Fantasy The city on which the sun never rises

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

Underneath the crust of the Earth lays an unfathomably large cavern known as the Neath. It is here, far from the light of day, that the laws of reality, including time itself, all flow differently. Monsters, unlike anything on the surface, stalk their prey in subterranean waters. The dead may rise as if they've taken no more than a concussion. The Treachery of Clocks may pass entire weeks of events into only a handful of days, with memory itself becoming a blurry thing to track chronologically. False-stars twinkle on the cavern roof above, where the Starved Men shamble their abhorrent forms, and Hell lies to the West, with their infernal laws flickering in and out.

It is in the Neath where London now rests. In the mid-19th Century, it found itself stolen by bats, the fifth city of which to do so. Firebrands accuse the Empress of being a traitor that somehow sold them into this mess, while more patriotic folk still praise her for all the new opportunities they now have. It is now the end of the 19th Century. London and her people have recovered and adapted from the fall, though with the new addition of the Bazaar on its southern shore. It is this Bazaar that has changed so many things, not least of which thanks to its Masters that now head several industries. Mr Wines over beverages, Mr Iron over weaponry, Mr Pages over literature, and so forth with the other Masters. These giant, robed, hooded creatures do not rule over London, but they certainly hold significant influence over the city.

In the busy, crowded streets, life tries to continue as ever, though the additional populace is impossible to ignore. Devils walk the streets with anachronistic attire, infernal grins ready to buy the soul off of anyone foolish—or desperate—enough. Squid-faced, suit-wearing, tentacled creatures known as Rubbery Men writhe their way through streets, unable to speak in any human tongue yet still eager to trade their amber with humans. Even the humans in London can easily escape the British normalcy, such as Presbyterates from the deathless Elder Continent in the far south or Khaganians with their strange electric devices from across the waters to the East. To say nothing of the rare sapient Pentecost Ape from the Empire of Hands!

Indeed, London itself has become home to countless people, and countless ideologies between all of them. You'll just as easily find clergymen willing to bomb an affiliate of the devils as you are to find dock workers performing rituals to their “Zee gods”. For all the new opportunities, poverty is as bad as ever for the destitute; perhaps even worse considering how many gangs of street urchins there are, who just as suddenly grow up and join real criminal gangs. Revolutionaries are a dime a dozen at this point as well, whether for the sake of zeal or merely as a job. At the same time, it has opened the door for unforeseen social progress, such as women being allowed to vote and obtain education or jobs that were previously denied to them.

Perhaps the most prolific example of this was the consecration of the current Archbishop of Canterbury, Nero Keller. Despite the masculine name, she is indeed a woman who now is the de facto head of the Anglican Church. Much uproar was had prior to her consecration, though ultimately it quieted down after she assumed the office. Nero had always been a strange woman to London, being a German missionary to London at first and having a brief, infamous diplomatic excursion to Hell itself on behalf of the Anglican Church. News about her died down after her return, though much later she rose to prominence again as, by all accounts, a walking miracle.

She was able to lift extreme weights with impossible ease and perform other feats of strength that would put a sea-monster to shame—quite literally, as she killed such a creature in the water once with her bare hands as if it were nothing. Her intellect allowed her to find a solution to problems that an entire academic field struggled with, as well as her other talents being completely beyond human. To say it earned her impossible renown would be an understatement; it's as if she took the impossible and somehow outdid herself twice over.

Thus, with her unofficial position already in the Church, she was able to maneuver her way into becoming the Archbishop of Canterbury. She was quick to remark how the Queen of England being the de jure head of the Church was already precedent for a female leader like herself. More than that, she could easily cite countless examples of her virtues (though little was said of humility) and how her impossible acts were a clear sign of the Lord's will upon her. Indeed, she truly believed herself to be blessed by the Holy Spirit and to be enacting Its will.

Such it was since her consecration that the new Archbishop of Canterbury has found herself extremely busy. Even now, years after obtaining office, she always finds some new business, some new intrigue, some new way to exert her will on the city, if not the Neath at large. It is tiring, but if she doesn't do it, no one will. Even with her official days off, she still is working behind the scenes on a multitude of side projects and information-gathering. Managing an entire religious sect is still hardly half of her real work.

Such it was that on one so-called vacation day that she found herself arranged to meet with a certain man, John Fargate, the Many-Faced Gentleman. He was a member of God's Editors, a branch of the Church dedicated to… updating the Bible with the new knowledge learned in the Neath, though the Editors no doubt had the constant risk of corruption by the members' personal desires. Nero has received countless letters from more Editors than she can count; too many to keep up with, yet Mr. Fargate's letter happened to catch her eye. By the following day, she had an assistant collect a report for her about who this man was. The result proved to be a contradiction: three different groups all seemed to agree on little about him, even after being certain that Mr. Fargate was indeed the man in question. It was perplexing and reeked of suspicion, yet his letter could not be ignored.

She found herself at the meeting place no more than five minutes late. While she'd never miss her own meetings, she found that a bit of liberty with the timing exerts dominance—as if to say 'My time is precious, just so you know'. She arrived in a modest, casual dress, though glimpses of her thick boots hinted at unladylike roughness. If that wasn't hint enough, the fact she used a bone harpoon as a walking cane would do the trick. Despite the hint of exhaustion in her eyes, she held a nonchalant smile nonetheless.

“Mr. Fargate,” she spoke with an acknowledging nod as she sat down. “I hope the morning's treated you well.” She crossed her legs, feet unable to quite reach the ground. She gave her order tersely but politely to a server, relaxing in her chair.

 

[Hekazu]

To the man now sitting in the chair opposite of the far more publicly known figure, the fact that he had made it to this position was no small surprise on its own right. After all, all of London knew just how hard it was to receive an audience like this. Her Enduring Majesty might be more difficult still, but certainly he had met with many a Master of the Bazaar with lesser difficulty. Then again, to someone whose interests so aligned with theirs, and whose dislikes towards the revolutionary elements simmering within the underground city he shared to a degree many would liken to that these ruffians felt for the legitimate powers that be, not only here in the Neath, but in the Universe as a whole… Yes, perhaps he had better grounds to be speaking with the Masters than he had calling the head of the Church before him.

Then again, he had never been a figure the church wouldn't recognise. Even now on his neck the rosary of a bishop hung, something he often wore on the business that also involved the pocket watch in his hand. That business was something that the Masters would be less likely to approve of, as it was a legitimate disturbance to their business interests. He was a Shepherd of Souls on some days, and when someone's goals were to return the bottled souls to their rightful owners without paying tax on it, let alone stealing them from both the thieves that dared call themselves spirifiers and the very devils that imported them to hell, that would understandably not go down well with the overseeing parties. Then again, some of these reasons were why John personally had an interest especially in the unlicensed trade. Perhaps unexpected when considering the moniker he had earnt for this particular face, the Heartless Bishop, but his reasons really were not the people the souls went back to there. It was… a complicated affair.

But they weren't here to discuss trade in souls. With a flick of his wrist he clicked shut the timepiece in his hand, not so subtly having shown that he had noticed the tardiness displayed, but after slipping it out of view into a vest pocket of his, one adorned by a distinctly marred symbol that on purpose resembled many things but meant none. A memory of something that had been to him, yet something with no meaning to most other observers. Save for the protege who was there when the moment the memory itself had been formed. "Delighted to meet you in person, Your Grace", he smiled politely, golden brown eyes meeting the greens of the archbishop. "I have come to understand that many a person would kill to be in my seat right now. As such, I have nothing to complain about my day. I should hope your way here was free of obstructions and that no other Treachery has caught you in its grasp", he responded without divulging much information of what he had been up to prior to this moment and wished that her morning had, in turn, been as pleasant as his.

