"Hello, ma'am. Is there anything I can help you with?"
Seeing a custor arrive, Jenkins stepped forward to greet her. Chocolate temporarily abandoned his squabble with Jenkins, deciding to wait until he was free to resu.
"Hello. I'd like to hire you to find sothing for ."
Her voice was surprisingly clear, free of the slowness and rasp that often cos with age. It seed at odds with her elderly appearance.
Leaning on her cane, she walked to the counter and fumbled in her handbag for a mont before placing a small red box on the countertop. She snapped it open, revealing a silver, shield-shaped object nestled on a velvet lining.
It wasn't a badge, but rather a proportionally scaled-down shield. It was clearly an antique; the family crest on its surface belonged to a renowned ducal family of the ancient Sicari Empire. If authentic, it could be worth over one hundred pounds.
"I bought this from a small shop about six months ago," she explained. "The owner told it was originally part of a pair and promised to help find the other one. But when I went back last month, the shop had closed down."
She laid out her request, hoping Pops Antique Shop could help her find its match.
While such commissions were rare, they still fell within the scope of the shop's business. Papa Oliver naturally agreed:
"Of course, madam. May I ask the na of the shop? Perhaps I can inquire about its supply channels among my colleagues."
"Oh, certainly. The shop was nad after its owner—Carl's Junk Shop!"
Jenkins and Papa Oliver froze. Wasn't that...
He blinked, his gaze falling upon the small shield resting on the velvet. Sure enough, he saw a rich, red spiritual aura radiating from it.
Just how many special items had Carl's Junk Shop sold, and to whom? The Church had never found its ledgers, so they couldn't say for sure. But a considerable number had undoubtedly ended up in the hands of ordinary people. That was why, just a few days ago, Papa Oliver had received a notice to be extra cautious with items of unknown origin... and now, here one was.
"A junk shop, you say? My apologies, madam, but I'll need to appraise this item first to confirm if it is indeed the antiquity we believe it to be."
After getting the custor's permission, Papa Oliver took out his monocle. He donned a pair of gloves and examined the piece for several minutes. From his expression, Jenkins could tell he had figured out what it was.
"Hmm, yes. The markings are quite distinct. There's no mistake."
Papa Oliver nodded cautiously, placed the small shield back into its box, and announced respectfully:
"Madam, this is indeed an artifact from the late Sicari Kingdom, passed down from the Delare family. Your luck is truly remarkable!"
"So, can you accept the commission?" the elderly woman asked.
"Of course!"
He closed the lid of the case and pushed it back toward her:
"You can take this back with you for now. Please return in one week. I believe that will be enough ti for to determine if I can track down the other piece."
"That would be wonderful."
She reached into her handbag, produced two five-pound notes as a deposit, nodded to Papa Oliver and Jenkins, and then turned to leave.
"You're not recovering it now?"
Jenkins couldn't wait to ask, his eyes following the carriage as it slowly pulled away across the street.
"No, recovering it right now would be too conspicuous. We can't afford to draw attention during these sensitive tis."
He took a sheet of paper from under the counter, checked that both sides only had faint paw prints on them, and then handed it to Jenkins:
"Draw it."
"Hm? Oh."
Jenkins nodded. He concentrated, using Psychography to project the image of the silver shield's face onto the paper.
"We'll let the Church send soone to recover it. Hopefully, we can find so new leads."
Despite saying this, neither Papa Oliver nor Jenkins held out much hope that this would lead them to the junk shop.
The Spirit Incident Support Group was scheduled to et at eight o'clock on Friday evening, inside a new theater in the west of the city that was currently under maintenance.
The whole thing was very strange. After all, Jenkins couldn't find a single good reason why a group of people haunted by ghosts would gather in such a remote place at such a late hour.
But then he recalled Nelly's instructions that all participants had to wear masks to protect their privacy. Jenkins supposed the secretive ti and place were also ant to shield the unfortunate souls who attended.
After dinner, he still hadn't made up his mind about going. But then he thought about the shield incident from that afternoon. He speculated that the mirror the support group possessed might also have co from that sa junk shop. The thought tipped the scales, and he leaned toward investigating.
"Chocolate, do you think I should go?"
He asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at the young cat bathing in the moonlight.
"ow~"
Chocolate responded with a lazy cry.
"Alright then. It's not like I have anything else to do tonight."
"ow~"
The cat, in fact, had not offered any opinion at all.
Having made his decision, he once again slipped past the church guards by way of the library roof. To avoid being late, he chose to fly directly there on his unicorn.
A flying creature shrouded in black smoke was difficult to spot from the ground in the night sky. As long as he picked a secluded spot to land, there would be no safety issues.
In Nolan City, the Scala Opera House—his destination for the night—was second in scale only to the Royal Opera House on the city's outskirts. Jenkins hadn't heard why it was under renovation, but he figured it couldn't be anything major.
He descended from the night sky, erging from behind a pile of thick logs stacked behind the theater. He straightened his collar and, with so effort, put on the mask he had prepared.
It felt a bit stuffy, and he realized the mask only had slits for his eyes.
"Hmm..."
He thought for a mont, then took the mask off again. First, he draped himself in his black robe. Then, using a flaming finger, he burned away the bottom of the mask until it only covered the upper half of his face. Having never done such a thing before, his craftsmanship was poor; the lower edge was jagged and bore scorched marks.
But when viewed as a whole, the black mask and its charred edge complented each other, creating a strangely grotesque beauty.
"This will do."
He put the mask back on, took out a small pocket mirror to check his reflection, and then strode toward the shadow-draped building.
Since this was the agreed-upon location, the organizer had, of course, already opened the small back door. Jenkins guessed the theater's owner probably had so connection to soone in the support group.
Just inside the iron door, which was propped open a crack, sat a supply of candles and matches, also prepared by the organizer for the participants. Jenkins bent down, picked up the candle with the longest wick, lit it, and stepped into the dark passageway.
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