“Are… are you B… Brother Gardinal?” A sheepish man asked, stepping into the small courtyard. Gardinal shot him a sharp look, annoyed at the interruption. From the look on the frail Fershya’s face, he knew well how Gardinal felt.

“What do you want boy?” Gardinal answered with no small amount of exhaustion. The boy was slender, common born from his dress, with a pin that marked him a messenger. The boy actually wasn’t half bad looking, if Gardinal had perhaps been a decade younger.

“I, er, I have a letter for you.” The boy stammered out. Gardinal shook his head, of course he did.

“If it’s another one of those Pantheon forsaken letters from that fool hardy count asking me to come drinking with him and the boy, I swear I’ll hunt him down and drown him in all the ale he’s so fond of…”

“It’s not from a count Brother Gardinal. Or any lord at that.” The boy quickly cut in, staring wide eyed at Gardinal’s outburst. His temper had been growing short since Her Radiance had been torn from him. Though, if Gardinal was being honest, he had always had a short temper for interruptions.

Gardinal eyed the lad with a curious —if distrusting— eye, then held out his hand for the letter. The boy proffered it, nearly being pulled over by the force at which Gardinal grabbed it out his hand. Opening the letter Gardinal stopped and looked at the lad. He still stood before him, impatiently rocking on his heels and looking expectant. Gardinal rolled his eyes, fished in his robe for a silver coin, then handed it to the lad with a shooing motion. Messengers these days had no shame.

Pulling open the thin, scrappy piece of parchment, Gardinal raised his brow. Scanning down the paper, trying his best to make out the tight cramped hand it was written in, Gardinal was able to decode it. It was from Archibald, that Jöln scholar he had met several weeks back in the Red Curtains. From what Gardinal could make out from the man’s sloppy hand, he had discovered something about his shield. Some breakthrough of sorts in the translation. Gardinal nodded his head in appreciation. The shield itself was safe, locked up in Origdall’s vault back home.

With a groan, Gardinal forced himself to his feet and straightened his loose white robes. It seemed the Pantheon intended on him heading to Southshore tonight after all. Mapping out the route, Gardinal nodded in satisfaction. The route to his brother’s home from the Red Curtains would take him right by the temple. Cent’s own luck that. Gardinal almost grinned at that, then set out.

***

After a long walk that took up most of his afternoon, his bones ached and his muscles were slower than he was used to, Gardinal was nearing the Red Curtains. A touch of Her Radiances grace, that was all he would need to feel right again. She wasn’t far now, he could go see her before Archibald. Gardinal looked up at the first stars in the sky and furrowed his brow. It was getting late, and the Prophetess would likely be in prayers for the first rising right now, blessing the First Mother as she revealed her face on the horizon’s edge. After, Gardinal reminded himself, he would see her after. He had to force his fists to unclench.

Slowly, the old dilapidated homes that ran along the wall transitioned into the slightly less worse-for-wear structures of the Red Curtains district. And with it, came an unexpected bustle, and not of the usual clientele. Everywhere Gardinal looked down the street of ill-repute walked men and women of all shapes and sizes, hauling about large bolts of old worn cloth and baskets either empty as they came into the district, or full of food as they left. Gardinal scratched at his short cropped beard, watching it all unfold. Then he caught it, that which connected the odd people rushing about. Each of them wore a silver pin shaped like a skull.

“What in the Pantheon’s light is going on here?” He asked aloud in surprise. It all seemed like such an odd enterprise, particularly from this lot. His only comfort that the world had not gone completely mad was that of the shady men that still lurked about, slipping into buildings along the way with disregard for the bustle about in the streets. That, at least, was as to be expected at this time in this place. But woven baskets of bread and fruit?

“We are working.” A high-pitched voice responded from next to Gardinal. With a start, Gardinal looked down to see Tabitha standing beside him, her arms folded across her leather jerkin clad torso. “What are you doing here Brother Gardinal?” she asked.

“Archibald.” He responded gruffly. Gardinal had little interest in mincing words with a felon like her. Besides, how had she sneaked up on him like that? He prided himself on his awareness, but these past weeks his senses had been feeling muddied. Maybe he was coming down with a fever, it would be his first in almost a decade. He needed The Prophetess, she would heal him. Everything would be alright if he had her near again.

“Aren’t you a tad touchy?” She responded with a grin. “I thought you’d be happy to see all of this, being a priest of The Mother and all.” She walked forward, her usual large Korek guard women in tow, and Gardinal reluctantly bustled to catch up.

“I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m seeing.” Gardinal responded, watching as a series of older women packing the empty baskets full of food handed them off to some gruff looking Fereni boys. Stopping, Gardinal stared at one of the women handing off the fruit. Was that the old whore that Her Radiance had tried to heal? The one with the broken mind?

“I came into some amount of coin recently, you can thank your brother for that one actually, and I was… inspired to give back a little.” Tabitha grinned, and Gardinal glowered. He would have to have yet another talk with that brother of his. “Oh do lighten up, it’s all free to any that need it.”

“What’s in it for you?” Gardinal asked tersely.