"I'm so sorry, friend. I'll compensate you. This is a fine yard; my own lawn is nothing as neat as yours. Oh, blast it, could I have so water? I'm absolutely dying of thirst!"
The knight, having noticed that his mount had torn up the lawn, spoke up. His words were a bit rough, but not vulgar. He gave the reins a tug, quieting his restless horse for a mont. The steed had a foul temper, but after lifting its head to stare at Jenkins and Chocolate for a mont, it surprisingly beca docile and lowered its head once more.
"Of course, water... What would you like to drink?"
Jenkins asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, though inwardly he was delighted.
"Now that's a fine question. Do you have any wine? It would be quite nice for wetting my throat."
"I do."
Jenkins nodded and turned to head inside, while the knight waited quietly outside, his face full of anticipation.
Before Miss Broniaons had fainted, she ntioned the items the clown could offer: the 'Clown's Red Nose Bomb,' the 'Clown's Spatial Pocket,' and the 'Color-Changing Wig.' The clown, in turn, accepted different kinds of desserts. From this, Jenkins surmised that providing different services to the one who knocked would yield different rewards.
He desperately wanted the 'Clown's Spatial Pocket,' as it was clearly a spatial storage item—sothing he had been dreaming of. The clown was gone now, but Jenkins noticed the military pack hanging from the side of the knight's horse...
Since Jenkins didn't drink, his house only contained so red wine purchased last winter when stocking up on provisions. But the man outside likely wouldn't be satisfied with just red wine. Jenkins thought for a mont, and after confirming that the two won on the sofa were truly unconscious, he went down to the basent. There, he used [Psychography] to manifest a large batch of all the wines he could think of.
The wine was all in glass bottles sealed with corks. The bottles were nestled in individual compartnts within a wooden crate, padded with straw to prevent breakage.
This batch of goods consud more than half of Jenkins's spirit, but it was all worth it. He struggled to carry the full crate of wine back to his doorstep, where the knight's face imdiately lit up with delighted surprise.
"I truly don't know how to thank you!"
He asked Jenkins for a rope and painstakingly secured the crate of wine to the horse's back. The poor steed looked like it could barely handle the weight, but when the knight mounted up again, it stood there, steady as a rock.
"Kind sir, I must be off on my great adventure once more. Take this, as thanks for the wine and compensation for your lawn."
He pulled a gold coin from his pocket and tossed it to Jenkins. The coin fell so quickly that Jenkins had to instinctively step out of the doorway and bend down to catch it.
When he straightened up, the knight and his horse were gone. Looking back at the open door of his house, the glow of the gaslight made the place look quite beautiful, which also ant that A-04-1-6671 was over.
Only the hoofprints stamped into the ground proved that what had just happened wasn't a hallucination. But Jenkins didn't go back inside. Instead, he lifted his gaze toward the corner of St. George Street.
He hesitated on the spot for a mont, then walked back into the house to grab his keys. After closing the door, he clutched the gold coin, pushed open the gate, and walked along the street under the dim lamplight toward the corner of St. George Street.
The old-fashioned carriage that had brought the diviners here was parked at the corner. The coachman, his face mostly hidden by his hat, stood before the carriage, waiting for him. Seeing Jenkins approach, he removed his hat, revealing a scorched face.
"Let think... Damn it. I can't believe I didn't notice him before, even though I've seen him more than once."
The writer's voice was steady, which the cat knew ant he was quite angry.
"A-11-2-3301, the [Malicious Coachman]."
He spoke the na and snorted coldly. "You accept deals from mortals to transport any passenger who boards to any corner of the world. Since when did you start transporting Cursed Items?"
He tossed the Sin Coin—Soul Gold—in his hand and then asked:
"So, I'm still curious. How exactly did A-04-1-6671 invade my yard? As I understand it, the boundaries of my ho should automatically repel any malicious intruders."
"It's simple. You invited it in... 'Please, co in.' You said that to the carriage, and at the ti, those two mortals weren't the only ones inside."
The coachman answered sullenly.
"So the boy didn't enter my house because I only invited him into the yard."
Jenkins concluded to himself.
He drew closer to the carriage. His eyes perceived a black aura enveloping the vehicle, an aura ford of writhing, grotesque faces struggling across its surface. To the naked eye, however, all that was visible under the dim yellow lamplight was the coachman's shadow, which quivered like tentacles, licking at the shadow of the carriage.
"You can transport cargo? Who hired you to bring A-04-1-6671 to my ho?"
Jenkins asked again. His left hand was in his pocket while his right hung naturally at his side. But a closer look would reveal his left hand clutching the tal block in his pocket, making the fabric bulge, and his right hand was poised as if holding a sword. He was ready to summon the White Bone Holy Sword and thrust it forward at a mont's notice.
"I cannot reveal information about my clients. Those are the rules."
"But you didn't leave imdiately after making your delivery. You stayed here and waited for to co out. Don't tell you were just admiring the moon."
The coachman clearly understood Jenkins's sarcasm. He tightened his worn-out coat, accidentally revealing the crimson collar of a sweater underneath.
He extended his right hand slightly and made a finger-rubbing gesture. The aning was obvious.
"What price did the people who had you deliver A-04-1-6671 pay?"
Jenkins nodded, indicating his agreent to the transaction.
"Ten gallons of virgin blood, 666 gallons of industrial-grade alcohol, 200 stone of black pine, thirty black cat's eye gems, and a sixteen-year-old boy who broke the nine traveler's commandnts."
It was a series of items with no obvious connection.
"Though it seems like a lot, these are just mortal things, aren't they?"
Jenkins asked.
"Yes. There was also a transcript of the [Devil's Docunt], one grand living sacrifice, and one accidental summoning."
The coachman added, then reminded him:
"If you wish to know the client who paid this price, you must first give my fee. Great One, it may be nothing to you, but to us, it is very precious. I trust your credit, but you are, after all, the God of Lies..."
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