A taciturn clay man arrived beside the table, bowed stiffly to both of the seated and raised a pot of freshly brewed tea beside John, the vessel practically vanishing within his large and blocky hands until it was set down again. ACHLIAN MIDNIGHT, the large figure boomed as the only words it would offer for the man. He now turned towards the more diminutive woman, opening his mouth only slightly with no sign of activity in the shaded part of his visage where his eyes should be: MURGATROYD'S GOLD BLEND? It would be no surprise to him if that suspicion was confirmed. Though it had been Mr Fargate who had informed him of the suspicion this was the favoured tea of the Head of Church, it's nature as the most traditional of choices and how it was lacking in bells and whistles made even the casual observer likely to suggest that.

Once the interaction with the server would be over and done with, John was already pouring his own serving into his cup. "I must beg for your forgiveness when it comes to suggesting we order separately. I just cannot ignore how fitting this particular variety is to the topic I did choose to request your valuable time for", he reminded her of the content of his letter, nudging the conversation slightly towards business now that Nero had already shown that she was quite possibly in a hurry. "So even if it is not in one of your favoured blends, I could not stop myself from it." The fine china clinked with John first setting the pot down onto its plate and then proceeding to raise his cup to hover under his nose, drawing the scent that was both floral and metallic in. He wouldn't drink yet. Too hot. Another click followed him opening his eyes and once again smiling at Miss Keller, now wider with the tea before him.

"Indeed, the topic I called you here for. Death within the Neath is perverse. It no longer serves as the end of the road, to mark the moment where our toil is done and we may move on to blissful rest. No, we return and return, time and time again, driven back into a decaying mortal shell. And the people love this", he reiterated the points he had mentioned in his letter. "And I know that you have been to where this all originates from. You have been to South. You've seen the Mountain closer than I have in my time living. I only know that in the future I will go there and put an end to the cycle. Make things as they should be again. But I must know my enemy. And you, the power you wield… you know the font of this vitality. More intimately than I can imagine anyone in London does."

John would move to raise his cup again, blowing over its surface and taking a tiny sip from its edge. Assuming he was not interrupted, given how he had not got to his point yet, he'd resume once he would have placed it down again: "Eternal Death must be brought back to the Neath. This circus cannot stand. And while I may have been changed irrevocably by the time I may finally approach the source… I will do it. I hope you will help me by sharing your knowledge about this vitality. And what creates it."

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

The Archbishop's brows raised ever so slightly as she saw the Clay Man set the tea pot down. While her being late was one thing, him ordering before she arrived was something else entirely! She lifted a hand, dismissing the server without a concern.

“Oh, nevermind then. If this good bishop wished for the Achlian, so it shall be! We have no need for two teapots. No need for scones on my behalf either; I'm not hungry.” In truth, she wasn't thirsty either. The Archbishop could handle many parts of social functions, but she tended to shy away from consumption when matters of business were at hand. With her level of austerity, eating and drinking were always conscious decisions; she often neglected it when her mind had anything else to hold her attention.

“Hmph, no need for such shyness, Mr Fargate. I'd rather you insist that I try the Achlian with you than separating the orders. It's not my preferred blend, but if it's truly part of your argument then by all means…” She poured herself a cup, breathing in the aroma deeply before taking a long sip. The scalding heat proved little deterrence for her, or perhaps she hardly noticed it. “…Mm. I see.” She offered no further comment on the taste, but her gaze towards the man seemed to gain a shade of knowing as her smile all but disappeared.

Her expression wouldn't change in the slightest as he spoke, with little more than the steepling of her fingers as a sign that she had motion. She would rarely blink either, simply staring during his monologue. She was patient and unreadable. With how quickly he was to talk about death, she was glad they picked such a private venue. Nobody else around, and the only person who would show up is their Clay Man server. He hardly would care, surely? …Best to send him away if he did end up coming back in hearing range, just in case.

“…And thus the Achlian Midnight.” She took another sip, this time staring into the cup afterwards. “In some way, this is a relief. I had worried your blend of choice was intended for the darkness it's known for, not its location. There are those that use darkness to shroud truly horrid things, including their intentions.” She set her cup back down along with its plate. Her smile in warmth returned as her eyes looked back up, though there seemed a hint of pity in her eyes. “I appreciate the sincerity, Mr Fargate. It truly must have taken courage for you to muster up the words to speak from your heart like that.”

“Allow me to return the honesty, then; you do not know that you will ever go South, much less put an end to anything. You may have aspirations to, Mr Fargate, or perhaps even a dream or vision, but such things are only fuel for one's own confirmation bias. The future is not so easily wrought in its yesteryears. Even if you did indeed see a true vision, your current perception of it could very well be clouded by present misunderstandings of future events. After all, no man is so immaculate to be immune to flawed perception. More than anything else I say, I hope you listen to that much.”

“After all, the fact we speak of this now is only because you know so little of the South. Indeed, I have been there before numerous times. I have seen countless phenomena, including Stone herself. I have seen her essence and the blasphemies associated with it. Yet, before any of that I have my own questions: first and foremost, why?” She leaned back in her chair, draping an elbow on the back of it. She raised an eyebrow, seeming more quizzical than bothered.

“Why are you so intent on death? As you should know, life is an inherent gift from the Lord. In fact, it is the most precious gift of all, and something that should be cherished in all its forms. What is the purpose of wanting to get rid of it so easily? There are many, many people who would be gone from this world entirely if they could not recover with the unnatural vitality of the Neath, and that's without counting Venderbight and her neighbours. It's not as if they can't simply go to the Surface or other means of making themselves unrecoverable, so the option is always there. Among those who have died before, many of them still live happy, healthy, productive lives now, such as workers who suffered accidents that would have killed them on the Surface. Is that truly so wrong?” Was it her legitimately questioning death itself? …No, she was far too relaxed. She wasn't questioning the topic, but rather testing John to see how well he thought all this through, both theologically and more practically.

“As for my second question… it is far simpler, don't worry. How do you plan to manage any of this? You speak with such confidence, that surely you must have some idea of how to go about things even before knowing what I do about the South. Surely.” Another test, or possibly an extension of the first. Somehow, conquering an entire aberration of reality truly was 'simpler' to her compared to theological ramifications. After all, it's the exact order of operations she would have before doing any of her own miraculous feats.

 

[Hekazu]

An expression of surprise was allowed to break out when the Achlian Midnight was deemed acceptable by his guest, John strongly believing that he might well be the first to witness this. But naturally no such thing would be touted out as a fact. She was difficult to reach, Nero Keller, but it was not due to her being the most public of figures. He had to wonder how many such meetings she attended. And in how many of them did people think they were the first to witness the Archbishop doing something she'd done dozens of times before. At least he hoped few of them made the mistake of treating her like a child. Granted, it had earned a raise of an eyebrow from him to learn that he was younger than her. But that eyebrow raise had been made in private, and there had been and would be no desire to bring it up with her in person.

