Chapter 40: I'm Here

"It's alright."​

Ripping off a small piece of parchment from your possessions— the cleanest one you can find— and scratching out a note takes a matter of seconds.

'Urgent matter, needs to be addressed discreetly. I am waiting right outside with Ray.

—Father Anscham'

Sliding the note beneath Sister Cardew's door and glancing around the hallway, you try to smoothly stand back upright. Absolutely no one pays you any heed.

Several minutes pass. Ray demands a little attention, which you happily oblige. He seems proud of his harness, and you try to not fuss with it.

A few more minutes pass by.

Is she out working?

"Father." Impatience is all through Harriet's voice, as it rings out over many more locks behind her door. They must have multiplied since you last visited. "Just a moment."

Taking a broad step backwards, looking down, you do your best to not fidget too frequently. Another minute or so goes by, with "papercuts and dogears" and a few, "by all the Gods, this shouldn't be necessary."

Sister Cardew finishes unbolting the entrance to her room, glances down, and looks up to you with a weary smile. "He's well behaved, as always." Your slip of parchment is in the brunette's hand, snapped between two fingers. She points it to you briefly, while glancing repeatedly down both ends of the hallway. "You are a sight for sore eyes. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you again."

Your frown is immediate.

"A joke." She's as straight-faced as you are, and possibly sterner.

Could have fooled me.

Good intent and a welcome nod of her head beckons you into the room, contrary to how harsh her tone is. "Don't just stand out there. Come in."

As quickly as you're able, you usher Ray in behind you. He immediately looks as if he wants to explore. Your eyes go wider than they already were, glancing at a collection of white flowers and cloth on almost every surface of the small chamber.

Sister Cardew takes a step ahead of you, nodding towards two chairs set opposite each other. They're right near the door, but to your relief she requests, "help me move these further back."

Getting situated near a far wall, you glance around again. It's unusual for you to be so alert, having rested properly. The air smells of white lilies and lavender. Bolts of fabric are draped across half of the room, obscuring what you strongly suspect to be Harriet's actual living quarters. The rest of the open area— a hearth, stacks of parchment, a small collection of books, and the chairs you're occupying— are all shoved as far from the door as possible. You catch a few names along the spines of each book, pertaining to different clergy within the Church of Flesh. Though your eyesight is excellent, Harriet's room does not have a window, and the entire chamber is lit poorly. Beeswax candles intermingle with the sweet smelling air.

She politely explains, "you caught me at a good time. I just got in." Another wave of the note is made to you with a frown. "What's all of this about?"

There is literally nothing I could tell this priestess that would shock her. Not after everything she has heard.

"King Magnus— He— there was a letter. He has personally addressed me—"

The thin lips across from you get visibly tighter. Restlessly, your hands twitch back to the metal around your neck and collarbones. Fixing your gaze down (avoiding the gaze pointed at you), you settle your eyes on the frayed white shawls draped over both chairs. "There has been— it is nearly thirty pages, Sister Cardew."

"Let me take a look."

You produce the gilded vellum immediately, to the horror of the woman sitting across from you. She flips through the pages in shock. "He's supposed to be Merciful. This is outrageous. You can't."

With a nod, keeping your eyes averted, you murmur, "I know."

The letter is handed back after what feels like only a few seconds. You can hear her smile, pained as it is. "This complicates things, doesn't it?"

"Yes. I was hoping— if it is not too much to ask..."

There's no interjection, as the priestess patiently waits for you to continue.

Glancing to her, you nearly draw back. Her brow is furrowed, with a hand to her temple in visible distress. She still doesn't say a word, though it looks as though several dozen curses are on the tip of her tongue.

"...Sister Cardew, I— I was hoping, if you had any thoughts on the matter— I cannot possibly travel to Calunoth. Not now. Not like—"

She finally interjects, curtly, "no. Absolutely not. It's out of the question."

"If— I understand what a difficult position you must be in, but— I— I need your aid. Your word. You understand better— absolutely more than anyone. What I have—"

The hand at Sister Cardew's temple goes to the bridge of her nose, adjusting the over-sized lenses. Smiling tightly back to you. It's disarming. Enough for her to interject again, "Father Anscham."

"Yes?"

"I know it's difficult, but please, try to look at me. Just for a moment."

You do. She looks as if she's been hurt physically. You're grimacing hard enough that your face hurts, too, but she keeps smiling. The weary, pained expression reminds you of Father Wilhelm, and it's hard to not hate it.

