Of course, this Altar was purely ceremonial.
A man in a black robe stood beside the Altar with his back to the door, arranging a row of candleholders on the table.
Hearing the door open, he did not stop what he was doing. He first straightened a crooked candleholder by his hand, then turned around.
He was a middle-aged man with graying hair. The wrinkles on his face were not deep, but his age showed. He wore an old black robe, with loose threads at the cuffs as though he had worn it for many years. His gaze fell on Ian, sizing him up before he spoke. "Good afternoon."
"Good afternoon."
"First time here?"
"More or less."
The priest did not ask further. He walked to the end of the first pew and straightened a tilted hymnal. "Not many people have been coming to church lately. Are you looking for a place, or someone?"
"A place," Ian said.
The priest nodded without pressing him. He returned to the Altar, closed the open book on the table, and put it back on the shelf beside it. "Then sit wherever you like. We only hold Mass here on Sunday mornings. Hardly anyone comes at other times. Stay as long as you want."
Ian did not immediately head for the pews. He stood in the middle of the aisle, his gaze sweeping over the windows on both sides. "How long has this church been here?"
"About a hundred years. It's an old building and has been renovated several times, but the main structure hasn't changed." The priest stopped near the pulpit and glanced up at the ceiling beams. "I've been in charge here for about twelve years. Nothing much has changed. There used to be more worshippers than there are now, but their