John smiled at the notion of speaking from his heart, if only for the fact that so many people kept complaining about his lack of one. Yet he had been just as truthful as had been suggested, the unreadable Archbishop hardly bringing out any feelings of discomfort from him just by how she listened. Naturally, he had expected the possibility of many worse things. But if she did follow the work of the God's Editors, or if she ever paid mind to the sermons of the bishop across from her, as rare as those of her own tended to be with how there was no standing cathedral on Watchmaker's Hill, the topic that had been brought up should not have been a surprise to her. Though admittedly there was the chance that he was more invested in it than the speeches might have suggested.

The flash of pity was noted, though the man offered no immediate reaction to the suggestion that he would be deserving of it. His finger tapped the rosary that hung from his neck and his nail ran along its chain resting against his shirt, an idle gesture that would soon be followed by him setting his hands on the table and listening attentively in turn. Did he know that he would go South? He believed so. But he did not know. In that she was quite right. He would need to be wary. This occasion, however? The very opposite of wariness, a gambit that would either end in his death that he was certain the Archbishop was more than capable of making the permanent sort, or then the occasion to gather plenty of the knowledge that he needed. And by the looks of it, with him still breathing and not pierced by her harpoon, it may well be on the path to working out.

She did proceed to reveal that she knew the name that John had seen, that John had acquired a part of within his home through dealings that most people would disagree with. But there were things he kept under wraps. Things that he would not share with the Archbishop despite the need for her knowledge in turn. There were inconvenient truths behind that story. But his enemy was indeed Stone. She knew of her, and knew he was seeking more knowledge of his foe. But she did have questions. Questions she posed in the order of importance to her. Questions that John naturally had given a degree of consideration for. To each the level that it required.

And so the question why could well be met without rambling, with only addressing the questions posed to him with a serious look: "I am not longing for death to be easy. Quite the opposite. Today, people hire an assassin to take out their neighbour if their dog barks too loud. It has no meaning. It is means to inconvenience. The gravitas is lost, appreciation for the precious nature of the gift of our Lord, all gone. A spill of wine may lead to spilling of life's blood." He took a sip of his tea, his lips briefly visiting a smile as he let the flavours dance within his mouth, enjoying them to their full extent before he would resume. "And why should a worker that faces an accident at the docks be treated differently to one that does so at the factories of Mr Fires? Why is the man whose chest was pierced by a lance in frivolous duel be more worthy of resuming their life than the laboratory assistant whose life was cut short by a stray spark destroying the laboratory they worked in?"

He finally set his cup down, the click of porcelain on porcelain serving as much as punctuation as it did relieve his hands to steeple the fingers. "As for travelling to the surface… You cannot expect your fellow man to consciously decide to end their life. It is far too much to ask, to make a decision like that. Not to mention the expenses of the journey. Not all will be able to afford passage on a trading vessel, let alone in the evening years of their life when their ability to work is lessened", he finished listing his counterarguments. "There is peace and beauty in a true death. What we know as death in these days… it is a perverse aberration." But that she already knew of his opinions. He needn't repeat why.

And then came the simple question. How he intended to achieve all of this? John chuckled, shaking his head at the very idea. "And how, pray tell, do I intend to achieve this all? What means do I have to ensure that I can reach my goals?" He raised once again the cup towards his lips, blowing over the surface of the steaming tea while the joy melted from his face. "I have connections that will allow me to reach South. I have little doubt you are in the know of that little society just as well. I have people loyal to me to join the journey itself. I have more than enough assets in London to afford anything that will be needed, and if it cannot be bought I have means. But as it stands, Your Grace… I have not planned the journey itself. I should not do it before I know what to expect. And you must understand that I mean no ill will when I say this, but I cannot take your word as the sole truth even if you choose to share what you know. Things may have changed. Your allegiances may not be mine. But I am looking to gain as much knowledge as I feasibly can before committing to the task itself. Perhaps I personally will not be able to. Perhaps it will be left to those next in command. The search for knowledge may make it impossible for me to be there. Or it may make it all the more necessary. The Neath is quite full of surprises in that regard." Another sip taken, he believed his answers to be satisfactory. If they were not, then all that would happen was that this door would be closed. Others would need opening, and new bridges would have to be crossed. But it was too early to think about all that already.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

(( OOC: Apologies on the significant delay. Due to IRL issues, I've been physically absent from any means of which to reply. ))

John did certainly not skimp on words when he got started. Good, she was hoping for that. While she was paying enough attention to every word, at the same time her mind was contending with a bigger mystery than any she had expressed aloud: how would the Holy Spirit wish for this to go? For starters, it would require a secondary question: what is Stone, in practical terms? The ancient god-mountain of the South that filled the entire Neath with enough vitality that most dead will revive. Its effects most prominent on the people of the Presbyterate who live near it. They are indeed quite strong compared to other peoples due to it, almost like Stone's blessed albeit unintentionally. Which is…

No, ignore that. The reality is that she is a conflicting divine power, one that the Holy Spirit has not extinguished in Its radiance yet. Perhaps too burdensome of a fight at this time? Perhaps it would be impossible without revealing Its presence which must remain hidden for now. Stone definitely contradicts God's natural laws, and perhaps she's even responsible for the d_mnable difficulty in killing devils. In other words, she's a nuisance that must be tolerated at best for now. If there were ever a way to get rid of her, it could make many things much easier. Just as much, Nero could see how such a miraculous feat was achieved by someone like John. It could provide inspiration—likewise, allow her to think up how to prevent such an attack against herself and the Holy Spirit. Ergo, there was no need to stop Mr. Fargate. She severely doubted the odds of his success, but the potential for her to gain from it was high. The Holy Spirit had no place for universal immortality.

Her introspection was punctuated by an apathy across her mien once again, though with her mental prowess it did little to affect her understanding John at the same time. She had already decided all before he took a sip of tea. Her own cup remained untouched, neglected. She was not making a statement, despite what Great Game paranoia may suggest; she simply had little care for anything besides the matter at hand right now.

“I'm sorry to say, but people's attitudes won't change immediately. There will certainly be cruel folk who discover death being permanent now and see it with greedy eyes as something to use on their fellowmen. For others, it will inspire an unspeakable fear, a primal dread long forgotten in this cavern we live in.” Her tone showed no opposition, however. She was only speaking the most likely outcome of the public's image. “…You should know that you won't be seen as a hero for this. I cannot imagine anything but ire from the public eye for anyone who deprived them of the safety net for their foolhardy decisions. They will have to relearn respect for life itself, along with the fear of the Lord, both of which the public has grown complacent without. If you have any plans of being given official credit for this, know well the consequences.”

“I can shepherd them when the time comes, but know well what they'll feel towards that entropic future.” Again, you'd have to listen to what wasn't being said. Her eyes suggested a smile even if her lips refrained. She would enjoy the day that the flock once again returned in faith, being abandoned by the pagan gods as they will inevitably be. Most bizarrely, she didn't seem concerned in the slightest about her own death if Stone's essence ever faded away.

“…Shame, though, Bishop. Your first answer should have been that it is because nobody should ever seek their own demise. Whether going to the surface or by some more ghastly means, suicide is a sin. Not just on the person, but on the community that allowed them to be mired in such pain to even consider it.” She tutted lightly. “Which is why I have no disagreements about the sanctity of death being pervaded. The community should have tighter bonds, more care and consideration to one another. As it is, people are more than willing to let their brothers and sisters of the faith suffer terribly. Morals have been seeped by corruption. I can't say I agree with everything you say, but people must be made to relearn those bonds we once had. With the state the Church has been in since the Fall, I'm afraid we only have so much influence from the pulpit, so to speak.”