She folds her hands neatly on her lap, and drops the smile. "Are you aware of what this means for you? What refusing Him may entail?"

It's entirely too difficult to keep her gaze. Ray drops himself at your feet, on top of your shoes, clearly bothered by how upsetting the conversation is. You don't bother scratching him (with how much you're fidgeting), and murmur, "Father Sullivan's accusations— I am certain— would never fall under question. Not now. Not— not if—"

"Richard."

It's inappropriate for her to address you as such, and hurts a lot more to hear the absence of your title than it rightfully should. Especially for everything that follows.

"You might not have a place to go home to. Not as you should. Not for everything you have endured. Certainly not for everything you've earned."

She squeezes a handful of her skirts and shawls so tightly, it's audible. You glance up to see something terrible.

The priestess looks furious. "You deserve a lot more than a few weeks to yourself. It's not right. He knows what he's doing." She's standing, moving to get parchment and pens. "They don't know the half of it. They wouldn't doubt you for a second if they did. It's not right—" A quick glance over her shoulder, and a flurry of fabric is pointed directly at you. "You know I will help you, to the best of my ability."

"Y-yes."

"Let's prove them wrong. What did I promise you?"

"Transparency."

Grabbing enough parchment to fill another book, the priestess drops unceremoniously back down in her chair, and speaks sincerely. "That's right. You tell me what you need. No one else is hurting you under our watch. Got it?"

"I— Sister Cardew?"

"Yes?"

"I sincerely need your advice."

Her pen is set back down firmly. "I see."

"No one knows of what I have endured. Not the— not the full extent of it." Keeping it together has the tremor back in your hands in full. Knitting your fingers together, trying to keep your voice level, you manage, "I am overwhelmed. I need help. I understand that this is madness. I— I am not well. Father Friedrich knows it. Everyone— I imagine most people—"

"There's no need for that."

"There is. What can I do? The last thing I want is for any harm to befall you, or anyone else tasked with— with aiding me." All attempts to stave off a headache are proving futile. You glance to white curtains, and resist the urge to close your eyes. "I need to rest. To recover. To heal properly. Father Wilhelm did everything he could simply to get me here. I cannot fathom shouldering one more complaint, Sister—"

A hand goes to your knee. She squeezes it very gently. "It's alright. Take a minute."

"There is never—"

"Really. You want my advice, right?"

"Yes—"

"Breathe. Just for a few seconds. Let me gather my thoughts. I'm getting carried away, too."

The hand comes off delicately, while you try to slow your pulse. A few deep breaths are not so bad. There's lavender, and white lilies.

It vaguely reminds you of dry-heaving in a valley of death, with a demon of Spirit intruding on your mind.

Ray tucks his head under your arm, whining, doing his best to remind you that he's there.

Sister Cardew clears her throat. "Richard."

"Y-yes—?"

"It's the flowers, isn't it?"

​

"Yes."

"I'll take care of them. Can you stay with me?"

A pause. You take another deep breath, aware that your pulse is in your chest, your ears, and near hands in your throat. There's no thin strands of sickness spilling over your lips or eyes.

You open your eyes. A hand is back on your knee, squeezing very softly.

Choking down your nausea, you manage, "yes."

"Good." The squeeze persists. "You're an honest man. I think you should use that to your advantage. There is no shame in anything you have endured. Mercy set you on your mission for good reason, right?"

There's no need to reply, for how sternly you look back at Sister Cardew. Your clear and convicted response is for more than the sake of anyone sitting in the room with you. "There could not be a more righteous calling. To live is to serve, Sister."

She smiles back at you. "That's what I thought. You need to let the world know, Father. I can vouch for you. Repeating—" She waggles the end of her pen, her smile turning coy. "—the word of the Father of the Church of Mercy is nothing to hide. Nothing worth reprimand. A report in regards to locating a divine Relic: one that was entrusted to you by the Goddess Herself. A little recovery, mandated by Father Friedrich—" She's outright smirking. "—who can easily vouch for attending to the state you're in. Possibly due to the mistreatment of a certain Brother or two...?"

Her eyebrows are raised.

You're frowning.

"Might be too far?"

