"Mr. Kraft, do you have a moment?"
The church's cool light had gradually taken on an orange-red hue. Dinnertime was approaching.
Brother Raymond, whose eyes were long since tired of reading, left with a small stack of book lists in hand. Yvonne had already been lured away by the savory aromas drifting from the open-air bonfire in the courtyard.
Kup held out until the last moment before calling to the professor, who was still engrossed in his books.
"Anytime."
The answer was only natural. In fact, unless he was interrupted while saving a life, Kraft would usually give much the same reply.
Kraft's schedule was like an ideal church. Though people came and went, making it seem packed to the brim with activity, there was always an open seat and a little attention to spare whenever you needed it.
Still, he didn't really have a thousand pairs of ears and a thousand mouths, nor could he see and know everything like an Angel. As his influence and titles grew, the time he could devote to any one person was visibly diluted, though his attitude remained unchanged.
No matter who they were, everyone received the same patience.
Perhaps that was why the professor got along so well with the rank-and-file priests. Kup had once heard someone in the group discussing it, claiming to see a kind of "holiness" in him: impartial benevolence that made no distinction between high and low, noble and common, transcending worldly status and even the bounds of ordinary human nature.
As the person here who was closest to Kraft, Kup had found what he felt was the source of the unease: a sense of detachment.
He had seen plenty of strange and inexplicable things, of course, and knew full well that Kraft had mastered some of their