It was impossible to deny that the Church's influence over the people of London was waning every year, even before Nero came into her position. She managed to slow it down considerably and revitalize plenty of interest in the Anglican Church, but even the gains ever since has done little to recover to the state it all once was, let alone make an improvement over pre-Fall numbers and influence. While she could affect the hearts of those willing to follow, it was usually other forces in the city that were causing the most harm. Spirifers, criminals, the opulent elite, the lawmen turning a blind eye to those who pay them… In some way or another, she saw unrepentant sinners all around her, only breeding more sin unto the rest of the populace. She may as well have been made captain of a ship while it's capsizing.

“…Very well. Perhaps the best way for me to convey it is by story. Pardon me for not being the best storyteller, but hear me out. Once, there was a magic rock that would emanate strength to all things around it. Men would find this rock and sing praises for how healthy and virile it made them, such that they should never die. Though as they learned, it was not only humans that were affected. The plant-life would become strong, such that it would make a jungle so dangerous and impenetrable that it would make the Amazon look like a fresh meadow. It would turn creatures of prey into such lethal beasts that one of their children could kill a group of normal men, and the predators would all become monsters straight out of legends. Life would flourish greatly because of this rock, and the men who once sung praises soon learned that life has more horrors than you could realize when you look too deeply.”

“…Now imagine that rock being a mountain. A mountain so life-ridden that she herself would bleed a genuine river of blood, flooding the lands with its unnatural, ungodly vitality. Words will always fail to describe the abhorrence of that place, but you must be aware of the dangers. If you've ever had a dream of the worst forests in Parabola, imagine that being real and only a zee-trip away. I would give examples of the horrors of life, but we are having tea.” She momentarily glanced at her forlorn teacup, before neglecting it once again. Her eyes went back to staring at John with self-confidence. “…But if you feel brave, I would suggest looking into the works of a certain Mr. Darwin and his writings on the Ichneumonidae when you get a chance. You would do well to broaden your horizons of flora and fauna lest you go blindly into a terrible fate. I will thankfully say I found no such similar creature as the Ichneumonidae on the Elder Continent, but I did not explore the entire thing nor go to where you would wish.”

 

[Hekazu]

John felt insulted when after such prolonged deliberation the first thing to come out of the expressionless Archbishop was her reminding him that he wouldn't be loved if he sought out his goals. Who in their right mind would tear away something from people that they thought a blessing and expect to be lauded as a hero? The common man was no creature to think of spiritual matters such as these at length. What they cared about was being able to do mostly anything without a care in the world, backed by the vitality flooding from the South. Yet he allowed this not to show on his face, maintaining the social smile. This was to him perfectly self-evident, though naturally he would have to be far more diplomatic in his words when it came to addressing the comments.

"But of course", he agreed out loud, "I never imagined I would be loved for tearing away their precious privilege of disrespecting the sanctity of life. I am not as foolish as to want to take credit publicly despite the enormous nature of the favour, but people will find out eventually. Something like destroying Stone is not performed without making the waves that will let someone else connect the dots. I will be rewarded with eternal slumber among the first of them. I won't make it easy for them, naturally, but I do not expect to survive a city full of people giving me their thanks." He paused for a moment before shrugging in a flawless imitation of genuine indifference, flashing his teeth in the smile. "Though before we worry about the unsavoury folks abusing the 'newly available' permanent death, we may remember that all it takes even with the Vitality of Stone is a sharp axe to the neck." Ah, poor captain Vendrick. The Black Ribbon Society was momentarily aghast at the unintended kill, though it didn't pause the usual proceedings for longer than a minute.

Peculiarly, the Archbishop promised to shepherd the people nonetheless. Or was it so peculiar? By now, John was piecing together the fact that she was at least on the surface supportive of his plans. Supportive enough to tut at an apparent mistake at the sin of suicide. Yet John could only chuckle at the mistake that she had pointed out. "I forget so easy. It wouldn't be the first time I myself am on the slow boat in order to perform investigation into one matter or another. So many times I've died, but not died. No rest for the weary." Did that make it hypocritical of him to seek the return of permanent death to the people of the Neath? He remained on the fence about it, but still hung his feet on the side that suggested that no hypocrisy was involved. After all, it was a goal towards an ideal. In the meantime, the means that would be used were less important. Not solely justified by the ends, such a philosophy was doomed to fail, but it remained a part of it.

Yet when Nero spoke of the closer bonds of the community that would be formed, the ends stood ever so much stronger in his mind. Mankind grew selfish in the Neath, only looking out for themselves under the wing of the Bazaar. Granted, even in a world of permanent death under ground, he himself would see no reason to act in any manner different than his current, the building of community left to the same that he had had on the surface if one were to ask him, but the words rang right. Sanctity of death, peace and rest for the weary, and people acting like bloody people again instead of splitting up to the smallest possible units possible and only caring about that single unit they were part of. That being, the singleton only they themselves occupied. Again, the bells of hypocrisy were ringing in John's mind, but they were shoved aside just as before. Someone would have to do it. And if it was not him, it would be no-one. Of that he could be fairly certain.

But now, this was what he was here for. John procured a notebook and a fountain pen, jotting down the important bits of the tale that the Archbishop shared with him. So even stronger than mankind's hubris, there was the energy that was granted to the wildlife just as well. The beginning of the tale was quite useless to him, only a few checkmarks being drawn beside other already existing ones to further confirm that these bits of information were likely trustworthy. It was the latter half that he had invited her here for, more reliable accounts on the land itself that she had traversed back then. From whence she drew the power that surpassed man, clay or not, woman, devil, even master, or a curator if one was more inclined to run with that classification.

The most noteworthy note would be "Dream? Possible to find the Archbishop visiting in the past?", one whose latter half was soon stricken out with the abbreviation "GGe" marking the space next to the words. He would have to find someone else. Oneiropompic arts were not exact, but he knew better than well that Mrs. Keller was more than capable in those regards to notice if he was to be skulking in her dreams. No, that was not a risk he would be taking. And there was a reason to believe she had connections to London's Admiralty that drove him to not believe what contents her mind might offer when unfiltered in the way that Parabola does. And who was to say she was not a Cultivator like him? She might as well shape the land of dreams as she saw fit. Nothing assured it would be any more trustworthy than this meeting.

But that confidence she wore when she suggested he look into… "I recall that family. But I don't recall that family. Insects of some sort." There was a pause as he considered for a moment, before shrugging again as his memory failed to provide a complete image. He wrote it down nonetheless for further research, not that he believed this particular kind to be the answer to everything. After all, she'd not seen them herself. "One thing about the South is the lack of death. One can meet many a horrible fate there. But having a strong commitment to seeing things through will get one far. After all, dying is out of the picture. Until the font is destroyed, and the suffering can finally lay themselves down. Perhaps that will be my fate too. Perhaps I never need to return to London to cash out my reward. Perhaps I will be consumed by mould and maggots long before."

