Whenever Jenkins took a carriage with Papa Oliver, he was always the one who paid. On top of the usual fare, he gave the driver an extra silver coin as a tip for navigating the snowy night. As they stepped through the main entrance of the church, they glanced back to see the coachman still standing in the snow, watching them go.
"Makes you feel sothing, doesn't it?"
Papa Oliver asked, brushing the snow from his hair and shoulders.
"Yes," Jenkins replied. "I think any decent person would."
Jenkins, however, didn't have to bother with the snow; a few nuns, hearing of their arrival, had already hurried over with soft towels to dust him off.
"I felt the sa when I was your age," Papa Oliver mused. "I've seen so many lives change over the years. This era is better than the last, on the whole, but there are still things that need fixing. That's a task for your generation."
He patted Jenkins on the shoulder before heading off toward the rear courtyard alone.
Due to the blizzard, even fewer people attended the night class than usual. There were two or three new faces, but their primary interest wasn't arithtic; they wanted Jenkins's opinion on the "Miss Fabry investnt."
As far as they were concerned, Jenkins was the most knowledgeable person they had access to, so when it ca to sothing that could potentially change their family's fortunes, they felt they had to ask him.
"I must stress again," Jenkins began, "that I've only heard rumors about this and am still looking into it. But the risks are incredibly high. This so-called investnt is based entirely on hearsay, and I think it would be best to..."
He stopped just short of blurting out that Miss Fabry was a fraud. But they weren't concerned with the risk; what they wanted to know was whether they could actually turn a profit.
Jenkins couldn't convince everyone, nor was it his obligation—though he did feel a certain responsibility. A few seed to catch the warning in his tone, and that would have to be enough. After all, the famous author's intentions were good, his actions were righteous, and his sense of duty was strong. And in all likelihood, the whole affair would proceed without a hitch.
Eldron was, after all, a good distance from the heart of Nolan. Even if a few of the city's poor had heard about the investnt opportunity, most citizens were oblivious to the massive flow of capital happening right under their noses. Jenkins had discreetly questioned Papa Oliver and Professor Burns about it. The old man had picked up so street gossip but dismissed it, while the professor was completely in the dark.
The young girl, Fini Faithford, was in class as well, seated beside the sleeping Chocolate. Her cousin—the eldest daughter of the Strass family—had died in the recent revenant incident. Jenkins wondered if he should offer so words of comfort, but her expression seed perfectly normal.
"Forget it," he thought. "Everyone goes through sothing like this."
The thought brought back the image of Mr. Bentz dying right before his eyes, and his mood instantly soured.
When the night class concluded, the blizzard was still raging with no sign of letting up. Jenkins ran into Captain Bincy in the corridor, and they spoke for a mont about Mr. Bentz's family. The man had never married and had no known relatives; he was utterly alone in the world. The Church planned to hold a funeral for him later in the week, which Jenkins intended to attend.
The captain's face betrayed no hint of grief, yet Jenkins had learned from a Mr. Schleich that the two n had worked together for at least a decade...
Jenkins had expected the matter of the dragon to drag on for so ti, but Miss Bevanna was remarkably efficient, resolving everything in a single day. Apparently, the Keeper of Secrets for the Nolan diocese was fluent in the draconic tongue and, upon locating the creature, had easily established communication.
"The dragon's na is Dragan Nidhoggmr, and it cos from another world. It seems so people excavating ruins accidentally triggered an ancient ritual, which mistakenly transported it to our material plane. We're arranging to send it back soon, but for now, it's staying in the Evergreen Forest. If you're interested, you're welco to go et it. I imagine that polite dragon would be quite pleased to speak with the Church's Saint Son."
"Polite?"
Jenkins wasn't sure if he'd heard her correctly. The adjective, applied to a dragon, sounded utterly ridiculous.
He had no desire to et the dragon. There was no need, and it wasn't as if he'd never encountered such creatures before. Compared to a dragon, Jenkins found his own cat and the unicorn far more charming. Dragons were simply too massive; they weren't exactly suitable as house pets.
"ow,"
Chocolate chirped in agreent.
A dragon was a living treasure trove. While the Church wouldn't harm it, its value as one of the few intelligent dragons to make official contact with an Orthodox Church in this epoch would certainly be thoroughly explored.
Jenkins was, however, quite curious about this so-called "other world," but Miss Bevanna refused to divulge any details. He suspected it was another realm, perhaps sothing like the lava hell he'd encountered, but he had no idea which sovereign entity presided over it.
"Dragons, unicorns, demons, vampires..." he murmured to himself with a soft chuckle. "It's as if the age of myth is returning."
He sighed, certain that even more bizarre creatures would begin appearing in Nolan in the near future.
After his lesson with Miss Bevanna concluded, Jenkins returned to his room to rest. But having forgotten the fruit he'd promised his cat, he found the feline throwing a tantrum on his pillow, doing its best to prevent him from sleeping—a truly despicable act.
He slept through the night without a single dream and awoke with a strange sense of empty loss. Chocolate was already up, perched on the windowsill and gazing out at the falling snow. The blizzard had raged all night and showed no signs of abating. It was now the latter half of December, and the incessant snowfall promised even colder temperatures. It seed this was destined to be another exceptionally harsh winter.
"I wonder if the booming steam industry will lead to the 'greenhouse effect' becoming a concept ahead of its ti," he mused.
He pondered the question while washing his face but could co to no conclusion.
Before breakfast, Mr. Smith, the Keeper of Secrets, made a rare appearance outside the Gate of All Things. He showed Jenkins a round, palm-sized tal disc, upon which was a blood-red, rune-like sigil.
"Is this... the Killing Mark?"
"It is," Mr. Smith confird. "We successfully extracted it from the boy. While it no longer possesses its complex evolutionary function, it can at least sense powers from the sa source. This will be a great help in hunting down the other bearers of the mark."
Mr. Smith couldn't hide a flicker of pride as he said this.
The object still radiated a black spiritual aura, though it was now quite faint. Being cautious, Mr. Smith didn't allow Jenkins to hold it for inspection. The item was to be temporarily sealed behind the Gate of All Things to await the final verdict from the Holy See."
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