"Why are you distributing food here?" Clayton stared at Joe Mani, wide-eyed.
A ladle in hand, Joe Mani looked shocked. "Why are you eating here?"
"Because I have donated three hundred gold pounds. That allows me to personally assess the living standards of those I have donated to." Clayton proclaimed.
The mess hall was crowded with wretched-looking people in worn-out clothes, ranging from children to middle-aged people. The elderly were rarely seen, nevertheless. Clayton stood out eye-catching among them.
At the time, they were lining up, a bowl in hand and their gazes intent upon Joe and a few other caregivers, who, dressed in white aprons, ladled food from buckets.
Way too illogical that Clayton would come here. But Joe's confusion was short-lived, as he still had to work.
He scooped a bowl of rich soup for Clayton as well. As its fragrance had told Clayton's nose, it contained diced potatoes and carrots, alongside minced meat- an ingredient his bowl had received little of. Aside from the soup, he was given a palm-sized black bread.
After getting his share of food, Clayton came to a long table and started eating.
The food didn't taste bad, but the portion could barely fill an adult man's stomach after a day's manual labor.
Above the soup floated some uncooked leaves of peppermint. Clayton could not see why.
A caregiver, assigned to show him around, was seated beside him. From the moment Clayton sampled the first mouthful, the caregiver had locked him with an intense gaze, dreading a shake of the head or a complaint.
Clayton looked unperturbed, which made the caregiver heave a sigh of relief that slipped away amidst the chewing and slurping noises all around.
"I am going to look around alone. Don't tag along behind me." Clayton requested.
"How can that..."
A subconscious rejection rose to the caregiver's lips, but Clayton's narrowed eyes scared him out of his wits.
The werewolf's pupils had each constricted into a pinpoint, an intimidating sight for the beholder.
After dinner, the recipients thronged into their temporary dormitories, while Clayton caught Joe alone in the corridor.
"You seem quick about it, getting in touch with the Holy Grail Society within such a short time. Have you been settled with them?"
"What do you mean by that?" Joe looked bewildered.
Studying his expression, Clayton spotted nothing abnormal. Perhaps Joe was in the dark about it, he reflected.
But since Joe no longer disguised himself with make-up and a false identity, he had probably already confessed to the Church.
"Nothing. Never mind. I originally thought they had found you."
"How could it be? What is strange is that you have managed to find me, Lieutenant." Joe pressed on his sore neck. "I initially thought nobody could have found me here."
One had to know that the priest had promised to keep all about him a secret.
Clayton admitted, "For sure, I didn't know you were here. I traced the clue of a Holy Grail Society member to this place. It was by chance I stumbled on you."
Joe's brows almost soared into the air. "So they have already entered here?"
"I don't know."
"Then don't speak in a tone so sure, Lieutenant." Joe looked around, greeted with an entirely empty corridor, then rubbed his hands together, saying, "I told everything to the priest, except the parts about you. He said they would deal with the Holy Grail Society immediately. Now I'm just learning here."
"When did you tell them?" Clayton asked.
"Four or five days ago."
Clayton retrieved the Holy Grail Society's note and shook it open before Joe. "Then I assume that the priest hasn't tackled them 'immediately' in a literal sense. Their theatre hasn't yet been closed down. And they have even delivered this threatening letter to my shop. Just consider their behavior. They seem to believe that 'Rusty Silver Coin' still belongs to your family, though that had been true until four years ago."
Joe gaped, then reacted. "You think I have purposely lied to you?"
"I don't think so, but you do need to think harder."
"Couldn't it be that because they couldn't find me, they could only have the letter delivered to my only associate?"
Clayton said regretfully, "For an instant, I have once shared your view. But I have told them earlier that you and I are not close, and there has been even some bad blood between us. Had they believed that, they would have asked me to relay a message to you. They needn't be so formal."
He pointed to the note. "When I received it, it was in an envelope wax-sealed in the pattern of a Holy Grail."
Generally, none but government departments and noblemen would exchange letters in such a formal manner. Since wax-sealing called for a stamp or signet ring, ordinary folks could hardly respond in the same fashion.
"But I really know nothing about it." Joe let out a despairing sigh.
"Perhaps your parents do."
