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Chapter 159: Church Service
🕑 Added 2023-09-27 02:49:25 +0000 UTCMy, wasn’t this the quaintest of chapels?
If my careful studies of adventure romance titles had taught me anything, then here was where commoners up and down the kingdom met to forget their misery. Within these hallowed halls of spiritness and community, childhood memories and nostalgia came to be formed and pined upon.
It was simple to see why.
Chapels met a certain standard, their picturesque gardens and little steeple towers a natural landmark for any farmer as they dared to cease their gruelling work and steal a single glance towards a ray of comfort.
The truth behind the idyllic imagery was remarkably less warm, of course.
These well-tended gardens and steeple towers shorn of decay didn’t come from prayer. They came from tax exempt donations. A state of affairs we were all willing to ignore, so long as the sisters kept the worst of the layabouts off our streets.
Indeed, the Holy Church were much like the Adventurer’s Guild in many respects.
Rooted like insidious parasites in every nation, they sung a familiar lie about their distance from politics in one ear while they hummed sweetly about vacant positions in the ecclesiastical hierarchy in the other.
The only difference between the two?
The Holy Church were much better at hiding it.
Usually.
Because as I regarded the wooden doors of Stermondt’s Chapel, all I saw before me was evidence of them flouting the most common of expectations.
Beginning with the notice on the doors.
Stermondt Chapel
Updated visiting Hours: Midday-Dusk
Please note that regular services may be delayed or unavailable.
To deposit a donation outside of working hours, please leave it on the doorstep.
Thank you for understanding.
I was aghast.
Midday to dusk?! Delayed or unavailable?!
What? Did the heavens refuse to pay for any work done earlier than halfway through the day?
The absolute gall!
Noone had the right to such blissful working conditions! Only royalty enjoyed that privilege! Being able to begin our day after lunch was a right we’d spent centuries normalising until peasants no longer rebelled over it! My ancestors suffered for the ability to not lift a finger until after the second soufflé was finished!
Beside me, my loyal handmaiden peered around for a donation which didn’t exist.
I’d already checked.
“Wow~ no wonder the sisters are always grumpy when they see me. I only drink from their holy basins outside of visiting hours.”
I read the notice once more, then rubbed my eyes.
Still, the words refused to disappear.
“My disbelief is boundless. Do they not even pretend to listen to the monotonous confessions of peasants? How are they coercing the poor into giving them alms if they only work 5 minutes of any given day?”
“It sounds like a tax thing. Is this a tax thing?”
“This is no tax thing. No, this is evidence of wrongdoing as clear as a missing strudel with crumbs around a clockwork doll’s mouth.”
“The clockwork doll should be ashamed,” said Coppelia, wiping away the crumbs that had long vanished. “Also, isn’t it weirder for chapels not to be closed for most of the day? It’s not like they have much to do, right?”
“A chapel always has things to do, for the simple reason there are always peasants to rob. That they’re not scrounging for donations like a fruit slime after rotten apple cores is all the proof I need that something is awry. I intend to find out what.”
I approached the door, righteousness following my steps as I reached out.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A cautious movement from behind me was first to answer.
Countess Miriam warily approached, almost shuffling forwards as she viewed the chapel like Apple viewed stables.
“Excuse me,” she said, her expression spiralling between doubt and regret. “I understand you have some undisclosed plan for confronting this very powerful sister in her own holy abode. But is it truly necessary to knock as well?”
“Of course. Politeness concerning doors is a virtue which Coppelia and I have sadly ignored for far too long.”
“R … Really now?”
“Yes. Our images have already suffered. Frankly, I worry about gaining a highly unwanted reputation for it. There are many ways in which history may view these long days of hardship I endure, and amongst the hundreds of tomes, I do not wish for ‘an inability to knock’ as even a footnote. A change of pace is in order.”
The vampire nodded, hesitation only ever growing in her eyes.
“I … I see. I suppose nobody strives for such an unflattering reputation.”
“Quite so. Coppelia?”
“Yes?”
“We’ve a witness to our adherence to etiquette. You may now proceed with breaking down the door.”
“Already on it~”
Smiling the same shade as her rosy pink shoes, Coppelia dragged her leg back, then performed a sweeping, roundhouse strike to make Florella proud.
“[Coppelia Kick!]”
Bwaaaaaaaaaaaashh!
The destruction was total.
Both sets of doors smashed inwards. One struck a row of pews, crushing them as easily as a line of marshmallows. The other crashed into the wall, shattering stained glass as wooden splinters flew in every direction. A litany of things was launched to the far walls.
And yet it was almost all missed by the rain of papers.
A confetti shower of ink greeted my eyes, lit by the moonlight flooding the hall. Yet even if the fog had shrouded the chapel, I still would have made out everything from the stars shining in Coppelia’s bright eyes.
She turned around with a wide smile.
“Oh boy, I just broke a church! I never get to break churches … legally!”
I waved away some of the dust.
Then, ignoring the gawking of the vampire beside me, I set my gaze on the upturned furnishings, the myriad of ceremonial objects scattered to each of the corners, and then the stained glass colouring the carpet of documents.
