As the sun reached its zenith, the sermon at the Temple was concluded and the priests gathered to sing another hymn to the congregation. Niamh enjoyed the singing, and figured she was rather good at it, too. She also loved mornings like this one, seeing the faithful citizens of the city come to the Temple to learn and worship. Her work for the Reformer’s Creed often took her to those in need and those whose faith had been shaken—it was refreshing to see those who had found their way.
The events of the last few weeks still weighed on Niamh—and Aradar had not reported on any findings that had come from their investigation—but she was glad that she had been able to help in some small way.
Niamh and her friends met for lunch after the morning gathering had dispersed. Once more, their lunch was interrupted by a newcomer, but this time it was Anthin. Niamh almost didn’t recognize him, for he approached the group wearing a beige tunic, cinched at the waist with twine, and baggy grey trousers.
“Have you heard anything from Aradar?” Anthin asked, as he walked up.
“Oh! Anthin!” Niamh exclaimed. “I almost didn’t recognize you. No, we haven’t heard anything—have you?”
“I haven’t,” he muttered, looking around the Green. It wasn’t against any rules to wear plain clothes, but it was frowned upon by the overseeing priests. “But I think I’m going to find out what I can myself. If there’s a new gang in town, surely people are talking about them. Would either of you care to join me?”
Niamh glanced at Miril, but then confidently said, “Of course!” She had enjoyed being helpful in their investigation last time, and was eager to do the same when the opportunity arose. She stood up from the well-kept grass and dusted off her robe. “Where are you thinking of going?”
“Probably somewhere near the harbour. It might take more than one outing.”
Miril was a bit more hesitant. “What if we find them—this Green Eye gang? What can we do?”
Anthin gave a shrug. “We can learn what we can and then tell someone what we learn. Do you two have plain clothes?” He tapped the pack slung over his shoulder and said, “I bought extra.”
“I’ll have to look for mine,” Niamh said. “Give us a few minutes?”
“Better leave this with my belongings,” Anthin said, and followed them inside.
The men’s dorms were in an opposite wing from the women’s, so they agreed to meet in the corridor near the Great Hall after they had changed. Niamh and Miril climbed the steps up to the second floor of the Temple and entered one of the long chambers of bunks. Their cots were neighbours, and they opened the matching storage trunks at the foot of each.
“Help me look for mine?” Niamh asked. “Myla passed me some of her old clothes. I’m sure they’re in here somewhere.”
They found Niamh’s raggedy old tunic and trousers in the very bottom of the trunk. After all, it was a priestess’ first responsibility to represent her brethren, so Niamh rarely had cause to don anything other than one of her grey frocks.
Miril had mentioned that she had two, but only one that would blend in for their mission. She withdrew one from her trunk and pulled off her robes to change into them. Niamh followed suit. When she saw Miril’s tunic was a lot more open around the neck, she asked, “Where did you get these?”
“I bought them before I took the grey,” Miril said, simply. Niamh knew only that Miril had been raised by a faithful family in the community, but had not accepted her calling as a member of the Atmos Septi until a few years after coming of age.
“Can I see the other one?” Niamh asked. “The one that wouldn’t blend in? It can’t be worse than this.” She showed Miril the moth-marks in the hem of her tunic and gestured to Myla’s worn out trousers.
“Why not?” Miril asked. She opened her trunk once more, rummaged down a little, and withdrew a folded blue cloth. She laid it out, revealing a blue-and-white ombré gown. It wasn’t as expensive as some of the materials and styles that Niamh had seen on the city’s elite, but it was clearly an outfit for a formal occasion.
With wide eyes, Niamh asked, “This is beautiful…did you ever wear it?”
“I did,” Miril said, smiling proudly. “I got lots of looks, let me tell you.”
Niamh giggled. Her own clothes seemed so drab, but they would serve their purpose. “We shouldn’t keep Anthin waiting,” she said. She was glad she didn’t have to worry about what she said around Miril—her religious sister was the closest thing she had to a real one.
Anthin was eager to get going before one of the seniors noticed—especially as members of the Reformer’s Creed, they were to teach by example. Dressing in local styles made them indistinguishable from the citizens of the city. As she and her friends ventured out from the Temple grounds, Niamh began to grow excited. She had really helped when Aradar had asked for their help and she could do so again with her trustworthy friends.
