Chapter 29: A Hand In Insanity

"You have done everything to warrant my concern, Father Anscham."​

Another incredibly deep bow. The bottle of wine, cheese, fruit and knives are left to the table, which is entirely wide enough to situate all of the trays alongside Sister Cardew's report. You pull it back for a moment (to her visible relief) before sliding your chair around the table. She does the same, so that you are both sitting with your backs to the other two figures in the room.

"You didn't have to find such a nice place. This wine must be worth a small fortune." She looks deeply impressed, sipping at the rose.

"My concern lies solely with your account of the exterior ward, Sister." The record is flipped open to the very first page. "You saw to every patient in the building, did you not?" Another sip. The wine really is too excellent to leave alone.

She's sneering. "Someone had to. How much have you read?"

"The account on Mr. Hayward and Jonathan Friedrich, both in full. I began to look into Victor Bonamy's account. I am extremely alarmed by your findings, Sister."

Her sneer is intense. "So am I."

"Please elaborate."

The Sister of Spirit seems eager to share her thoughts. "It's as I wrote. Mr. Bonamy's condition has been stabilized, and I have recommended his immediate transfer to Murgate." She sets down her glass. The lenses in front of her eyes catch on the candle light, obscuring her expression from view. "My concern lies entirely in your works."

"I have done nothing to warrant your concern. Jonathan—"

"The demon."

"Brother Friedrich—"

"My patient."

You set down your glass as well. "Our patient."

The priestess quiets down. Her nose goes back to the wine, her eyes shrouded and obscured behind glass.

"Please. Continue. I—"

"You have done everything to warrant my concern, Father Anscham."

You're grimacing, and try to not think about over two dozen pages dedicated strictly to your state of mind.

"The physical matters of Beorward are mundane to an extreme. Father Friedrich's neglect was entirely a consequence of overwork. Despite all appearances, his faculties have not been compromised." Her sneer softens slightly. "Your arrival was well timed. I mean no offense, Father Anscham, but given your extended leave of absence..."

The exotic fruit that you can't place is fantastic, though still unfamiliar. You listen while refilling your glass, regardless of whether or not the wine is helping.

"Father Wilhelm was certainly responsible for your arrival, and I strongly suspect that Mother Aimar had a hand in all of this..." She swirls her wine. "...insanity, as well."

Ray sniffs and lays down beside you, accepting that he won't be getting any table scraps. He hates cheese and fruit. You remind yourself to get him something nice later, for being so well-behaved.

In a much lower voice, Harriet continues, "my assumptions and speculation make very little difference, when the immediate reality of our situation requires the full attention of multiple cities. It is an outrage. The Church of Flesh has been stretched excruciatingly thin. I have made no assumptions in my report regarding your knowledge of the situation at hand, but I strongly suspect you are unaware of their position."

She picks at a stack of grapes, eating one quickly, still failing to show any emotion. "Father Pevrel's men are entirely insufficient for our continued defense, leaving Father Friedrich responsible for staffing the vast majority of our offensive and defensive capabilities. The leadership within Calunoth is entirely too preoccupied with their own problems to attend to more rural affairs. Father Sullivan has been placing our men on the line—" She narrows her eyes. "—given the continued efforts at Murgate—" They narrow further. "—which must now be supported as well."

It's a challenge to calmly sip at your wine. The tremor in your hands is worse than usual today. It's likely due to the lack of sleep you had last night, so you manage to keep your glass from spilling by taking it with both hands. "I am assuming this is the cause for the lack of support— in recent history— from the Church of Spirit."

"Obviously. If we had a single clergyman in the building, this entire charade would have never needed to take place. It's more than outrage. It's an embarrassment." She's sipping as well. "This is terrible conversation for such good wine."

"I know."

"You know more than you let on, don't you?"

"Pardon me...?"

"You attended to the exterior ward without any instruction or request to do so, did you not?"

Not only do you not care for mind-games, you are brutally honest. "I am the Father of the Church of Mercy. I never would have forgiven myself if I neglected lives in need." You lower your voice, taking a much larger drink of wine. "...if I neglected Our children."

