Garth nodded. “The City Guard seized his notes, and some were published in the Daily Penance. Pages upon pages of absolute gibberish.”
“Gibberish he felt was worth more to him than his life,” said Farris. “That’s why I don’t like dealing with these fanatics. With a worldview as warped as that, how can any of them be trusted?”
Garth surprised Farris with a smile. “Now you’re thinking like the Silverback.”
Farris’s eyes widened. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! He’s just using them, isn’t he?”
“Well,” said Garth. “Let’s hope it’s not the other way around.”
Farris snorted, right as they reached the top of the second staircase. The Silverback is a master of lies and subterfuge. These zealots would find it easier to recruit Arch-Canon Cathbad to their cause.
When the open landing of Sin’s second floor came into view, Farris’s glee turned sour. Far more people were crowded into this area than the previous, all clustered around a dozen or so speakers, who were raised above the rest on wooden platforms. And there were Simians there too. So many of them! Farris quickly scanned the crowds, and when he saw that his people actually outnumbered the Humans, a slow, creeping panic began to set in.
“Don’t worry about them,” said Garth, obviously noticing the dread that was taking hold of Farris. “The numbers here prove that the Sons are not alone in their hatred of the Church.”
Farris inhaled deeply. “But both Simians and Humans are equal in their love for the Lord?”
“Aye,” said Garth, his voice cool and calm. “That’s another way of looking at it.” He gestured towards the first cluster of worshipers. “Come, let’s find our druid.”
The first preacher they came across was an elderly Human man, dressed in loose, flowing robes. He raised feeble hands over his head as he spoke, but his voice was as strong and as powerful as any youth.
“The Lord’s light should benefit all men and should not be used for selfish means. But there are some in this city who profit—yes, profit!—from his teachings. They call themselves druids and cardinals, canons and arch-canons, all claiming tithes for spreading the word our Lord is perfectly capable of spreading Himself.”
A muttering of agreement ran through the crowd as the preacher paused, his sharp eyes meeting those of each person who stood before him. His gaze fell upon Farris for a half a second. A shot of terror tore through Farris’s body.
“And what about King Diarmuid?” cried Garth, immediately taking the preacher’s attention away from Farris. “Does the light not shine upon him?”
“A holy abomination and a fraud!” cried the preacher. “He is the face of the institute known as the Church, founded for no purpose but to keep us from knowing the Truth! There can be no salvation under Seletoth’s light as long as Diarmuid rules this country!”
“Not our guy,” whispered Garth. “He’s a Son through and through.”
“And a damn fine speaker,” muttered Farris. “There’s got to be an easier way. Wouldn’t this bring more attention to us?”
“True,” said Garth. “We should split up and try to be more subtle.” He nodded towards a female Human standing on the next podium. “I’ll start with her.”
“There are women in the Sons, too?” asked Farris. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Well, they also believe that Seletoth bore no sons. Nobody said any of this had to make sense.”
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Farris to decide for himself who to pose the passcode to next. A younger man gave a sermon to a handful of people across the way, and he seemed to be far less animated than the first. When Farris approached, however, the preacher’s words gave him pause.
“Nothing frightens the Lord more than chaos, for even if fate dictates His own demise, Seletoth shall gladly see Himself through to the end.”
A woman from the crowd spoke up. “But what of the Lady Meadhbh, is she not the weaver of fate?”
“Of course not,” said the preacher with a soft smile. “For surely fate has existed long before the supposed Apotheosis of the Trinity. If she was the master of fate before the Final Conquest of Alabach, then what led the Human armies to this sacred country? Seletoth is the beginning and the end, but He does not have control over fate. More proof that the Trinity is founded upon lies.”
No use asking him.
He worked his way through the crowd, catching a few words from each speaker before moving on. The people who had come to hear the sermons moved from preacher to preacher too, some exchanging questions and comments with those on the pedestals.
Farris spotted Garth talking with another preacher. The Human gestured wildly as he spoke, moving his arms in wide, looping circles, possibly mimicking the three crooked rings of the Sons. Garth turned and caught Farris’s gaze, then shook his head in disappointment. He bid farewell to the preacher and began hurrying towards Farris. Farris moved forward, too, but right as they were about to confront one another, an arm appeared from the crowd and grabbed Garth on the shoulder. A bearded face leaned towards him, with eyes mad with fear.
“Where the fuck were you?” he rasped. Garth turned as Farris approached, and both faced the preacher. “I was waiting here for hours!” he said. “Then I got word that the ship crashed, and nobody told me what to do if that happened. You’re lucky everything is still in place.” He eyed Farris cautiously. “Is it just you two? I was expecting five.”
“Will two be enough?” asked Farris, careful not to let on he knew less than he should.
“The timing may be off,” said the preacher, “But we’d do a fair share of damage anyway. The first load is on the first floor. Follow me.”
The preacher led the way towards the stairway. Garth followed closely behind, fumbling through his pockets as he went. He pulled out a piece of fabric with one hand, and a tiny glass vial in another. He deftly uncapped the vial, pouring its contents onto the cloth, all without missing a step behind the preacher. At the top of the staircase, Garth lunged forward, shoving the damp cloth against the old man’s face. In an instant, the man’s body went limp, and Garth was left holding on to him. Some people stopped to look on, but neither the cloth nor the bottle were anywhere in sight.
“Edgar!” cried Garth to Farris. “Edgar, come quickly! Aonghus has gone and passed out again. Help me bring him home!”
***
The false preacher awoke no less than an hour later, just as Garth had predicted. That alchemical mixture had given them enough time to carry the old man down to the Squealing Pig, an old tavern deep within the Dustworks of Penance. It had also given Farris plenty of time to tie the preacher up, while Garth went off to fetch the Silverback. To Farris’s dismay, Argyll arrived with Ruairí at his side.
Has he found himself a new right-hand man? He didn’t have a chance to voice his opinion, as the preacher began to stir moments after the two arrived.
“What has he told you?” asked Argyll, careful to keep his voice low. “Is there anything we should know before we begin?”
“Not much,” whispered Farris. “He seemed to be working alone, expecting five of us to come off the ship. He overheard Garth use the passcode and confronted him directly.” He rummaged through a coat pocket. “We also found these on his person.” He held five flint-rings before Argyll. “The same kind that Pyromancers use to create a spark for their spells.”
“I’m… familiar with them,” said Argyll. Farris wondered if the Silverback implied more than what he said.
The old preacher slowly raised his head, his weary eyes falling upon Ruairí first, then Argyll. A look of confusion crossed his face as he noticed Garth and Farris standing side by side.
“You… you’re from… Sin? No… I can’t remember.”