John set his notebook against his leg, sliding it partially under the table with the ink still drying while he picked up his teacup once more. He emptied it this time, the Clay Man soon appearing beside the table and pouring him a second helping, observing briefly the status of the archbishop's cup and pouring in the one or two sips she had helped herself to, or perhaps more should John's recent words inspired her to take part more liberally. Once he was gone, John sought eye contact with her once more, dragging the notebook back out to lean on the edge of the table. "Is there anything else that you feel is worth sharing? I wouldn't dare to take too much of your valuable time, as much as your company does honour me", he inquired, the compliment more genuine than might be expected from someone of London. Meeting Archbishop Keller in person, only few managed such a thing. But he doubted she would be interested in a purely social call. Soon enough, he expected, he would be left behind and he could focus on collating the remaining notes he'd gathered into his head.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

“Seh~r gu~t,” was all she'd say, strangely satisfied at John's acceptance. Was she really mistaking him of being in it for glory? No, of course not. She wanted to undermine him just enough to test if his resolve would be shaken. Someone who'd march forth dutifully to their death, knowing full well they wouldn't receive recognition nor glory… well, tragic as it may be, it was useful to know if someone would fit that bill. If he was the type of man who'd let nobody stop him, best to make sure he's on the right path.

“It would behoove you to remember all of the Lord's teachings. One thing I cannot stress enough to parishioners is that every word in the Bible will apply to your life in some way or another. It is just one form of guidance that we are offered, and I am grateful of all of them.” To say nothing of the Holy Spirit, though she couldn't deny it was on her mind. Constantly, without end. It would be stressful if it wasn't such a source of comfort.

“Though I won't browbeat you over it, worry not. I'm sure you know plenty already. Just do keep it in mind in whatever you do. Even something as rare as that guidance about suicide still has real-world applications. In that case, that one should recognize the pain and inner demons that would plant such a desire in the mind of one suffering, and how we must offer them solace to free them of the self-harmful sin. I'm certain that you'll have many troublesome situations arise in your venture to the Elder Continent, and I only hope that you'll make the right call in adherence to the Lord's scriptures.” A gentle reminder, or a subdued scolding? If nothing else, she clearly had good intentions, instead of using it as a veiled insult as some men of the cloth would.

“That 'family' is a vile insect that plants its eggs into their victims, whom then become the food source for their spawn. It would be disturbing enough if the hosts were dead, but instead they are cruelly left alive for it, though inevitably die in sheer agony.” She had no smile anymore. “…That is the brief version, the full description is far worse. And that is an example of natural life on the surface. The unnatural life in the south can reach far crueler heights. I was fortunate with my expedition, but you should march on fully prepared for infection, infestation, parasitism, loss of limbs and mind alike, even losing control of your own body as you can do little but gaze helplessly on. Even without the risk of death, you may still be eternally prevented from finishing whatever you seek down there. It is a perverse land of more unnature than most in the Neath.”

“I could list a hundred specific examples, but you'd still run into a thousand dangers before evensong, many of which I've never seen myself. I brought up the Ichneumonidae as an example of natural life at its cruelest. It is only your own imagination that can tell you how much worse unnatural life in the South is. All the more reason it must be extinguished, though, isn't it? I have no intentions of deterring you, but if you are to go, I'd recommend caution to such degree that it would be mistakable for paranoia. Not for my sake, nor your own, but for the sake of your goal reaching its conclusion. After all, just surviving to reach Stone with all your limbs and supplies intact is only one hurdle, not the finish line.”

“Oh, what a waste. Sir, I have no thirst. You may as well take it back at this point.” She lost her appetite altogether, remembering the South and its myriad of horrors. The Clay Man awkwardly complied, though even his stony visage couldn't hide the evident confusion. “I should be leaving soon, shouldn't I? I'm sure you have plenty to do as well, Bishop. No rest, for the wicked's sake, eh?” Not the correct phrase, but it was obvious how she viewed herself above the average sinner by now. She started to gather her few things, though stopped mid-rise.

“Though if you do have some time… I have a favour I'd like to ask of you. I hope you won't mind, after I've come to personally give you such advice rather than by mail.” If he was willing to say her time was valuable, all the more reason for her to not be humble about it. “There's this one girl I'd like you to help out. Her name's Karlin. She's unfamiliar with the city and could use a helping hand. I would like for you to spend some time with her, but more specifically I want you to see if you could help her as a Shepherd.” She needn't say more. There's only one kind of person who needs the services of a shepherd of souls. “She'll want to look around, but see if you can jog her memory for information that can lead to saving her soul. You'll have my personal gratitude.” She refused to say why Karlin was so important to her, but it was obvious this wasn't a random act of salvation. This woman surely meant something to the Archbishop.

 

[Hekazu]

Ah, of course. She had been testing him again. He couldn't say he was surprised about the fact. But on the same note, he could not say that he would have taken such an angle of questioning himself. He, perhaps, would have suggested the opposite. The position of a hero among the populace. And seeing if those words would be taken at face value. But then again, perhaps depicting herself as fallible was not something Ms. Keller was familiar or comfortable with. John would dedicate that scrap into his memory, to remember it for later when it would inevitably find use once again. After all, The Most Reverend Nero, by Divine Providence Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, was someone very, very important. Every cathedral in London was affiliated with her. Even his nonexistent one.

Her notes about following the teachings couldn't be said to be reaching much in John. His station among the God's Editors, one that he too had begun to avoid more and more as of late, exposed him to plenty of nonsense going on behind the scenes. He couldn't be too surprised if it would turn out that someone had ruled suicide to no longer be a sin while he wasn't looking. Down here in the Neath the teachings were only as important as a person gave them credit for. But of course, that would begin to change once Hell's walls would finally crumble in the far West and Stone would bleed its last in the South. Then they could finally get back to the age of sense and order. And whether one would have believed it or not, it seemed Nero pushed the idea aside just as well. She wasn't here to try and hammer it into his head. John nodded curtly at the statement. Guidance for the Elder Continent? It would be, if it was made to be.

The reminder of what she had been speaking of saw John dismiss the notion with a wave of his hand, for the reason that Ms. Keller would soon note herself. "Indeed, we cannot tell what we will face and what not. We do know that it will not be easy, and it won't be very recognisable. It was not long ago that a swarm of mould spores from the Elder Continent decided to make itself at home in my parlour. I have a safe enough idea of what is happening to the man the memories taken by the spores belonged to. It is possible it will happen to those of my expedition crew. To me. The operation will take time. Patience will be on our side. For as unpredictable as the land is, maps drawn are only so treacherous. We must first find out just how much so they are. Yet there are many, many smaller things prior to that." None of that really mattered to Nero at this point. But John wanted her to know that he was not indeed simply running to his death. He was uncertain of what he had truly learned from this interaction, but he had to check all the leads he could get his hands on.

With the matter of the Elder Continent closed for today, his company was looking to leave soon just as he had thought. Her play on the usual saying brought a smile onto John's face, the lesser clergyman beginning to rise to shake Nero's hand and thank her for what she had been able to provide, but stopped midway through much like her and descended back into his seat when she chose to introduce another complication into the picture. She requested he specifically look into someone for her. Karlin, a newcomer to the city. And already relieved of her prized soul. John steepled his fingers and rested his lower lip against them, attempting to piece together why she wanted the Bishop of Watchmaker's Hill specifically. "C.V.R. is not known to pick favourites", he noted, though there was little to no intent of closing the topic here and there. "And that's why you ask one that you can rely on to be capable of telling one soul apart from the other. She has still her contract, yes?" he indirectly confirmed that he would offer his aid in this topic. It would likely resemble the hunt he had once performed for his own sake. A secret shame that he liked to keep under the wraps.

