"Why does Father Petri trust me so much--as to let me watch over them? And why would an industrial school for humans keep shape-shifters? "
Joe had asked the questions that he wanted to ask the most. He had come here to seek shelter and learn about the faith, not to attend to these...children whose species he couldn't name.
Last time, during Godfather Jili's lesson, a hungry little freak had stolen his belt for a meal.
His mouth spreading all the way to his ears and his large molars resembling a horse's had given Joe the scare of his life.
Strangely, a monster with human parts would strike him as sacrilegious and, in the ensuing moment, remarkably pitiable, yet a human with a few abnormal parts seemed just unsightly to him.
Joe was forced to doubt whether he liked a human or a monster.
"All of them were humans earlier on, but their mutations made their adoption impossible. Before the bishop decides their future, we need someone to help manage them." A black-attired deacon explained, expressionless, his gaze riveted on those kids. Joe didn't have to be told that the deacon would pull the trigger without hesitation should one of the children look about to flee.
"Wouldn't it be better to settle on a more reliable helper? Isn't this your secret? I haven't been baptized, after all."
"Your belief is not firm. That's where your advantage lies. You can accept... these kids better than us."
Joe wasn't the least bit happy. Immediately after discovering these children's true forms, he was compelled to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Furthermore, to avoid the Holy Grail Society, he had to work here for the time being.
Dodging monsters by engaging with more of them----- this made little sense.
"Looks like being much of a devotee is no good thing." Joe mocked.
Clayton had brought him word that the Holy Grail Society remained in business, a glimpse of the pathetic efficiency of the Church. Yet, they still requested that he oblige by spending days with these entities that were mentally immature yet dangerous, given their wondrous powers. Simply shameless.
Even if he had to stay here, he was in no mood to act like a devotee anymore.
The deacon didn't argue with Joe. "You are not to leave in the coming days. Just teach them what you learned in the military. Should you want anything, we would help you apply. But special requests can only be made once a month."
Joe spun to glance at him, then turned his attention back to the kids running all over.
"I want to get married."
The deacon fell silent.
Joe felt like he'd won a round. The corners of his mouth were lifted into an indiscernible smile.
"Just kidding. Better release me as soon as possible. I can't even find someone to gamble with here."
He was the one who had provoked the Holy Grail Society here, so he did feel obliged to help tackle them, which would also offer an excuse to join up with Clayton. Back when he had run 'Rusty Silver Coin', Joe could never squander three hundred pounds as willfully. Without a doubt, his old superior had struck rich.
"This is the second application. We'll see about it next month."
Joe stood dumbfounded a few seconds before turning to meet the black-clad deacon's arrogant gaze.
"Heavenly Father teaches us not to retract a promise that has escaped our lips."
"God damn you!"
....
Once outside the poorhouse, Clayton turned into the industrial school.
He had come here to trace the source of the smell, an objective he had to keep in mind.
Even though the two facilities occupied the same building, Clayton had not found an internal connection.
Outside, a high black fence of metallic railings cut down the middle. On either side were the respective entrances.
It didn't pose much of an obstacle to Clayton.
Gripping the iron railings, he began an upward scramble. When he reached the topping spikes, he channeled his strength to both arms and threw himself over them.
After hitting the ground, he found himself laced with some dirt and grass, the least of his concerns.
Finding no others around, he tracked the scent into the industrial school.
It seemed time for kids to turn in. Clayton heard a caregiver, on the second floor, striking door frames with a staff.
The person carrying the smell must have lived here for quite some time, for it had pervaded the air all around. Clayton couldn't determine which floor he or she resided on, thus he needed to explore upstairs.
The werewolf's sharp ears allowed him to stay out of the patrolling caregivers' sight as he sniffed everywhere.
At last, his bestial senses enabled him to locate his target on the top floor.
Before a few doors, the smell that he had been in search of reeked particularly strong.
Clayton, stepping up, tried the doorknob, eliciting a clacking sound, as the knob barely budged, clearly locked securely.
"Who is it?"
It was the voice of a kid losing baby teeth.
Clayton scarcely believed that a Holy Grail Society envoy was of such a tender age, but he still had questions to ask the kid.
He had the means to open the door without a key. However, on most occasions, resorting to them amounted to a crime.
This time, his retribution came especially fast.
No sooner had he tampered with the door, causing a little disturbance, than, from the room behind him, the voices and footsteps of an adult man rose. And he was approaching with due swiftness.
To keep unseen, Clayton dashed to the end of the corridor, where he climbed out of a window.
His hands gripping the ledge, he dangled outside the building, keeping his eyes slightly above the sill for an inside peek.
From the room bolted two men in clerical attire. Both were equipped with guns. After surveying the corridor yet spotting none, they nervously checked the rooms one by one.
Clayton guessed they were protecting Joe in service to the Church, but then found this assumption nonsensical.
Rather than protecting, they seemed to be standing guard.
But this was none of his business.
It was a good thing that the Church had assigned some men to keep an eye on people related to the Holy Grail Society. As for the details, he could ask Joe next time they met.
Joe hadn't mentioned Clayton to the Church's clergymen. Should he continue his probe here, he might well reveal himself to them.
He had yet to know how the Council of Elders got along with the Church, so he wouldn't opt to publicly intervene.
For now, it wouldn't hurt to put the clue here on hold. Perhaps he could gather something valuable at the Manis' old home.
He alighted from the window, marking the end of the investigation tonight.
.....
Having returned home, Clayton opened the tome sent by Cuitisi, killing time.
Even though its name would slay any desire to read, its content was decidedly plentiful.
His limited knowledge allowed him to understand barely a sixth of its content. After all, he failed even to measure up to an 'enthusiast of the occult'.
He was consulting the book solely to verify the information Gilead had given.
The book's name was Two Thousand Common Knowledge Facts for Enthusiasts of the Occult, while on the continent, including the Kingdom of Dorne, all occult history could not sidestep the White Church.
Needless to say, the book overflowed with knowledge about the religion.
At the entry on the Holy Grail Society, its emblem was illustrated.
The goblet was filled to the brim with blood, a trickle of which slid down its surface.
It looked identical to that wax-seal design. Even the angle from which the liquid trickled down seemed no different.
Gilead indeed hadn't lied.
Clayton's impression of the Council had improved. He flipped over a few more pages, intent on finding out more about the Holy Grail Society, before the tome slipped from his hands.
The hefty book hit the ground with a dull thud.
Clayton snatched it up, examining it for damage.
A card, originally tucked discreetly between the back pages, slid out.
A borrowing card.
The last name on it was Cuitisi, with a deadline for return: 13th April, 166.
It was October 169 now.
Clayton secured it back inside as his view of Cuitisi took another big step down.
That damned woman had disregarded rules as ever.
.....
"Vintage residence."
Such was the way northerners in Dorne called aged houses.
To earn the title, a house had to withstand over a century of elements. But they were not antique, their prices ever decreasing.
There were only a few vintage residences in Sasha City, yet by coincidence, the Mani family owned one.
On his way to the family home, Clayton felt emotional over the changes of times.
The vintage residence proclaimed the Mani family's splendorous past, since only fine quality construction materials could sustain the house to this day. But the ultra-wealthy ancestors were too distant from Joe Mani, who struggled to make ends meet now.
Clayton felt apologetic to Joe. He had learned from Joe's former landlord on Mercy Street that he had paid substantial compensation for the bullet hole in the wall. By now, Joe must be left with very little money.
But Clayton was perturbed by the likes of poverty now.
He felt like he was being followed by someone once again.