"Maybe, but both of them have long since passed away."
This was news to Clayton. "I'm sorry."
Joe waved. "Actually, I am not that sad. I had lived apart from them since childhood. I am used to being without them."
"Well... then I retract my apologies."
The atmosphere grew silent. Clayton's honesty had devastated something incorporeal.
Joe held his forehead, realizing why his former superior had been unwed till now. As the Sacred Text says, Heavenly Father does not make a person flawless.
"If you do want the truth, then go to my old home. If my parents and the Holy Grail Society had any link, they might have left some evidence there."
"Won't you go along? That's your home, after all." Clayton asked.
Joe cast a glance at the staircase at the end of the corridor and soon looked away. "No, I have more pressing matters here."
Clayton eyed him skeptically. This didn't sound like what the man the Holy Grail Society had chased around earlier on would say.
But Joe was unshakable; Clayton had little choice but to leave it at that.
"Then give the key to me."
Joe lifted up his apron and untied a string of keys, then looked for his old home's, setting off a colliding metallic rattle.
Clayton furrowed his brows. He wouldn't be surprised were he to be told these keys were for all the doors in the poorhouse.
"The director trusts you this much?"
At last, Joe made it to his key and, head raised, handed it to Clayton. "These keys are not for the poorhouse but for the industrial school next door. More precisely, I am a volunteer at the industrial school. Because they share the mess hall, I would come over and provide a helping hand every so often."
The so-called industrial school was a facility co-founded by the city government and the Church, taking in abandoned babies and orphans.
The industrial school and the poorhouse split a sprawling building into two unconnected parts; outside, a fence with spikes cut down the middle, extending to their main gates. The only way to commute between the two institutions was through the main gates.
An industrial school was typically run by deacons and priests, who were designated by a Parish's bishop. But many chapels in St. Suliac Parish had been deserted in the wake of a widespread blaze and had remained unreconstructed till now. The Parish had been drained of clergymen. Even the position of bishop had long been vacant- purposeful clergymen consciously evaded a position there. Thus, unsurprisingly, none could be designated to operate St. Suliac's industrial school. As the neighbouring St. Melon Parish encompassed no industrial schools and its clergymen were less busy, if not idle, the job fell to them.
"That's seriously stunning. The director of the industrial school must trust you very much." Clayton felt happy for Joe.
Since he had been given so many keys, the industrial school staff must consider Joe a respectable gentleman.
However, at his compliment, Joe looked nonchalant, if not more aloof.
"What position do you hold?" With appreciation, Clayton inquired.
At this question, Joe's visage flashed an indescribable sentiment, a mix of regret, fear, resignation, and dejection.
"Perhaps...Mama."
...
Flabbergasted, Clayton departed from the poorhouse.
Joe had already returned to the next-door industrial school.
Despite nightfall, his work had only just begun.
The children were to retire to their rooms at half past eight. The main hall and corridors, lively and abuzz during the day, were now deserted.
Proceeding down the corridor, Joe, a lantern in hand, gave every door a light push to make sure they had been secured. Having checked all the rooms on the ground and first floors, Joe, free of worries, climbed to the top floor, where two black-clad deacons were already waiting for him. Fastened on their belts were vials containing the Holy Water and a revolver.
Besides offices and warehouses, this floor held other rooms.
Their chestnut-brown doors were plastered with 'No Entry' stickers, and before each, the two deacons would look the way as they would before a formidable enemy.
Joe removed the string of keys from his waist and produced a corresponding key to open the doors one at a time.
Identical in layout to the rooms downstairs, these rooms accommodated nothing forbidden but an untidy yet energetic kid each.
"Keep quiet and follow me."
With the lantern, Joe was now on his way downstairs. But this time, a sneaky, tiptoeing band of kids and two stone-faced deacons trailed behind him.
These children shared a similarity- they, along with Joe, were being taught by Godfather Jili.
After reaching the open field behind the industrial school, they no longer kept their voices low and began frolicking freely.
Some of them dug holes in the muddy ground with sticks, and some chased after one another.
The moonlight poured onto these kids, accentuating their beast hair, scales, and tails, which they uncontrollably exhibited, as a warm yet eerie atmosphere descended.