The grimace painting your face intensifies. "No. Far from it." It's all you can do to keep the tremor out of your voice. "It is— Sister Cardew, this is so long overdue, I hardly know where to begin. They— this—" You gesture towards the parchment. "—they have destroyed my life. My body. My home. I cannot fathom a more appropriate retribution. Not— not to speak of Vengeance so candidly— but this is the right thing to do."

Your grimace is reflected right back at you. "I couldn't agree more." The hand on your knee squeezes a little more tightly.

"Will you pen this for me? The— an implication."

"Of course."

It was her idea, but Mercy, is this reassuring.

"What of the rest," Sister Cardew asks.

You are an honest man. Fervent, devoted, and unafraid. "They were not the only ones at fault."

Her grimace tightens, as does the hold on her pen. "I know."

"Would you— I would never wish to jeopardize your position in the Church of Spirit—"

The hand on your knee releases, as the priestess across from you pulls back.

She stands up, looking down on you. Every inch of her reads that she wants to take you into another hug, but there's clearly something staying the motion. "I would have." Her voice cracks. "Even if you hadn't asked."

It feels like you're tearing a daughter from her home. Trying to explain further is useless. She's heard everything, but still, you murmur, "Father Sullivan— I know he's meant well—"

"It's not right. None of it is. He had no right."

"Some of it is—" You scramble to correct her. "—my work would never have been possible without being taken in. My worship— Mercy. I— I don't wish to boast, or brag..." Trailing off with a deep sigh, you try to glance up. Ray is wrestling himself beneath your arm in full, dropping his head on your lap, and demanding that you use your hands for something other than fidgeting or clutching at metal tightly enough to hurt yourself.

You scratch behind his ears, his sides, and place your aching hands together.

"My work— it— I have done so much good, Sister Cardew. You know possibly better than anyone. It extends so much further than the halls of the Church of Flesh. Receiving Idonea's Relic— my Relic, Her mission, my congregation— Mercy, I deserve a break."

She sits back down slowly, keeping her eyes on you all the while. "I would never hope for less from you." Her grimace lifts, if only slightly. The priestess' pen is poised. "I'll paint the best picture I can. No exaggerations, alright? The truth is unbelievable enough as it is."

"I— I know— but thank you. I— I have no use for pride, Sister. My duty to all of the Gods— it extends to their Churches, as well. Now, more than ever. Not just that of Mercy. All of Them. I will serve Them and aid Them beyond the best of my current ability. I wish to combat each and every issue my family is facing."

The grimace across from you seems to have broken back into a small smile. There's no interruption.

"I need to build my strength. There is nothing I can do to help others if I lack faith in myself. Anything less— it would be a disgrace. Not— not only to myself, but to all of the Gods."

Her smile is weary, but earnest. Devoted. A little light comes back into Harriet's voice. "You don't hear this often enough, I'm sure, but you're a good man."

You aren't sure how to respond, and let her continue.

"I understand completely. I'll finish this before the afternoon is out. Safely. Discreetly. No one will interfere with correspondence from the Church of Spirit." Her voice drops. "Nor a royal message."

"I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate it."

With a tilt of her head, Harriet reminds you, "to know is to serve. Thank you." She sets aside the parchment. "Gaining a better understanding your situation has been a blessing. I understand that you're pressed for time, so I won't keep you." Leaning forward in her chair, hands clasped together, your caretaker asks, "but can you let me know how you've been?"

Back to fidgeting.

"It's been three and a half days. I don't want to stress you, but we've been worried. You deserve the break, but, well. There's no need to disclose anything. I simply want you to know that I'm here."

"Is there any way we could resume this discussion—" You try to not tense or tremble. "—some peace, and quiet— if I could possibly stay here, for the afternoon? After I see to Father Friedrich?"

"Of course."

A sigh of relief escapes you. "Thank you so much. I— there is a good deal of news I am waiting for, as well. It may be prudent to stay closer to the Church. To my own quarters."

"It's alright, Father. Really."

Moving to stand, you pry Ray off with a murmur. "Thank you, again. I will— hopefully this will not take too long."

"I'll be right here." She's writing quickly, filling a page in a matter of moments. "Don't you worry about a thing. Get yourself something to eat before you come back, alright?"

With a nod, you move to cross the room. It's abundantly clear that several more locks have been added to the woman's door since you last visited her. You count four at a glance, before she stands and whisks across the room. A rush of cloth moves past you, and the priestess gets the door open. It was unlocked, but she seems to make a point of letting you out.

"Take your time." She smiles. "I know you can handle yourself."