The butterflies, glowing in the darkness, followed the train for nearly an hour before gradually dispersing as they approached Shire. They ascended into the distant night sky like a luminous ladder. To Jenkins, their flight toward the twin moons seed more like moths drawn to a candle fla, though the analogy didn't feel entirely fitting.
The passengers in the dining car had been chattering excitedly by the windows, most considering it a symbol of good fortune. After all, very few people ever had the privilege of witnessing such a sight.
Setting aside their unusual nature, the butterflies were truly a breathtaking sight. Not even a swarm of sumr fireflies could compare to their beauty. But Jenkins, who knew the truth, had remained on high alert the entire hour, half-expecting the butterflies to suddenly rge into so giant monster and devour the train in a single gulp.
Chocolate, however, had been owing incessantly, her calls laced with an unmistakable hostility toward the butterflies. It then occurred to Jenkins that this would be the first spring since he had adopted her. Perhaps even a cat that loathed exercise might find so interest in chasing butterflies.
The train pulled into the station at 11:32 PM. After saying his goodbyes to a Mrs. Forant, Jenkins grabbed his small suitcase and was the first to step off the train.
He had been concerned he might not find Old Jack, but to his surprise, the old man was waiting right at the exit for the VIP carriage. He stood beneath one of the station's stone pillars, flipping through a book in the warm, yellow glow of an overhead kerosene lamp.
"Good evening, Jenkins. I'm surprised your train wasn't late."
He didn't lift his head, having identified Jenkins by the sound of his footsteps and the cat's ows alone. He snapped the book shut and pulled Jenkins into a great, hearty hug, an enthusiastic welco that left Jenkins feeling a bit overwheld.
"Good evening, Mr. Jack."
It was an odd na, but to this day, Jenkins still didn't know the man's real one.
"You must have been waiting a while, haven't you? I'm sorry to trouble you, having you co out to et so late at night."
"Not at all," Old Jack chuckled. "Besides, from Papa Oliver's letter, it sounded like if I didn't show up to et you, that grumpy old coot would probably have smashed my shop to pieces. Haha, but enough about that. Let's get going. It's far too late. You'll stay the night with , and we can head to the church in the morning."
The night in Shire was vastly different from that of Nolan City. Away from the tropolis perpetually shrouded in mist, the sudden lungful of damp, late-winter air felt almost jarring to Jenkins.
The temperature here was slightly warr than in Nolan; Old Jack had already shed his heavy winter coat. During the carriage ride back, the old man chattered on, pointing out Shire's local attractions. It seed he had received Papa Oliver's request to "have him stay a little longer."
But as pleasant as Shire was, it wasn't ho. Jenkins still preferred the coastal city of Nolan.
As they stepped out of the carriage and turned into an alley leading to the herbal dicine shop, Jenkins brought up the swarm of glowing butterflies he had seen earlier. Old Jack, who was walking ahead, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes, not the least bit clouded by age but instead as bright and clear as a child's, fixed on Jenkins.
The alley was unlit, the only illumination coming from the peculiar miner's lamp Jenkins held. He usually explained it away as a light source created by his abilities, a claim no one ever questioned—the power of the cosmos within it was simply too palpable.
It was self-evident that the power of the cosmos was primordial and gentle; it would never be the cause of a grueso, violent end.
"You encountered them?"
The old man's face lit up with excitent. After receiving Jenkins's confirmation, he turned and quickened his pace. The sign for the "Kingsley Teashop" had broken in half and fallen onto the path, forcing the two of them to clamber over it.
"So early this year? That's a good sign! They're an exotic species called Wayward Butterflies, and they're most active around Shire in early spring. Most of the Benefactors in this city know about those little critters. Beautiful, aren't they?"
Old Jack's herbal dicine shop was located midway down the alley. Despite its sowhat secluded location, Jenkins had heard from Papa Oliver that business here was even better than at the antique shop.
While Old Jack was known to peddle harmless fake redies, he was also a genuine herbalist whose prescriptions could cure most common ailnts in a flash.
"Wayward Butterflies? Are they dangerous?"
Jenkins asked the question while gently rocking Chocolate in his arms, hoping to lull her to sleep. He failed to notice the cat's whiskers twitching, her adorable nose wriggling as she sampled the air of this unfamiliar city. At the sa ti, she looked up at him with an expression that clearly said, "Are you an idiot?"
"Not at all. Those little critters hate getting close to any living creature. An ordinary person witnessing them, like you described, is sothing that hasn't happened in decades. I wonder what could have attracted them."
The old man mulled it over for a few seconds but couldn't co up with an answer. Seeing his shop just ahead, he started fumbling in his pockets for the key.
"The only extraordinary ability the Wayward Butterflies possess is teleporting any creature they touch to a random 'safe' location. It's quite a nuisance, actually. I go out to catch a few every spring for my redies—their wings are excellent ingredients. I rember one ti, about seven years ago, I was careless and tore a tiny hole in the fingertip of my glove. The next thing I knew, I was teleported to a small fishing village on the eastern coast of the continent. Oh, what a disaster that was..."
Old Jack's shop had a similar layout to Papa Oliver's antique store, though the retail space was smaller, while the warehouse out back was enormous. The second floor served as the living quarters, and one of the rooms had been tidied and prepared as a guest room for Jenkins to use for the night.
The visiting author found himself quite taken with the place. Confined spaces always gave him a sense of security, and the blankets on the bed slled not of mist, but of sunshine—a simple fact that brought him a great deal of pleasure.
Back in the shop, the two n soon retired for the night. Chocolate was initially uneasy in the strange bed, but after a bit of wandering, she eventually settled down and curled up by Jenkins's pillow.
Jenkins rolled over in bed and gazed out the window at the sparsely scattered stars. Suddenly, it all felt a little unreal. So far from Nolan, the star-dusted sky was utterly unfamiliar, and a pang of hosickness for his own city struck him.
"Chocolate, do you miss ho?"
"ow~"
The cat just wanted to sleep.
"Tomorrow, we'll head to the church first, then go out to the cetery in the suburbs to get the lay of the land. I think our trip to Shire is going to be quite interesting. I rember there are a lot of delicious local specialties... Have you ever heard of green radish soup with boiled carrots?"
"ow~"
The cat suspected Jenkins was ssing with her, and her suspicions were correct. The traveler's internal cookbook was vast; even if he couldn't cook, his intimate knowledge of ingredients allowed him to "draw" them into existence. On those occasions, the cat got to sample those unique flavors. It was a sha Jenkins didn't do it more often; if he did, Chocolate would be even more fond of him.
"ow~"
She was trying to wish Jenkins a good night, but he couldn't understand her. This made the cat feel a sudden flicker of irritation, and she resolved to give him the cold shoulder for a while in the morning.
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