Sister Miriam returned with the children and lined them up before Sister Agnes and Thom.
Their faces were a mix of confusion and fear, small hands clasped nervously before their tunics.
"These are the ones who aided you in your fields today," Miriam said, her voice firm. "Beatrice, Margaret, Cecilia, Joan, Richard, William, Hugh, Walter, and Elias."
She turned to the children, her eyes narrowing. "Master Thom has come with grievous news. Two of his hens are missing. He wishes to know if any of you have stolen them."
The children murmured anxiously, some looking down at their feet. Miriam raised her hand and began a prayer, her words sharp as a blade:
"If you speak falsehood beneath this roof, may the Lord's wrath weigh heavy upon your soul."
Sister Miriam then took a burning candle in her hands and continued, "The guilty child will cause the flame to flicker when he lies."
One by one, she asked them. Each child gave their answer, voices trembling but insistent: they had labored faithfully.
The candle remained steady throughout the interrogation.
At last, only Elias and Richard remained.
Sister Miriam's eyes narrowed on Elias.She lifted the small wooden cross that hung from her rosary and held it before him. "By the holy rood," she said, "confess what you have done. Did you take what was not yours?"
Elias did not speak. His gaze fixed on the cross.The silence stretched unbearably.
Miriam's lips thinned, her temper rising. "Do you mock the Lord with your silence, child?". Before her rebuke could deepen, Sister Agnes stepped forward.
She knelt, lowering herself to the boy's level. "Elias," she said, her tone steady and gentle, "look at me. If you are guilty, nod once. If you are not, shake your head"
After a long pause, Elias inclined his head in the barest shake. His face remained as blank as stone, without fear or sorrow.
A faint hiss of breath escaped Miriam's lips, but she turned away and fixed her gaze on Richard.
Under the intense stare of Sister Miriam, the boy stood trembling, his fingers twisting at the hem of his tunic. His chest heaved, and sweat glistened on his brow.
"Richard," Agnes called softly, her footsteps slow as she approached. She laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice kind as balm. "Speak the truth, my son. You are among those who love you. God sees your heart."
At that, Richard's composure shattered. He dropped to his knees, weeping openly. "Mother, I did not take them! I swear! I do not know what became of the hens!"
Agnes bent, pressing her lips gently to his damp forehead. "Hush now. Be at peace, child. The Lord knows your innocence."
Rising, she signaled to the girl at the doorway. "Take them all back to their dormitories. Let them rest."
The children filed out, some whispering, others silent. At the threshold, Richard lingered, glancing back at her with desperate eyes. "Mother… must I sleep beside Elias?"
Agnes gave him a gentle smile. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we shall see your bed."
Relief softened his face, and he hurried after the others.
Moments later, another girl entered, curtsying low. "Mother, we searched for their possessions. Nothing was found."
Thom, who had watched in growing discomfort, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The sight of the poor, trembling boy broke him. "Forgive me, Sisters. These children… they toil hard for me. I should not have suspected so quickly. I will… I will give two silver coins this month, for their care."
Sister Agnes inclined her head with grave dignity. "Your generosity shall not be forgotten, Master Thom. May God bless your household. When dawn breaks tomorrow, we will help you find your hens."
The man bowed low and left.
The next morning, his two hens were found eaten in the woods, and this matter was concluded to be the work of a beast.
But this was just the start of unfortunate events that will occur in the following months. In the six months that followed, nine more such incidents befell the surrounding villages.
First it was hens, but then goats have gone missing,livestock were discovered half-eaten in the woods and yesterday was the biggest loss, a cow had been found slain near the river, its carcass torn open in a manner no wolf or dog could have managed.
Yet one thing was constant in every report—the children from the orphanage had been present nearby. Because of this, whispers spread among the villagers.
Donations to the church dwindled, and its good name began to rot under suspicion.
Sister Agnes was busy in her prayers when a novice entered the chapel and bowed low before Sister Agnes.
"Mother, Father Bernard has arrived."
Sister Agnes rose from her prayer bench, smoothing her habit before stepping into the cloister. There, Father Bernard awaited—his cloak was still dusty from the road, two guards standing at his back. His face was stern, his eyes shadowed with sleeplessness.
"Father Bernard," Agnes greeted, inclining her head. "What brings you from the city in such an hour?"
He returned the gesture, though his voice was grave. "I received letters from surrounding villages, Sister. Nine incidents in half a year… and now a cow is ripped apart by the river. These are not the doings of foxes or wolves. I fear a darker hand."
Agnes folded her arms,"You speak of monsters."
"Monsters, or the Devil himself," Bernard said. His voice lowered. "And I cannot ignore the thread that binds each event. The children of this house were present at every scene. That cannot be a mere chance."
Agnes's eyes flashed, her voice sharpened. "They are orphans, Father. Innocent souls who toil where they are sent. Do you truly think they are capable of such horrors? No—it is the Devil who schemes against us, seeking to blacken the Church's name and halt the good we do."
Bernard's jaw clenched. "Perhaps. Yet suspicion lies heavy, and it must be answered. You know as well as I that monsters and devils bleed black, and you claim each child is tested."
"Indeed," Agnes said firmly. "Every year, their blood is examined. Not once have we found the stain of corruption. Not once. Would you call me a liar, Father?"
Bernard's gaze softened only a fraction, but his resolve did not waver."No, Sister. I do not call you false. But I was charged by the city to see this matter. I will interrogate, I will search, and if need be, I will test again. The flock must be protected, the name of the church mustn't bear any stains."
Agnes straightened, her hands clasped tight before her. "So be it, Father. Do what you must. But know this—if you raise false judgment upon one of these children, you shall answer before God Himself."
Bernard gave a single nod. "Then let us pray He guides us both."
Unbeknownst to them, Sister Miriam lingered behind the closed door. In her hands, the register trembled—the same register she had scoured time and again, tracing the pattern no one else wished to see. Every incident, every report, her suspicion… only one name recurred.
Elias.