stage, and now the curriculum was heavily focused on practical application.
Performing rituals was, of course, dangerous. A single misstep could be as catastrophic as smoking in a fireworks factory.
After lunch, Pops handed Jenkins a slip of paper with the details of that day’s lesson. As soon as Jenkins finished reading it, Papa Oliver struck a match and set the note ablaze.
He casually tossed the ash, which had burned down to its white edges, onto the floor. The two of them watched in silence as it turned completely to dust.
“Have you morized it?”
“Yes, sir! Every word.”
With the Book of mories, his powers of recollection had improved dramatically. Five or six lines of text were no problem at all.
The ritual for the day was called Directional Confusion. It required expensive materials but had an enormous area of effect.
At its core was a wooden ring, traditionally crafted by hollowing out the trunk of a Monkey-Face Tree. The ring was to be placed at any location that could be considered a crossroads—a fork in a mountain path, a corner in a hallway—and the other components of the ritual arranged within it. If all went well, any creature passing through would lose all sense of direction.
The effect was similar to a malevolent spirit’s innate ability, what so might call getting hopelessly turned around. However, because the materials were so difficult to procure, it was typically only used as a roadblock during large-scale operations.
Since Pops Antique Shop was in the city, Jenkins needed to compress the ritual’s range to avoid causing any trouble.
He and Pops worked together, using empty crates from the warehouse to build a crude maze. Then, they used a special spice to lure in three hungry stray cats.
Jenkins set up the ritual in the center of the small crate maze, and Papa Oliver sent the cats in to test its effectiveness.
The two of them were busy for the entire afternoon, but only two of Jenkins’s three attempts were successful.
The first attempt was a failure. They hadn't managed to attract the strays yet, and Jenkins, growing impatient, had decided to use Chocolate, who was napping nearby, as his test subject.
The ritual had no effect whatsoever. Chocolate trotted effortlessly from the far left end of the crate maze to the far right, completely unaffected. He didn't even wander down a single dead-end path.
It was a complete and utter failure, and Jenkins felt a sharp sting of frustration.
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