Satisfied, I walked inside, avoiding the worst of the splinters and glass from touching my soles by stepping onto one of the fallen doors.
“7/10,” I declared.
Coppelia appeared pleased as she bounded beside me.
She shouldn’t, of course.
A 7/10 without her automatic handmaiden boon was a failing score. As fine as the destruction of the chapel’s hall was, we’d clearly failed with the main objective for this grand entrance.
No errant sisters quailing in terror. That much was clear.
A wayward cough was usually enough to draw their attention. Destroying their chapel should have provoked even the meekest of them into rising as inferno boars. Especially given the lack of repentance on display.
“I just want to say, that was the most fun I’ve had since I jumped away from an explosion two minutes ago.”
“... You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“It’s so fun! This town might smell like two rotting trouts having an argument, but it’s got the best things to do! Explosions! Vampires! Glowy knights! Breaking church stuff!”
Timidly following in after us, Countess Miriam cut a far more serious figure as she assessed the destruction of a single, well-placed kick by Coppelia.
She was quiet and sombre as she stepped through the mess, her pale skin seeming even whiter than before. There was no joy in her scarlet eyes. Only a slight resignation as she became an aide to what may be her first act of destruction beyond the egos of budding writers.
A picture of dignity, despite her pink pyjamas.
A rare thing for nobility. I wondered if all it took to make them slightly more palpable was to turn them into the undead.
It wasn’t the first time I’d wondered this. Nor would it be the last.
After a moment, Countess Miriam turned to me, appearing almost regal as she prepared to offer her thoughts on our intrusion–
“Ow ow ow owo owowo ow ow ow!!”
Only for smoke to suddenly start rising from her.
Her eyes wide, she threw aside whatever apt thoughts she wished to make and leapt through the shattered window instead.
It was several seconds before the vampire reappeared. She peeked over the edge of the stonework as she blew at the smoke still rising from parts of her body.
The expression she now wore was far less dignified.
“Churches. Hiss.”
I brushed away some of the dust already gathering on my knees.
“You did well to brave the interior of a chapel. But whereas the porous odour here only discourages my presence, I imagine it’s lethal to you. You may instead assist me by using your vampiric senses to inform me where the sister is.”
“If only I could. My vampiric senses are highly confused right now.”
“How so?”
“The concentration of holy … everything is too high. To be frank, this entire setting is deeply uncomfortable for me at present.”
I nodded and turned to Coppelia, whose keen senses weren’t diminished by the presence of holy magic.
“Very well. Coppelia, we shall need to search for the errant sister in the traditional manner. She’s overdue a conversation with my boot, and I’d like her debt to be paid while there’s still time for us to be disappointed by dinner. Help me go through the rooms.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I received my answer as a set of polite knocks against the door below me.
I looked down. As did Coppelia. She then offered a hand and I accepted, assisting me as I lightly hopped off the door.
Pwam.
A moment later, it was thrust aside, the door slamming into a cabinet filled with ceramic cups, old teapots and the leaves of bergamot tea sourced from the bottom of a well. A fine choice to destroy it.
I decided to give the sister a few seconds to collect herself.
A woman with a plain face. She wore a torn black habit coated in a dusting of broken chapel. Any sense of tidiness she could have claimed was as lost as the headpiece which was missing from her highly dishevelled brown hair.
The sister ineffectually brushed a smattering of dust from her sleeves, before leaning down to retrieve a few pages from the floor. She stacked them atop the nearest upturned pew.
A breeze promptly blew the pile back to the floor.
Then, an ink pot fell over, its black splodge dribbling over the pile.
The sister stared at it, her expression as empty as it was unblinking.
After a moment, I placed my hand atop my chest and smiled.
“Salutations, sister. My apologies for the lateness of my visit. However, as the busiest person in the kingdom, I’m unable to answer every prayer.”
I waited for the usual rebuttal.
Nothing came.
I rolled my eyes. That was an opening which invited a faux cordial response about the vampiric company I was keeping. But I suppose it was too much to expect a mere sister to know how to begin a chafing exchange with a princess.
“Very well. I see you’re too stunned by my angelic presence to even gawk. But no matter. If you could provide an inadequate explanation as to your involvement with the utter debacle occurring in this town, I can proceed with sentencing you to a lifetime of labour in the soap mines while pretending that wasn’t my intention all along. You may begin when ready.”
Again, I waited for the response which never came.
The sister merely continued with her staring contest against the piles of scattered papers strewn around the floor.
I tapped my foot.
“Excuse me, but this is highly irregular. Yes, nobody likes having their poorly conceived plots foiled. But you’re hardly the only unsuccessful schemer in the world. I don’t expect a biting repartee. But least have the grace to acknowledge your shock at this sudden downturn in ambitions.”
The sister planted her palms in her face.
And then–
“Uuuuuuuuuuugggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!”
She let out a cocktail of grief and despair in the form of her groan.
I nodded.
Much better.