"You were asleep for two days. To say nothing of my concern for your physical health—" Her sneer is gone. "The majority of the patients you attended to were in no condition to properly thank you."

"It would have been unnecessary, even if they could have." Another large drink. "To live is to serve, Sister Cardew. Their continued devotion is more than thanks enough."

She's frowning. "You should have heard how grateful they all were. At the very least, you wished to hear my concerns?"

"Yes. Would you please—"

"I believe I may have to keep repeating myself. You are a terrible listener."

"I am very overwhelmed, Sister Cardew."

"I know." Her frown softens further. "You are my primary concern, Father Anscham." Pages upon pages at the table are flipped through. The parchment and leather is pressed to lie flat open. The start of the entry on you remains face-up. "I could bore you to tears on the affairs of a church that does not even belong to you. We can recap the injury and illness that will heal in time or with sufficient mercy. You can stretch yourself thin, work yourself to the bone, and spend the next ten years trying to fix other people's problems..."

"You have made your point—"

"Have I? You seemed eager to spend all afternoon on a report I would have been happy to consolidate." She's pointing to a few key phrases in your entry. Obsessive, paranoid, and circular reasoning get tapped on multiple times.

Your frown could not be any more intense. "I fail to see how this is relevant to the care of Beorward's patients, or to your continued conduct within the Church of Flesh."

A tight smile is directed towards you. In a whisper— as discreetly as she can manage— Harriet confesses, "you are a patient within the Church of Flesh, Father Anscham, and I am assigned to your care. So long as you remain in its halls, and so long as you will permit me to aid you, I have been instructed to monitor your progress." She picks at another grape. "I do firmly believe that you would make rapid progress." Another sip. "This is already the most pleasant assignment I've been posted to, and you seem quite agreeable."

She looks up from her wine glass apologetically. "I know this must be difficult to hear. You don't need to stop fidgeting, but are you aware of how often you...?"

Your hands go from constantly teasing your wine glass, to flat on the table. "Yes— I— usually. I— I believe so."

"You aren't. It's alright. I won't torment you. I want to help you, Father Anscham. You may be staying in the Church of Flesh, but your neglect of your Spirit has certainly cost your body, hasn't it?"

You stand corrected. Your frown is now as intense as possible.

That was uncalled for.

"I'm sorry. I assumed you would prefer for me to be honest. It's true, though, isn't it?"

"I trust you to be frank with me, Sister, regardless of whether I wish to see your reports or not."

Her tight-lipped smile seems to relax, if only a little. "Is that a yes?"

The scars along your hands reflect against your wine glass. They're still trembling. It's easy to forget how much active effort has to be allocated towards keeping your hands still. A lifetime of repression quells the worst of the motion. You keep your eyes downcast. "I know just how badly I need this. Men— people like me— we have no use for pride—"

"Father Anscham?"

You lift your eyes. Sister Cardew has stopped eating, and pulls her record a little closer to herself. It looks like she wants to fish for a pen.

"Yes...?"

"If I may?"

You murmur, "record whatever you wish, but I am to see anything and everything that is written in regards to my person."

For the first time, you think you see a genuine smile from the stern priestess. "I see."

She flips to the back of the entry on you, and with a flourish, begins to scrawl a few additional notes.

[27th of the Thundering Moon, 605. Father Richard Anscham. Participation in study accepted on condition of full transparency. With due respect to participant's position, contact will be made to the Father of the Church of Spirit for explicit confirmation. Determination made by Sister Harriet Cardew for the time being will be in favor of honoring the participant's request. In respect to Spirit and Her will, all further recordings will be made in document

A large blank space is left at the end of the note. "May I see my purse, please?"

It's with your things. You produce it without any fanfare. From it, the Sister of Spirit extracts another book.

Your eyes widen. It's easily one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.

The cover is of white leather. Stamped into the face is your name, in yellow gilt. The entire cover is bound with black strips of hide, which are unwound in an instant. No fewer than a hundred blank, white, vellum pages are within the luxurious tome.

