The most challenging aspect of containing A-06-1-6269, "Goodnight, My Child," was that even spatial artifacts like the Gate of All Things could not block its effects. Consequently, this Cursed Item could not be stored long-term in the space behind the Gate. Until it could be transported to a remote, uninhabited sea for permanent containnt, it had to be moved on a precise daily schedule.
After parting ways with the Keeper of Secrets, Jenkins finally rembered he had a cat. He and Chocolate had both been hungry when they left, so now was the perfect ti to get sothing to eat.
The Keeper of Secrets' information was accurate; Miss Bevanna was indeed at the dining table. Seeing Jenkins sit down with a troubled look on his face, she set down her spoon and announced:
"There's no room for discussion. Papa Oliver has already made it clear—unless you intend to leave the city for good, we will not permit you to leave the church. It's simply too dangerous."
This was the fallout from yesterday afternoon's incident. The Church considered it irresponsible to everyone to let Jenkins wander the city freely, so they had firmly insisted he remain here.
To Jenkins, it was no different from house arrest. Although no one would physically stop him from leaving, he had no intention of defying Papa Oliver's command.
"I know, but..."
"No. It's not up for negotiation. I know you had an appointnt with your publisher this morning. We've already sent him a letter; he'll be visiting you here around nine o'clock."
"I know, but..."
"You won't be bored. As a reward for turning in B-04-3-7292, the 'Soul Box,' the Church has decided to grant you early access to the fourth floor of the Secret Trace Library. You'll have plenty to keep you occupied."
"I know, but..."
This ti, it wasn't Miss Bevanna who interrupted him; Jenkins trailed off on his own. He eyed her suspiciously, waiting for her to continue, but it seed she had already said her piece.
"Fine, my turn to speak then. You see, I had a strange dream last night."
As Jenkins had co to realize that the Church tended to believe most of his nonsense, he grew increasingly skilled at fabricating his stories.
He wove together bits of information he actually knew with the trappings of a dream, using "Miss Audrey's astronomy lesson" as a pretext. Just like that, a brand-new "prophetic dream" was born. Of course, he made sure to end it with:
"I felt an unknown dread, as if so colossal entity in the void was staring directly at . A groundless panic and a hollow emptiness washed over my heart, and I felt myself plunging into an abyss... and then Chocolate's claws jolted awake."
It was an incredibly useful narrative. It served to highlight the dream's extraordinary nature and convey the terror of a prophetic vision, all without a single drawback—aside from potentially offending Chocolate.
"A circus... I see."
Miss Bevanna nodded, her expression turning grave. "That certainly sounds like a prophetic dream. Based on your description, this could be a very serious problem..."
She took only a few more bites before rising to leave, but not before issuing another warning to Jenkins not to leave the church on his own.
Jenkins stroked Chocolate and, lowering his head, continued to eat. A few minutes later, he heard soone take a seat beside him. A glance revealed it was Papa Oliver.
"Don't leave the church, I know."
He nodded, repeating Miss Bevanna's earlier warning while fishing a slice of at from his bowl with a spoon.
"No, I'm not here to talk about that," Papa Oliver said. "What are you smiling at?"
Seeing Papa Oliver's face, Jenkins was inexplicably reminded of his dream from the night before—and the image of the old man wearing a dress. He absolutely could not let him find out. Otherwise, Papa Oliver would never let him forget the "you turned into a mouse" incident, bringing it up every single day.
"Is there sothing wrong with how I'm dressed today?"
Papa Oliver glanced down, suspiciously inspecting his own clothes.
"No, not at all," Jenkins quickly replied. "I was just rembering the cute way Chocolate yawned in the washroom this morning... Please, you were saying."
"Right."
Papa Oliver nodded, though he was still skeptical about the reason for Jenkins's smile.
"I recall you've been following the case of that woman who awakened her ancient bloodline. There's been a new developnt. The potion that triggered her awakening is identical to the one described in the docunts you found on your travels. It turns out those docunts weren't written by the doctor at the manor; he acquired them while he was in Shire City."
"So you're saying the dangerous person who left those docunts behind in Shire City has actually co to Nolan?"
"That's right."
Papa Oliver nodded, his gaze drifting down to Jenkins's spoon, which had frozen in mid-air. Chocolate, having finished her own al, had already crept over on silent paws.
"Therefore, we need soone to travel to Shire City and deliver this investigation report to the local church. That task falls to you. You leave tomorrow. I've already purchased your ticket. Soone will bring you the docunts and the ticket either this evening or tomorrow morning."
"Huh?"
"Weren't you planning on visiting Old Jack soon anyway?"
"Yes, but... isn't this a bit sudden?"
Jenkins did have plans to revisit the cetery in Shire City, but not this soon.
"Sudden?" Papa Oliver countered. "It's perfectly normal. Besides, it's not like you have anything important to do here in Nolan."
Papa Oliver shook his head. Jenkins felt a rhythmic tremor in the spoon he was holding. He glanced down to see Chocolate already lapping up the broth from its bowl.
By the ti Mr. Brol arrived at the church, the "surprise cake" Jenkins had sent for had just been delivered for Chocolate. He quickly hid it from the cat, planning to present it after the bookseller was gone.
"I've always admired the decorative style of the Sage's Church," Mr. Brol comnted. "Look at this—it must be cast from holy silver, isn't it? Truly magnificent."
The portly rchant had a healthy glow about him. He was dressed in a brown business suit, a professional attire that marked him as a man of comrce. The stitching on the cuffs was remarkably dense, suggesting the suit had likely been made with one of the newfangled steam sewing machines.
It was a new invention, created just last year. All one had to do was align the fabric with the needle using special copper-colored clips, turn a knob on the steam engine, and the machine would start working automatically.
However, the device had yet to find a market. Its high rate of malfunction and the poor quality of the finished products ant that the cost of manufacturing clothes was still far higher than hiring skilled, low-wage seamstresses.
But to a transmigrator like Jenkins, this modification to the steam engine heralded the dawn of a new age. He was genuinely astonished by the invention. He eagerly anticipated the progress this era would bring and longed to witness the ergence of more products that were at once both familiar and strange.
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