But indeed, it was not just this Karlin's soul that was the topic of the discussion here. She would need to see London. Granted, that was a side topic, but one John could approach more readily. "I will begin by earning a place among the people she trusts. Please help me in this when introducing the situation to her. Will you be there when I am to meet her for the first time?" he got into the details of arranging the first meeting already, making an attempt to not have this last all too long. After all, Her Grace was a busy woman.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

Even without being the head of the Anglican Church, Nero would still never deign to such seduction. She had too much pride, and arguably too little charm, to be a temptress. Offering false promises of heroism to test someone was only detestable to her; she much preferred her own ways of laying down cold, hard facts and forcing someone else to work through them. Brutal honesty, rather than gentle lies. It was reflected even in her own sermons, albeit in a much kinder tone for parishioners.

As far as God's Editors went, she was very infamously not a fan. While she knew it was needed, she was highly conservative on any edits that weren't absolutely necessary with the common knowledge that Londoners now had of the Neath. Far too much corruption. She'd have required every single edit to be personally approved and justified before her if she could, but that would be far too impractical and inefficient. She still put notably harsh restriction and stopgaps in place, after what came to light from what a certain Masked Former Priest was pushing through for his own now-infernal agenda.

The Archbishop gave a weak smile towards John as he seemed to try piecing together her reasoning for the request. She didn't say a word until he was done, letting him form his own web of assumptions to trap himself in. She stood beside her chair, though at her height it would be easy to mistake her as still sitting down from the other side of the table.

“Oh, if only it were so simple, I wouldn't have asked anyone. No, Bishop, she doesn't have an infernal contract. At all. A spirifer attacked her in her sleep, ripped the soul right out of the girl. She didn't stand a chance.” She needn't say more. This wasn't a search for a needle in a haystack, like most soul-searches would be. This was hay-in-a-haystack, no way to tell which was the right one at all. A completely Sisyphean task compared to the purgatorial task for those with contracts.

“…Consider this an experiment, of a sorts. How would one ever regain their soul in such desperate circumstances? That's what I want you to find out. This has long been a shame of the Committee, that we have no clue what to do in these dire circumstances. But nobody deserves to be forsaken when they were the victim of someone else's sin. There must be some way we can find it out. Perhaps the spirifer had a contract written up when they sold their collections. Perhaps there's a way to identify the spirifer. I wouldn't know. I want you to be the one to find out.” She didn't need to ask if he was still willing. He had shown his resolve time and time again. Something like this wouldn't turn a man like that away.

“Hm…” She was certainly going to hand-deliver Karlin, but she didn't want to admit it. She still wanted to keep her ties to Karlin hidden, for both their sakes. While Nero was Forceful when she wanted to be, she could just as well be Subtle like this. Never even insinuating why Karlin was important to her as a person, and only sharing that the task itself was important enough to solve. She needn't lie when only sharing part of the truth was enough for others to invent the lies they themselves wanted to believe. “I suppose I could, at least for the first meeting. It would make the process easier if you earned her trust, or at least cooperation. I can spare a few minutes if it helps with that.” She calmly feigned indifference, showing acceptance towards his idea of the very thing she was already planning on doing.

“We'll do it next Tuesday over breakfast, in Ladybones near the gardens. Anything else, Mr. Fargate?” She seemed ready to leave, her harpoon already serving the role of a cane once again.

 

[Hekazu]

Ah, no contract? More of a reason for her to be calling on John rather than pulling strings in the C.V.R. as a whole. The Committee for Vital Restitution was an organisation that could handle the matter of seeking out souls with matching contracts quite reliably, but among their number few were as accomplished in the art of sifting through souls that were lacking in contracts and still finding their owners than John Fargate. It was a service he did not provide all that readily, but one which was cherished whenever he could be persuaded to do the arduous work. And this one, this one special request… he could both pull in the respect of the Archbishop and the Committee. After all, he would not hit the nail on the head on the very first soul that would fall to his hands. And it was a chase that involved several leads all at once. A chase that John felt could rouse him from the boredom of constructing skeleton after skeleton for sale to a different school of Theologians. Less profitable, but far less mind numbingly repetitive.

It changed not the side of the topic that he would bring up next, no matter how much it clarified just why it was him she was relying on, but the way she delivered her answer raised some suspicions in John. She wasn't asking him to find the soul for some fresh arrival to the Neath without a soul just because it could be done. The time of the Heartless Bishop as that side of him was known was just as valuable as hers, and he knew she would have turned down a task like that in a heartbeat. Her just accepting this idea, to make space in her busy schedule without needing to think about it for even a minute? No, this was not an idea that he had implanted into her. But she was downplaying her personal interest in the topic. She was making an attempt at hiding something. John showed no sign of realising this on the outside however, a delighted and warm smile overtaking his visage to this information instead. "It would be delightful if Your Grace can make the time. Considering the travel, it will not be an insignificant detour", he kept playing dumb.

With the topic concluding with a choice of locale by Ms. Keller, John rose to his feet and offered the hand for her to shake that he had intended on earlier. "Near the gardens towards the gallows. Most charming. Will I pack breakfast for multiple people, or solely myself?" he offered to take care of the catering side of their next meeting. Once settled on the minute details, he wouldn't forget the main reason they had met one another in the first place: "Many thanks once more for entertaining my ambitions. If all goes well, You will not be hearing much more of them until they come to fruition." Certainly not the next day, no. That was no topic to be speaking about with people of far lower capability and less well known background.

With Nero departing, John would sit himself back down and get back to working on his notes and emptying the pot of tea into his own belly. There were many stages of the plans that could be updated with this new information. A shame Her Grace had not wanted the crumpets either. Or scones. He'd have to see to them, lest they go bad. And with sufficient sugar intake, he could keep his concentration on progressing with the updates that needed to be done. But not too much now! That would do him no good.

The next day would come, and John was where he had been requested to earlier than one may have expected. It was not for the fact that he would specifically have arrived ahead of time, but his night's work of observation had ended early enough for him to make the journey at a more than reasonable hour. He expected Ms. Keller, and the ever so important Karlin, the name screaming similarly Germanic origin. But of course, it shouldn't be too long before he could tell for sure. Why she had chosen here where the dying screams of those who were sent to the gallows of Ladybones could still be barely heard was beyond him, but if she expected them to unnerve him… no, she should hardly have such an expectation. After all, they had had their chat just the previous day. And he had shown just how little fear he held towards death.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

“Oh, don't worry about that. There's a few cafes around there that would work just fine,” she remarked uncaringly, then she glanced back with a scheming look in her eye. “…Although, if you did bring your own breakfast for her, it might serve to gain her trust more quickly. But it might also come across as overbearing, and make the wayward lamb shy away if you emphasize too much influence from the start. I'll leave that choice to your own discretion.” Scheming? No. It was a red herring. An obvious one at that. As if to put focus on the subject like it meant a d_mn, like she was working with him to find a way to win the girl's trust. “But either way, I would recommend not bringing up the gallows—nor any other deathly matters—unless you plan on scaring the girl as part of your tactic.” She seemed amused by that as she left.

In truth, while she did manage to shift focus to Karlin and her plight—a situation that she had been mulling over how to solve for some time now—her mind was still dwelling on the matters of death itself. John brought up many points, some of which she did not completely disagree with. But it didn't matter what she thought nor wanted. What mattered was what the Lord desired. She rarely could venture South to meet the Lord in person, but even still she held some connection. What changes would It want, and when? When to see matters into her own hands, and when to delegate them into others like John here? Even reconstructing the entire concept of death in the Neath was only a piece of a far larger puzzle that could fall apart at a moment's notice. Too big a matter to be hasty on, but hardly one she could devote much of her own time to.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The face of the Archbishop, my dearest sister, smiled upon me as she calmly explained her plan of the morrow. No, I can hardly say 'plan'. She was too precise, too meticulous. Rather, she was explaining the future to me, with such uncanny accuracy that I would suffer deja vu. It would not be the first time. I sat, hands folded on my lap, listening attentively though her words meant little to my ears. This was the path I was being forced to walk. What would knowing the description of that path matter? I'd have no choice but to carry forth anyways. She could at least spare me the mundanity of having to live through it twice. If she noticed my displeasure, it went uncommented on as she left me for the rest of the evening. I hardly made use of the time, laying exhaustedly on the mattress despite having done nothing all day. Perhaps because of that very reason.

