Probe from the Dock

Cold sweat broke out on Gais's forehead instantly, his previous composure vanishing into thin air.

"My chapel? Does the Lord—does the Lord even know where I've been borrowing His name to swindle people?"

Is He perhaps dissatisfied with my fraudulent behavior? After all, that could be considered blasphemy...

Ivan watched Gais's internal struggle, a faint, elusive hint of amusement in his voice.

"It was simply a suitable location."

Hearing Ivan's absolution, Gais let out a sigh of relief and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow.

"Great Lord of All Spirits, I thank You for Your recognition of Your most loyal missionary, Gais!"

"That chapel is precisely the starting point I specifically rented to spread Your faith."

"I shall depart at once to rendezvous with the brothers and sisters of the Holy Spirit Society..."

Before Gais's words had even fully faded.

Rumble, rumble~

The sound of carriage wheels, abrupt yet steady in the night air, drifted in from the street outside the South York Poorhouse.

Hearing this, Ivan felt his own deductions becoming reality.

It was likely the Church of Divine Grace, having received a report about the heretical ritual, arriving to make arrests.

I wonder if they'll be stunned to see Gais here again.

Gais is truly unlucky; how does he end up taking the fall every time a report is made...

Gais quickly fell silent, his body leaning toward the outside of the alley.

"A carriage at this hour—could it be the Church of Divine Grace?"

His eyes, hidden behind gold-rimmed spectacles, narrowed into slits.

"The Great Lord of All Spirits is truly omniscient and omnipotent."

"He must have known the location of the ritual would be leaked, so He deliberately arranged for this spot."

"Only those with true faith in the Lord would dare to come here after the monster appeared last night."

"In this way, the true believers can be safely led to another location, while the people from the Church of Divine Grace will find nothing."

"The Lord's wisdom is truly beyond my ability to fathom..."

The carriage slowly pulled into the street. It was a small cargo wagon with a plain wooden body, bearing neither the cross of the Church of Divine Grace nor the sword-and-shield emblem of the Night Watchman.

On the rack at the back, a bulging pile was covered by a blackened piece of burlap, making it impossible to see what was inside.

A limping old man climbed down slowly from the driver's seat; his left leg was noticeably shorter, and he had to rely on a wooden cane to stand steady.

It was Miller from the grocery store.

Miller glanced at the gentlemanly Gais, then looked up at the iron gate of the poorhouse, asking in a raspy voice:

"Are you the one who ordered one hundred loaves of black bread and ten bottles of table wine?"

Gais was momentarily confused, but he reacted immediately.

Ivan also recalled Little George saying that the communion supplies he purchased would be delivered to the poorhouse before midnight.

The confusion on Gais's face hadn't even had time to fully register before he replaced it with a standard smile.

"Yes, sir. Sorry for the trouble; just unload the goods here, and we will move them to the storage area ourselves."

Miller didn't see Little George, but he didn't ask any questions.

He limped to the back of the carriage and yanked off the black cloth covering the top.

A wooden crate appeared before Gais, packed to the brim with black bread, with several unlabeled bottles of wine scattered on top.

The tailgate of the carriage was lowered, and the crate had small wheels thoughtfully attached to the bottom, allowing Miller to push it off the wagon with ease.

Gais didn't inspect the items closely; he stepped forward and shook Miller's hand, slipping a one-shilling note into his palm.

"Oh, my old friend, thank you for your hard work. Please, do not spread word of this matter."

"You know, those of us in this line of work have a much greater appetite for food and other necessities than the average person."

He curled the corner of his mouth, a suggestive smile appearing in his eyes—a look that implied a mutual understanding, attempting to steer the conversation toward something more illicit.

Old Miller didn't take the bait; he silently accepted the banknote, turned around, and sat back on the carriage, leaning on his wooden cane.

"Tell Little George that if he needs these things in the future, he should come to me."

As he was about to leave, his raspy voice suddenly added this, his tone carrying an inexplicable sense of certainty.

"If it were anyone else, hah, they would surely have pressed for the reason behind such a large order."

Ivan hovered in place, watching Old Miller drive the carriage away, feeling that something was not quite right.

There was a hidden meaning in those words, as if Old Miller had long since seen through the purpose of these items but had deliberately chosen not to point it out.

Gais also silently shook his head.

"With this much bread and wine, it doesn't take much imagination to realize it's a gathering for many people."

"I wonder how Little George, that other follower of the Lord, explained it to the grocer..."

Ivan patrolled the surroundings for a while longer, but he did not discover any other anomalies.

"It seems the church's Night Watchers haven't received any relevant reports, or perhaps there have been too many reports lately? They've grown somewhat lax since they never manage to catch any real cultists."

He did not dwell on the matter; since he had confirmed there were no potential dangers, he needed to set off as soon as possible to complete tonight's baptism and communion ritual, ensuring this batch of loyal believers remained stable.

"Alright, it is time for you to go and rendezvous."

"I obey your revelation, great Lord of All Spirits."

Having received Ivan's revelation, Gais put away his smile, his face filled with piety.

The wooden crate was slowly pushed out of the street, and as the sound faded away, the area in front of the South York Poorhouse fell back into silence.

As soon as old Miller's carriage stopped behind the grocery store, he hopped off nimbly and hurried around to the front door with a limp.

The shop door creaked shut behind him, and a white candle was lit with the rasp of steel against flint; the dim, yellow light reflected off his wrinkled face and illuminated the letter paper and quill spread across the table.

The quill dipped into the ink, and the scratching sound as it moved across the paper was exceptionally clear in the silent shop.

"Only one contact, gray hair, approximately thirty to forty years old, wearing a tailcoat, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a top hat."

He wrote down Gais's physical characteristics, paused the nib, and added more.

"Mannerly, does not resemble the poor from the East District or South District; looks more like a low-level clerk or a down-and-out gentleman from the West District."

"Quick-witted; he likely hadn't coordinated with Little George beforehand, yet he was able to adapt to my actions on the fly, pretending as if everything was under his control."

Finally, at the bottom of the page, his writing slowed, and the ink strokes grew heavier:

"This person should be one of the core members of the 'gang'; requires close attention. No other findings for the time being."

Miller folded the letter twice, tucked it into an unmarked kraft paper envelope, and did not seal it with wax.

He walked to the door, carefully cracked it open to confirm the alley was empty, then hurried to hang the envelope on the back of the wooden sign outside the shop, where an inconspicuous little hook served as the drop-off point agreed upon with his superior.

After hanging the envelope, Miller sat back down by the shop counter, blew out the candle quietly, and tapped his fingertips against the table unconsciously.

"I truly cannot fathom why that lord would allow other gangs to exist, and even ask me to supply them with goods in a timely manner..."

As if he had touched upon something in his memories, his body trembled slightly, his chaotic thoughts abruptly cut off, and his fingers froze as if a pause button had been pressed.

The sounds within the shop gradually vanished, leaving only a heavy silence to spread through the air.