Gais's cold sweat sprang out across his forehead again, and his composure vanished.
"My chapel? Lord, does the Lord even know where I've been borrowing His name to swindle people?"
"Is He still displeased with my deceitful ways? After all, that could be considered blasphemy..."
Ivan watched Gais think it over, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.
"It was simply a suitable location."
At Ivan's forgiveness, Gais let out a breath of relief, pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Great Lord of All Spirits, thank You for recognizing Your most loyal missionary, Gais!"
"The chapel was exactly the place I rented especially to serve as the starting point for spreading Your faith."
"I'll set out at once and meet up with my brothers and sisters in the Holy Spirit Society..."
Gais hadn't even finished speaking when—
Rumble, rumble~
The sound of wheels rolling, oddly steady against the night sky, came from outside the streets around South York Poorhouse.
Hearing it, Ivan felt that his guess was coming true.
The people from the Church of Divine Grace had probably received a tip about the heretical ritual and come to arrest them.
"I wonder if they'll be surprised to see Gais here again."
"Gais is unlucky. Why does he always end up taking the blame whenever someone reports us...?"
Gais quickly fell silent and edged toward the alley's exit.
"A carriage coming at this hour... Could it be people from the Church of Divine Grace?"
His eyes narrowed behind his gold-rimmed glasses.
"The great Lord of All Spirits truly is omniscient and omnipotent."
"He must have known the location of the ritual would be leaked, so He deliberately arranged for it to be held here."
"Only those who truly believe in the Lord would dare come here after monsters appeared last night."
"That way, the true believers can be safely taken to another location, while the Church of Divine Grace comes up empty-handed."
"The Lord's thoughts truly are beyond my ability to fathom..."
The carriage rolled slowly into the street. It was a small delivery cart with an ordinary wooden body, bearing neither the cross of the Church of Divine Grace nor the sword-and-shield emblem of the Night Watchman.
A bulging load was covered by a blackened piece of rough burlap on the rack at the back. It was impossible to tell what lay beneath it.
A lame old man slowly climbed down from the driver's seat. His left leg was noticeably shorter, and he had to lean on his wooden cane to stay upright.
It was Miller, the general store owner.
Miller glanced at Gais, dressed like a gentleman, then looked up at the iron gate of the Poorhouse and asked in a hoarse voice,
"Did you order a hundred loaves of black bread and ten bottles of table wine?"
Gais looked puzzled for an instant, then immediately understood.
Ivan also remembered Little George saying that the Holy Communion he'd bought would be delivered to the Poorhouse before midnight.
Before Gais's confusion could show on his face, he replaced it with a practiced smile.
"Yes, sir. Thank you for making the trip. Just unload everything here; we'll take it to the storage area ourselves."
Miller didn't see Little George, but he didn't ask any questions.
He hobbled to the back of the cart and yanked off the black cloth.
A wooden crate appeared before Gais, packed full of black bread, with a few unlabeled bottles of wine scattered on top.
The panel at the back of the cart was lowered. Several small wheels had been thoughtfully fitted beneath the crate, and Miller easily rolled it off the cart.
Gais barely examined the goods. He stepped forward and took Miller's hand, slipping a one-shilling note into it.
"Oh, my old friend, you've really gone to a lot of trouble. Please don't spread word of this."
"You know, people in our line of work tend to have a greater appetite for food—and other things—than the average person."
He curled his lips, an ambiguous smile appearing in his eyes. His look carried an air of mutual understanding, as if he were trying to steer the conversation toward something more salacious.
Old Miller didn't play along. He silently pocketed the banknote, then turned and hobbled back to the cart, leaning on his cane.
"Tell Little George to come to me whenever he needs this sort of thing from now on."
As he was leaving, he suddenly added in his hoarse voice, with a certainty that was hard to explain,
"If he went to someone else, that fellow would, heh, be sure to ask what it was all for."
Ivan remained where he was, watching old Miller drive the cart away. Something about it just didn't sit right with him.
There was more to Miller's words than he was saying. It was as if he'd already seen through the purpose of the goods, but had deliberately kept quiet.
Gais also shook his head silently.
"With this much bread and wine, anyone could figure out with a little thought that it's for some kind of gathering."
"I wonder how the Lord's other follower, Little George, explained it to the general store owner..."
Ivan kept watch around the area for a while longer but noticed nothing else unusual.
"It seems the Church's Night Watchmen didn't receive a tip. Or maybe there have been too many reports lately? They keep failing to catch any real heretics, so perhaps they've grown lax."
He didn't dwell on it. Now that he was sure there was no danger lurking nearby, they needed to leave as soon as possible and carry out tonight's baptism and Holy Communion ceremony, so they could settle this group of loyal believers.
"All right, you should go and meet up with them."
"I shall heed Your revelation, great Lord of All Spirits."
Having received Ivan's revelation, Gais put away his smile. His face brimmed with piety.
He slowly pushed the crate out into the street. As the sound faded into the distance, silence once again settled over the entrance to South York Poorhouse.
As soon as old Miller stopped his cart behind the general store, he sprang down and quickly hobbled around to the front.
The shop door creaked shut behind him. A strip of steel struck against a flint, and a white candle caught fire. Its dim glow fell across his deeply wrinkled face and lit the letter paper and quill spread out on the table.
The quill dipped into the ink, and its scratching across the paper sounded especially clear in the silent shop.
"Only one contact: gray-haired, around thirty to forty years old, wearing a tailcoat, gold-rimmed glasses, and a bowler hat."
He wrote down Gais's appearance, paused, then added,
"Polite and well-mannered. Doesn't seem like a beggar from the East District or South District; more like a minor clerk or a down-and-out gentleman from the West District."
"He reacted quickly. He probably hadn't coordinated with Little George beforehand, but he adapted to my actions and pretended to have everything under control."
Finally, at the bottom of the page, he slowed his writing, pressing the nib harder:
"This man is likely one of the core members of the 'gang' and should be watched closely. No other findings for now."
Miller folded the letter twice and slipped it into an unmarked kraft-paper envelope without sealing it with wax.
He went to the door and carefully opened it a crack. After confirming that no one was in the alley, he hurriedly hung the envelope on the back of the wooden sign outside the shop. There was an inconspicuous little hook there, the agreed-upon drop point between him and his handler.
After hanging the envelope, Miller returned to the counter and sat down. He quietly blew out the candle, his fingertips tapping the tabletop unconsciously.
"I just don't understand why that lord would allow other gangs to exist, and even tell me to supply them with provisions as promptly as possible..."
As if something in his memory had been touched, his body trembled slightly. His jumbled thoughts abruptly stopped, and his fingers froze as though someone had pressed pause.
The sounds inside the shop gradually faded, until only a deep silence remained.
Before you continue