When morning arrived, I was no less tired, but in contrast to most days I did have something to do. I was rushed through a morning routine by my sister's servants, finding myself adorned with a sober dress. Strange, she kept my appearance looking plain rather than attempting to make me look more presentable. It made sense considering her plan, but it left me feeling like a doll to be dressed up and presented in whatever manner she desired. I complied with minimal fuss. It's not like I had any better ideas of my own. By an hour later, we had already embarked on a trek to Ladybones, where my sister approached a man with intent.

“There you are, Bishop. I arrived on time today, yet it seems you were still left waiting on me. I hope it wasn't too long,” she'd remark casually. I glanced between the two of them, unsure of what to say until my sister's hand on my arm bade me to speak. “Go ahead, Karlin. Introduce yourself to Mr. Fargate here.”

“Erm… yes. I am Karlin, your Grace. It is an honor to meet you.” I gave a slight curtsy, as I had been instructed, with only a slight stumble to suggest how unused to it I was. Unlike my sister, whose accent was only slight, my German accent was very noticeable on my every word. “I have been told you have offered to help me get my soul back. I am eternally grateful, Mr John Fargate your Grace.”

“…My child, it's just 'your grace' or 'mister'. I don't need you inventing new titles on us. We have enough, trust me.” She chuckled with enough ease to dismiss any awkwardness I brought to the conversation. Even still, I didn't like being called 'child' by her of all people, even knowing its connotations in the Church. I mumbled an apology to her, but my discomfort was plain for anyone to see. “She's a bundle of charm, isn't she, Bishop? I'm sure you'll get along well. Now, what breakfast did you decide on for us? I trust you put a lot of thought into this matter of discretion.” Thinking that hard on breakfast…? Was this part of her spy-talk again? I knew she had a lot of secretive… No, no, this must have just been a joke between them both. Or maybe it wasn't… I couldn't make heads or tails of people this complicated.

 

[Hekazu]

So for all of them. Excellent. That would make things simple. And since he was going to be receiving someone into his care, it wouldn't matter if the breakfast took some time. And in the Ladybones area… He did indeed have ideas on how to proceed from here. And as fortune would have it, the place he had in mind had ties to his persona as the Heartless Bishop. All so very convenient. The results of a thorough net of contingencies, or just dumb luck? John had always considered himself a lucky person. It did so help to rig the game into his favour, however.

Come the next day, the pieces had been moved, placed, and set standing in their rightful places just as he willed it. This was no elaborate scheme where they would have to wait for just the right moment, spare for the cook. But that was what cooks did either way, waited until it was time to begin, and as such that was no great deliberation of his. His own piece had in fact been on the move earlier than expected, its ivory setting into the park well before its intended time, and for it he received a comment on. Yet he would be quick to dismiss any worries regarding it. "Better fifteen minutes early than five late", he smiled, completely ignoring the fact that he had been here closer to an hour.

By this point, he had formed a full picture of what he was receiving here. Karlin was, just as he had expected, someone very important to Nero. A sibling, if the rumours and his own intuition were to be trusted. And well, it was a matter he could easily verify from the woman herself. Nero didn't seem to think that he'd be in the know however, still dressing the woman very plainly as she was presented before him. So this was whom he would have under his wing, to show around London and return the stolen soul to. John smiled at her clumsy efforts at socialising, noting that she might not be entirely familiar with the concepts. His gloved hands rested on his cane, hiding the jewel at its tip from the gaslight that surrounded them. "It is all quite all right Your Grace", John joined the conversation once more. He certainly took no offence at a little slip-up like that. But certainly there was something he would take more offence to. And that was her consciously omitting her surname. Not that he would pry now, he had more sense than that, but for introductions that was rather rude. No doubt machinations of the shorter of the two.

But the theatrics had to go on, and John soon turned to gesture along the same path that they were on, deeper into the park. "Along here, if you please. I happen to hold keys to a bookshop in these parts, the owner feeling a weight on their soul in gratitude towards a service not too dissimilar to what I have been requested here. He has agreed to lend me the rooms upstairs for this morning, so that we may enjoy the day's first meal in peace. I trust there are no objections to a full and proper English breakfast?" he revealed his cards and begun to lead the way, expecting Nero to either bow out now or some way through the many courses of the meal. After all, she was a busy woman. But today, she had arrived punctually. The first meeting of the day, no doubt. Or perhaps Karlin was just that important to her.

The walk wouldn't take longer than a few minutes, the modest entrepreneurship of "Wilson & Fleur, Books & Publications, Printing press & Antiquarian" welcoming the arriving group through the main door with Monsieur Fleur himself greeting the pair of church officials with a deep bow. He knew not the details of the business with Karlin, but there was something in the man's eyes that suggested he recognised a familiarity in the taller woman, though if his expression changed to reflect this John had already guided the group past him by the time it would have been recognisable. They had places to be, and that place was upstairs at the modest table set with modest silverware, perfectly modest doilies set upon it. There would have been space for four, but for today only three of those seats would see use. Up here, the smell of literature was mostly subdued, and then further covered by the fruits of citrus from upon the Elder Continent that were laid on each of the plates in but a few moments in time. The maid serving them was young and pretty, but otherwise indistinguishable from another of her kind. Inconsequential, as one might say. Yet somehow she seemed to rival Karlin in presence.

"Now then, before we get into the matter of souls", John took the lead of the conversation again, sparing a brief glance towards the entry 'hall' where the same maid was now ensuring the coats liberated from the shoulders of the guests were all orderly and would not wrinkle, "I hope to learn about you as a person, Karlin." Nero could easily tell that this was just as important for the process of weighing the soul and finding its owner, but Karlin might not, and as such the gesture could easily be seen as something friendly. "It would be uncouth of me to demand you open up without revealing something of my own, however. As you know, I am John Fargate, bishop of Watchmaker's Hill. I could list many of my personal accomplishments, but those tell far less than what I enjoy to do, won't it? I like poetry, am an avid critic of art and The House of Chimes knows me as an Oenologist for a reason. Should art be pursuit of yours, I am sure I have much to offer on that front." As if there was any doubt to that. John had quite deliberately chosen to pull on his bohemian past where Karlin was likely to have the most surface to cling on to. Where the conversation would go from here, however… that he was less certain of. While he picked up his spoon with jagged edges and broke into the fruit presented before him as the first course of the meal, he waited to see what the response was, and especially from whom it would be coming from.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

“None whatsoever,” remarked my sister as we followed Mr Fargate. She walked with confidence in her casual stride… no, rather, dignity in each step. Even with quieted footsteps and her small stature, anyone could feel the greatness off of her. In contrast, my gait was decorated with anxiety. Anyone with so much as a glance could tell I didn't belong here alongside these two episcopal officials.

