Nothing was resolved that night. Jenkins had made no promises, no decisions. It seed as if Hathaway had simply invited him to watch a play, yet she had understood everything. Jenkins tried so hard to shield himself, to be nothing more than a small shadow in the mist, but he was remarkably easy to read. He wasn't complex at all.
“Jenkins.”
She whispered his na, gazing at her palm before clenching it into a tight fist.
“Jenkins...”
Sotis, a woman doesn't need an answer to see the truth. In Jenkins’s flustered expression, Hathaway had seen his true feelings.
“You can’t escape!”
(Chocolate, in hot pursuit...)
Fleeing Hathaway’s ho in a panic, Jenkins took to the skies from a nearby alley, letting the unicorn carry him to the clock tower in Nolan City’s main square. He climbed the tower once more and crouched at the edge, hugging his cat as he gazed out at the cityscape. The cool night wind blew against his face, a welco sensation as he tried to clear his head.
Even now, the evening’s events felt like a dream, but it was a beautiful, vivid dream from which he couldn’t seem to wake.
“What am I supposed to do!”
He clutched his head, almost letting out a groan. But a cat that couldn’t speak, of course, was in no position to offer advice.
As for seeking help from Alexia, that was even more out of the question. Jenkins knew how the petite woman felt about him, and he wasn't about to do sothing so foolish.
“Why don’t I have a single friend I can trust with these kinds of questions?”
He muttered to himself. Chocolate sat beside him, its little paws tapping a steady rhythm against his leg.
“Chocolate, what do you think I should do?”
“ow~”
Jenkins didn’t understand Cat.
“What do you think I should do?”
He then turned to a grey pigeon perched on the other side of the tower. As he spoke, he held out a hand, a wisp of green energy swirling around his fingers. The pigeon imdiately flew over and landed on his outstretched finger.
But he didn’t understand Pigeon, either.
Eventually, the pigeon flew away. Jenkins remained crouched at the edge of the clock tower, hugging his head. He’d gained nothing from his rooftop vigil except a growing chill.
He knew, of course, that both Hathaway and Briny had feelings for him. But on one hand, he was reluctant to bring another person into his life so easily. On the other, he couldn't bear to be the third person in their relationship.
The fact that Chocolate had nearly died a few days ago served as an even starker warning: anyone who got close to him could lose their life in an accident one day.
As for whether he truly liked Hathaway Hersha and Briny Mikhail, Jenkins naturally had his own answer.
“Oh, gods, won’t soone give so guidance?”
If he weren’t worried about being spotted by the police patrolling below, he would have scread it out loud. But no one could guide him. So things, he had to figure out for himself.
The next day was Monday, though for Jenkins, the day of the week hardly mattered. When he arrived at Pops Antique Shop, the old man was just getting dressed to go out, a suitcase in hand.
“Are you... going on a business trip?”
“Hm?”
Papa Oliver paused, then realized Jenkins had misunderstood because of the suitcase.
“No, these are burial goods from the cetery. I need to return them to the Church.”
“I can take them.”
He said, reaching for the suitcase.
“I can handle it. I have so business to take care of at the church today anyway.”
Papa Oliver gestured toward the ring of keys on the counter.
“If you’d like, you can mind the shop. If you have other things to do, just lock up when you leave. I probably won’t be back for dinner, so consider today a day off. Don’t wander about, and be wary of strangers.”
With his back to Jenkins, he finished buttoning his coat, then gave a wave and left the shop with the suitcase in hand.
“A day off?”
Jenkins glanced at the keys on the counter. “Should I keep searching the abandoned cetery for the Corpse-Wrapping Nun’s Habit?”
Of course not. The most pressing crisis was the sealed artifact Mr. Pisco had ntioned in his letter—the one set to break free on Wednesday.
Not long after the old man left, Jenkins locked the shop and departed as well. He wondered if there would be enough sun to dry the laundry he’d hung out that morning as he walked toward the location Mr. Pisco had indicated.
The item was hidden in the Dock Area, not far from Pops Antique Shop. Jenkins slipped on his black robe in an alley and, after about a half-hour walk, was nearing his destination.
Due to the recent tornado, the “steam pipe explosion,” and the “sudden acute infectious disease”—cover stories for the undead outbreak—the Dock Area was now under stricter city council surveillance.
Despite it being dayti, the streets were nearly empty. This was highly unusual. Every year in late winter, ship owners would use the last quiet days before the sea ice thawed to clean their holds. Warehouses would be abuzz with activity, taking inventory and preparing for the long, busy season that stretched over half the year.
The recent turmoil in the Dock Area was common knowledge among the citizens of Nolan, so unless they had essential business, they wouldn't co within a stone's throw of the place. A man strolling through with a cat was a bit conspicuous, but fortunately, no one had approached him yet.
This ti, Chocolate’s fur had shifted to an orange-and-white pattern. Its left ear was orange, while its right ear and face were white, but it looked as adorable as ever.
“North Street, North Street...”
Jenkins had never heard of the street where Mr. Pisco had hidden the item, and he couldn’t find a map of the area. He was forced to rely on street signs, searching slowly. As it turned out, though the na was “North Street,” it was little more than a lane, only slightly wider than an alley and not even broad enough for two carriages to pass each other.
His destination, 24 North Street, was a shipping company. Being a Monday, it was open for business. When Jenkins knocked and entered, he found only a middle-aged woman sitting at the reception desk, knitting as she flipped through a magazine called Gorilla’s Fingernails.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to... Should I clean my boots? I don’t see a doormat.”
The snow from the past few days was slowly lting, leaving the streets outside a ss of muddy water. The soles of his boots were caked in mud.
“Just scrape them off on the corner of the wall outside. I sent the mat to be cleaned last month and haven’t gotten it back yet.”
She looked like she had no desire to deal with Jenkins, but still had to do her job. When he explained he was there to pick sothing up, she showed no surprise, simply asking for the shipping order number.
“What?”
Jenkins thought he had misheard.
“The shipping order number, sir. I need the order number now, and then I’ll need the original shipping docunt!”
“But...”
Jenkins didn't have a shipping order.
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