The anxious monk scrunched his neck, his hands tightly gripping at his robe.
Dikke: Ahem!
Monk: My Lady! Please spare me your blade—I am but a poor sinner. Alright I admit, I fell asleep during prayer last week, but I swear to you, I never wavered in my faith!
In an act of total submission, the young monk bowed his head lower than in any prayer before, his devotion palpable.
Dikke: Heh ... your confessions are beneath my concern.
A subtle dark smile played against her lips.
Monk: Ahh...!
Dikke: But I shall pass it on to the father for you.
Escaping the judgment he had feared, the monk breathed a sigh of relief.
Dikke: Do not be afraid; this place is too secluded and, without witnesses, not fit for a trial. I summoned you to discuss other pressing matters.
Dikke: You may keep the affairs of your faith to yourself.
Monk: ...As you wish.
The Lady that stood before him didn't seem as ruthless as rumored; he boldly continued.
Monk: Then, My Lady, I am at your service, what do you need to know?
Dikke: Did Chester live here?
Monk: Yes, though he was a recluse, we rarely spoke with him.
Monk: The night watchmen would spy Chester sneaking out at night, Heaven only knows to what end ...
Monk: He was always strange ...
Dikke leaned over the table, filling out in her mind the image of this peculiar monk.
The phantom image sat invisibly on a creaking, decrepit chair, hunched over the table, leaving behind an unmistakable oil stain.
Every monk possessed a book symbolizing the holy scriptures and its guidance, it hung close to their chests as a reminder to unwaveringly pursue brilliance and purity.
But she held Chester's in her hand; it was rough, stained with oil, and clearly bearing the marks of hasty damage.
Dikke: ...Hmm?
Her hands flipped through the pages, stopping as she gently pulled out a loose parchment sandwiched between them.
Monk: Did you find something?
Dikke: Continue please.
Monk: I...
As if finding a fresh source of redemption, the fearful monk blurted out another recollection.
Monk: I once saw Brother Chester take a bottle of very expensive wine to meet with one of the elders...
Dikke: An elder?
Monk: Yes... Father Malachi.
Monk: I recognized the bottle of wine in Chester's hand... I'd seen it in the tavern before.
Monk: The proprietor keeps it on the highest shelf, off-limits to common patrons.
Dikke: Did Father Malachi partake often?
Monk: I think so... the abbot doesn't restrict us from imbibing, so long as it is in moderation it is perfectly acceptable.
Monk: You should understand that it's the elders who deem the limits of moderation.
Monk: So that's why Chester...
Dikke: Sought redemption from a drunkard?
Dikke tapped the sword in her hand, as if sentencing him for his impudence.
Dikke: Or perhaps it was only an attempt at bribery ...
Monk: Oh, forgive me, My Lady! Pretend I said nothing!
Dikke: As you wish, you are free to go.
Monk: Ahh...!
Sharp gusts of wind swept through the street.
A familiar, respectful face approached, wearing a sincere and flattering smile.
George: My Lady, you've finally arrived!
George: I knew you'd return. You're different from the others, like the wine fermenting in the Loire Valley or a breeze that graces a beautiful estate!
Dikke: Silence.
George: Yes, My Lady!
Dikke: Tell me, how did the rumors about this ghoul spread?
George: Well...
George: At first, someone said they saw Brother Chester roaming the cemetery at night.
Dikke: The cemetery...
George: It's east of the city, within a forest of withered trees. In the past, when people died, they would be taken there.
George: The bodies piled up like mountains there, carried in carts... My father was one of them.
For a moment, George jesting nature broke and revealed a mournful look beneath it.
Dikke: Did they all die from that great plague?
George: I don't know, My Lady, I simply don't know...
George: The great plague devoured everything, arriving so swiftly that my father passed with nary a word!
Dikke fell silent for a long time before resuming.
Dikke: So, then they say Chester turned into a ghoul while wandering around these heaps of corpses?
George: He had no business there, My Lady. He never lost anyone to the plague...
He scratched his head.
George: I can't make sense out of it, but the people talk amongst themselves...
George: "See? Those monks are either a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings or a collection of the strange and wicked ... They sat comfy in their halls while the plague hit, and now they've come out only to disturb the remains of our loved ones..."
George: "Do you really think they can be trusted with our faith...?"
George: And the people spreading these ideas? They're serious as the grave. They claim to know the details, like the shovel Chester used, and they can recount every weed and clod stuck to it.
George: More people began to join in, claiming they saw Brother Chester sneaking into the monastery with a dead body...
Dikke: A scandal.
George: You mean...?
Dikke: They were merely rumors.
George shivered.
George: Ahem, I swear, I never bought into their stories.
Dikke: But we can't let them off the hook.
George: I would speak against them, My Lady! I know those people, and I know they can't hold their liquor.
George: On that day, they downed three whole bottles. What they claimed was certainly booze-fueled nonsense, not a word to be trusted...
George: And they didn't leave a drop for me—!
As the drunkard danced around with his hands, a rough notebook was handed to him.
George: ...?
Dikke: Do you recognize the symbols on it?
He swallowed hard.
George: My Lady, I don't know what it says, but perhaps I might lead you in the right direction ...
Dikke: This is Chester's notebook, "Mysteries of the Human Body." He kept it well hidden...
George: Heh, I thought monks vowed to keep no secrets from their brothers...
Dikke: This book... it details a variety of dissections performed on the dead.
George: ......?!
The hand flipping the notebook stopped abruptly.