My gaze met with the owner's in an attempt at empathy, but I never saw any such look returned my way in the brief period we were in the same room. He had recovered his own soul, hadn't he? That promised hope, even if it appeared he was apathetic to someone suffering the same condition he once had. The waitress upstairs was likewise a non-reassurance. If it wasn't for my relation with the Archbishop, this young lady would certainly be considered more of a success than me. She at least had stable employment, if unimpressive. Was it merely a stepping stone on a greater path, or was this really the best a milquetoast person could hope for in her circumstances? And if for her, then what of me? I stared at her with discomfort and a hint of envy, until my attention was drawn back by the bishop.

“Ach…” I muttered, shoulders slumped demurely. The mere word 'soul' triggered in my head the idea of a sobering, possibly painful topic. Instead, I found myself surprised in delight hearing about, of all things, the arts. Unexpected… very unexpected. “Ach! Ahm, well yes, I do like art quite a bit. I cannot read nor write, but I know oral poetry well. I also paint; it is a passion of mine.” At least it used to be. I find passion about anything difficult, soulless as I am. “Do you have any poetry or artwork you can show me? I'd like to see it. I have no paintings with me, though, and all the poetry I know isn't in English…” He seemed prepared enough that he might have something. Rather, I'd be surprised if he didn't.

The only real question to me was how much of this was his own design and how much was Nero and him coordinating. She sat calmly, legs and arms both crossed as she merely observed, save for assisting me with my order. I knew she wasn't going to escort me the entire day, but it wasn't clear how long she planned to stay. The most disturbing part to me, however, was the look in her eyes. She gazed at me as if I were a complete stranger, whenever her eyes passed in my general direction. I could only somewhat hide the familiarity in mine, but she was uncannily good at it. It's as if she was closer to Mr Fargate than she was to me. I consciously knew it was just an act, but she was impressively skilled with it.

 

[Hekazu]

Yes, it was just as John had come to understand. Karlin carried within herself an artistic bend. He nodded along while digging pieces out of his fruit and occasionally bringing the spoon to his mouth. She liked art quite a bit? An interesting turn of phrase for someone that had tried to make that their entire living. Perhaps it was how she suggested that she couldn't read or write just yet that was holding her back? John smiled genially at the resulting fixation to oral tradition in poetry. But painting, now that was a downright passion. Yes, they could find some common ground indeed. "Reading and writing being challenges will only stop a person determined to learn the associated arts for so long", John commented with certainty. He didn't yet know if Karlin had that determination,but if she did he did know it would bring her to the goal.

It was no surprise at all when she asked if he in turn had poetry or artwork he could show her. To this, John could only nod. "Plenty of poetry back at my home. In English, and written, but poetry nonetheless. Paintings I have never kept. If you want to see mine, we will have to pay a visit to the Empress' Court. I may have to bring you in as my model to procure right of passage if we should want to go there early. Or then again, there are a few of my works at the Helicon House. We will see which we will end up visiting first in our time. But as a first, I believe the court of the Topsy King may prove to hold works of surprising value." Of course, those were his handiwork too. Just not one's he'd have painted.

It didn't take him long to finish his half of a fruit, and despite its messy nature he had managed to keep the juice from shooting everywhere. And for a good reason, for the juice was a rich red much like the pulp, and should it stain something it would be the devil to be rid of. Of course, any such concerns voiced at him or the maid would be dismissed without a second thought. All was arranged. The next course of the meal was oatmeal, but hardly a simple variant. Today it was topped with butter, salt, brown sugar and even horse milk, fresh. Not Airag. That was something the Bohemians had held on a pedestal as a great joke when he had still been young and wild. He had to wonder if the tradition still lived.

"Thank you", he'd note absent-mindedly towards the maid, the words more of a reflex than anything else. "I do realise that simply observing what I have done is not exactly living up to the fullest of your ability. Perhaps before we go and observe my numerous works it would be more interesting to pay a visit to the Watchmaker's Hill and see a landscape featuring the observatory? Or are you more of a portrait kind of person?" he resumed roping Karlin deeper into more of a friendly acquaintanceship than the scared reverence that she had been portraying since they had first met.

 

[HandOfTheRisingSun]

Contrasting with the polite mannerisms of the clergypeople before me, my table manners were unknowingly lacking. I ate the citrus with my hands, and while I was not a messy eater it nonetheless was impossible to not get some juice on my hands in this manner. But our family was not a rich one; I was used to such things. Nero too, I imagine, but she wore the dignity of a British noble on her now. I almost expected a scolding when I had noticed, but rather she said nothing on the matter… right, at the moment, I wasn't her sister. There's no reason for her to berate a stranger in the same way.

“Oh, but reading and writing can't be that important. I know of very few fellow women who can do either. It's strange for a woman to do such a thing. …Er, n-no offence, your Grace.” I shot a nervous glance at Nero, then sheepishly averted my gaze. “I'm sure it's different for clergywomen, with reading the Bible and all… but nonetheless, your… other Grace,” I continued, turning my attention back to John. “—it's not relevant to my arts, I'm afraid.” I spoke politely to not be crude over it, but it was better that we're on the same page about what I want, than trying an avenue I have no interest in.

“Ach, ja… thank you, miss.” I accepted a handtowel from the maid, cleaning my hands of all citric fluids. It was even slightly dampened to alleviate any potential adhesion—how thoughtful of her! “Erm, you speak of so many places I have no idea of what they are. I don't know what to say on those… I only know Veilgarden and a bit of Ladybones.” Him being so specific with locations did me few favours. If I didn't know better, I'd think it's a coded message between him and Nero. In fact, I'm still not sure that's the case. “But the Empress's Court of all places… goodness me, that would only make me feel nervous being anywhere near the palace! What would they say… I hardly doubt I'm presentable even as a model in such a place.” I frowned at the thought, in a manner that Nero used to tease me as being puppy-dog-like. But that was years ago, and I'm certain the years have done little to help with my features.

“Ach… observe an… observatory? There's a wordplay there, but I don't know what that word means in English…” A lot of nuances of the language were lost on me, not least of which stemming from how confusing English is. Truly my friend wasn't kidding calling it the bastard tongue. “Landscapes are my forte, ja! I actually got the idea—“ from Nero, admittedly—“to bring some of my paintings to show you.” I rummaged through a bag I was carrying with me, before gently pulling out a landscape painting of my own.

A scenery of green stretched as far as the eye can see, with misshapen flora resembling those of a jungle, despite my never having gone to one. Even with my limited availability of paints, I could still demonstrate through the top of the trees the shade of a large, ominous bird. Most strikingly, of course, were the serpents. Around every tree, rising up from the brush, even from the side of the painting, an abundance of snakes staring directly at the viewer, unnerving intent expressed in each of their eyes. The actual quality of the painting was quite good, if I do say so myself. It may be outsider art, but it still should be clear that I do have talent… even if I still struggled to ever sell them for more than an insulting pittance.

I held it before John, staring into his face to gauge his reaction. Nero did likewise, not even passing my painting a glace. She grimaced when she saw my work the first time, but now she only held that knowing smile as she watched John. “Fascinating, isn't it? The girl said it came to her in a dream. A recurring one,” she remarked, scribbling something down on a paper, though as expected I couldn't read it. In fact, she did it with such subtlety that I only noticed when she slid the paper before John, pen set aside as if permitting him a response. It only reinforced my concern that they had coded messages.

'If true, all the more reason I wouldn't want another herdsman on this job. I'm sure you'll be fine, in the event of any complications.'