Sister Cardew's hand lingers over the first page for a moment, before looking to you with another small smile. "Do you want to...?"

"Yes. Please."

She gingerly extends the book to you. It's weightier than you expected, and must have been the only item of substance with her things. There are no entries within. No secrets. Given the lack of obfuscation in her work, Sister Cardew seems earnest enough.

You flip through the pages a few times, trying to soak in the feeling of so much vellum. There isn't even a bookmark, let alone any other indication of the item ever having been used.

Gently handing the item back after a few more precious moments, you whisper, "thank you."

"Of course. You know I'm eager to get started."

"I can see why."

"We'll come back to this." Your mutual love of the craft and the empty record is set aside. "I'm getting ahead of myself." Sister Cardew slides the large tome regarding the Church of Flesh back towards you. It's opened right to the start of your log.

[25th of the Thundering Moon, 605. Father Richard Anscham. Escort to be provided solely by Cyril Trebbeck. Under supervision of Father Friedrich and Father Wilhelm. Cross-reference for this document may be made available per Father Sullivan's approval.]

Your heart sinks.

"Is something wrong, Father?"

"This is not the first time I have been attended to by the Church of Spirit."

"I see." Harriet picks a little more at the fruit on the table. She's unreadable. You keep your eyes to the pages on the table.

[26th of the Thundering Moon, 605. The following observations are a second-hand account. Per instruction of Father Wilhelm, he is to remain undisturbed. Patient has long-standing history of abuse. Inability to receive treatment for chronic sleep disorder indicative of butchered invocation of Dream. Father Wilhelm has remained an obstruction to further inquiry. Father Friedrich has remained equally obtuse in regards to his care. Both...]

You're grimacing, but there's a great deal of appreciation laced throughout.

A confession is truly safe in the hands of a church leader.

A significant list of charges Sister Cardew intends to press for having her job made so much more difficult occupies the rest of the page. You're smiling by the time you finish reading the list.

She sneers. "You think this is funny."

Your nose goes to the wine, burying your face in the glass. "I would be lying if I said that I did not appreciate their support, Sister."

Finishing your drink, you notice Sister Cardew's is empty again, as well. You move to refill your own, only gesturing to offer her another. She puts up a hand to decline. "Some of the talk has some truth to it."

You've already lost track of how much you've had to eat and drink, had no intention of slowing down, are frankly sick of being called names, and would like to keep grimacing.

"You're still a gentleman."

Your grimace falls, if only slightly.

"Don't take any of this the wrong way." She's trying to soften her voice, stern as it is. "It is extraordinarily poor form to share any of this with you, but," she frowns, "I'm sure you'll be fine."

[Anonymous interviews with a number of clergymen, civilians and attendees within and around the Church of Flesh may be a poor indication of Father Anscham's faculties. Consistency between reports within the Church of Flesh bears repeating, but the following observations will require further investigation:]

The remaining twenty-something pages are detailed interviews with consistent claims regarding your behavior. Your eyes want to glaze over. It's nothing you haven't heard before.

[Obsessive. Paranoid. Withdrawn. Anxious. Self-harming. Lecherous. Neurotic. Overindulgent. Masochistic. Gluttonous. Blasphemous. Abuser. Reckless.]

You stop, and take another large drink. It's a lot easier to swallow.

Sister Cardew leans over a little, and places a hand beside the record. "I was sincerely hoping you wouldn't want to look over the entire thing."

"How— how could I not—?"

She taps obsessive three times. "I assumed some of it had merit, but—" The book is closed. "—I am infinitely more concerned with what you have to say."

You're frowning deeply.

So is she. "I don't want this to be any harder for you than it has to be. I know taking out any time, even for work, is enough strain on you as it is."

She actually looks fairly sympathetic. You're reminded for a moment of your mother's devotion to the Church of Spirit, for all of the good that they do throughout Corcaea.

The way that I've used Spirit is not normal. Only Mercy...

Sister Cardew folds her hands over one another, looking up to you earnestly. Her smile is as clear as the lenses over her eyes. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"