The neighbourhoods near the harbour were among some of the few places in Saanazar that Niamh had never been. She avoided them for good reason—namely that Myla had warned Niamh they were not good or safe. The first evidence of this truth manifested as Anthin led them east from one of the main streets. A merchant called out, “Stop thief!” and a man bolted past the disguised priests. Before Niamh had even come to terms with the theft she had nearly witnessed, they came upon the thief once more, a few hundred feet down the road. Niamh was pleased to see he had been caught by the guards—but her stomach lurched again when she watched the suspect pass the guards a few coins and continue on his way.
Anthin and Miril had definitely seen it, but no one said a thing—so Niamh kept quiet and tried to focus her eyes on where they were walking instead.
“I think we should try—subtly—asking at some of the bars around here,” Anthin said. “Lots of crooks hang out around here—someone must know something.”
“Have you ever been to a bar before?” Niamh asked, before looking back down again.
“I have,” he said simply.
Niamh took a deep breath. She had never been inside one—the closest she had been were the few times that her fellow Reformers and she had shared prayers and advice with those lounging outside of such taverns. “What if I…give us away? How do I act?”
“Just follow my lead,” Anthin said, nodding toward the nearest establishment.
Miril touched Niamh’s arm encouragingly. “Let us do the talking.”
Niamh nodded her head wordlessly and followed them inside. The glass window in the door was smudged with grimy fingerprints and the common room was full of stained tables, but there was barely anyone there in the early afternoon. Anthin made a show of ordering a drink at the bar, and he took a ginger sip of it for the sake of appearances. Niamh turned up her nose at the smell.
Soon, they left in search of a busier tavern. There was no way to strike up a conversation at that half-deserted bar-counter.
The next one was so much worse—it was packed with loud, stinky men. Barmaids in skimpy clothes were running around between tables. The smoky air reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and other things that Niamh didn’t know. A table of gamblers roared at the roll of the dice—Niamh turned away. That brought her eyes toward the bar: a pair of old men in the grey robes of the Atmos Septi were arguing loudly. Their words were slurred, and their volume pitched unpredictably.
Niamh grabbed Miril’s arm and pulled her close. “Do you see those priests in robes there?” she asked, nodding in their direction.
“Just ignore them,” Miril said.
It was hard to do so. Niamh just felt so disappointed in her brothers. Feeling totally lost in the overwhelming den, Niamh stuck close to Miril and tried to pay everyone around her no mind.
They did not hear a word about the Green Eye that afternoon. The most interesting and relevant story was one uncovered by Anthin, after he bought a trio of dock workers a round from the bar and fed them a half-truth about being here to look for someone particular in this part of town. If he had lied outright, it might have been the last straw for Niamh.
The dock workers recounted their perspective on the disastrous attack in the harbour all those months ago—the very attack where Archpriests Roithe and Morrus had perished. Contrary to the publicly-declared account, these locals said that the destructive magic had been called upon by Roithe himself—called for his defence, of course, but called by him, nonetheless. Niamh had always heard that the magic had been an act of terror by Roithe’s killers. It was not unheard of for priests to possess and use magic, but it was an interesting perspective on the story that seemed at odds with what Speaker Serand and the King had reported.
On the way home, Niamh asked Anthin what he thought about the attack at the docks. “All that destruction…” she muttered.
“Whoever attacked the Archpriests was an ambition enemy—an enemy to the Septi,” Anthin explained. “If it was Roithe’s magic…I’m sure it was well deserved.”
Niamh nodded thoughtfully. “Of course—trying to protect himself and us. For the grey.”
Anthin mirrored her nod. Soon they were out of the harbour and heading toward the warmly glowing façade of the Grey Temple. The setting sun, to the west, lit up the otherwise dull bricks.
“How are you doing with all this, Niamh?” Miril asked. “Quite a day, compared to usual.”
Niamh gave her dear friend a smile and a shrug. “I smell like smoke from the bars. I hope the other priests don’t notice.” Then she grew even more sombre. “Seeing all those people in the bar—gambling, drinking and being loud, and the priests! I don’t understand the appeal.”
“It’s exciting to be a part of the world. Some find that life…more real, than ours. But it’s not our life, is it?” Miril assured. “There’s people of all sorts, Niamh.”
Niamh looked down as she walked. “But our life has a purpose. That just feels directionless.”
“And ours feels directionless to them,” Miril countered, smiling slyly. She always saw things a different way than Niamh, but didn’t use that against her. She could see both perspectives somehow.
Niamh chuckled. She didn’t know what else to say, so they carried on in relative silence.