Swiftly releasing her palms from her face, she turned to Countess Miriam, Coppelia and myself in turn. Her expression was slightly maddened as she gestured all around her.
“2 gold crowns per pew.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“2 gold crowns per pew,” she repeated, her jaw barely moving as she spoke. “5 gold crowns per stained window. 8 silver crowns per candle holder. Arched chapel doors, lacquered and inscribed … 25 gold crowns. Minimum. Labour fees and opportunity costs. All for repairs and replacements for furnishings now needing to be budgeted for in my overhead expenses. Do you … Do you have any conceivable notion of just how much you’ve inconvenienced me? I’ll have to–”
“Wait.” I held up my hand, then reached for a fallen pew. “Coppelia, I require assistance.”
“Okie~”
Doing only 99% of the work, my loyal handmaiden assisted in lifting the pew to its correct upright position.
I proceeded to sweep the rubble from the pew’s surface, before lowering myself atop it and comfortably lying on my side, elbow down and cheek resting against my palm.
“I’m ready,” I said to the sister. “You may now proceed with indulging me. Please leave no details spared as you regale me with how much I’ve inconvenienced you.”
The sister pursed her lips.
“... Do you know how long it took to prepare these reports?” she said, her voice between a croak and a whisper. “I’ve worked to the bone to ensure this lousy chapel filled with mathematically illiterate fruit slimes can function a single day without me, even though I had to learn accounting methodology just to make sense of how they even remained open.”
I twisted a strand of my hair around my fingers.
“My apologies. I wasn’t aware I’d interrupted you in the midst of an audit. A vital task. Good record keeping is useful for our tax inspectors. I take it everything is above board here, if not quite beneath the mines?”
“I should hope so. If not, I certainly won’t be returning to assist again. Faith, prayers and a will to follow the ancient scriptures are paramount. But it also takes positive cash flow and a dynamic series of steady revenue streams to keep even the smallest chapel afloat.”
“Reasonable. Even sisters need to eat when they’re not conspiring against my kingdom.”
The sister didn’t deny it.
Instead, she examined the tear in her sleeve.
“Some more than others,” she said dismissively. “Those who chide people for their manners have never visited a sisterly cloister in a Granholtz convent before. Public opinion on our profession would shift overnight.”
I frowned.
There were few foes worthy of skipping straight to my scowl. Mine, after all, was a work of art perfected with mathematical precision to make children below the age of 6 break into tears in 2.72 seconds. It was something I cherished. And therefore something I used sparingly.
This sister, whose most grievous crime so far was to offer the tear in her sleeve attention over me, was not deserving of it. Yet.
“A sister from Granholtz?” I shifted slightly, making myself more comfortable. “I bid you welcome you to the Kingdom of Tirea, then. I hope you’ve enjoyed whatever lacking hospitality Stermondt has to offer. I’d point you to our sights, but I note you’ve already frequented our mines.”
The sister glanced at the vampire peeking over the window.
The girl’s head ducked out of view immediately.
“Yes, and a tragic place that was. Filled with imprisoned evils who shouldn’t have escaped. Especially one who lacks both the strength and the will. Do you regularly aid vampires?”
“No more than I reprimand sisters. Yet the wards you left behind fail to shed light on the severity of the mocking laughter you’re due. A confession is desired, but it is not required.”
The sister’s eyes wandered over my attire.
She paused at the ring disgracing my finger. She wrinkled her nose. As did I.
Whatever feelings she had, mine were worse.
“Adventurers,” she said simply.
“Actually, I’m not an adventurer,” replied Coppelia, cheerily motioning to me. “She is, though! C-rank and all! A rising star so bright, you don’t even need a lamplight!”
I was appalled.
Her introduction was one thing … but also a rhyme?!
That was how these things stuck!
“C-rank.” The sister rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. I suppose that explains the unholy mess. Is it not possible for adventurers to stumble aimlessly from one cesspit to the next without causing additional calamities wherever they go?”
“It is not. Adventurers are the bane of civilisation and order, and the day the world is free of them, all can enjoy life beneath a clear sky free of their incessant bumbling.”
The sister raised an eyebrow. Her gaze narrowed at my copper ring again.
“R … Regardless! The subject deserving of my judgement is clear! You who sought to imprison a slovenly vampire for your own black schemes.”
The sister’s lips curled into a small smile.
“I’m afraid that only the heavens may judge me. And given the lack of reprisal, they are in agreement. By reminding the common citizens of the evil the light wards away, they may be prepared for the darker nights to follow.”
“Nights made darker by the shadow you cast.”
The sister shrugged.
“That can be lightened as well. Perhaps you’ve seen them? A wide range of mundane wards and talismans sold by the townspeople, and blessed by the Holy Church on a commission basis.”
“Crowns,” I said simply. “You do this for crowns. I could smell the odour of profiteering even without the deluge of numbers. How disappointing that a rare excursion in open hostility by the Holy Church would be for such humble reasons.”
“Humble, maybe. Necessary, even more so. This chapel is in dire straits. The crowns raised are to ensure vital services remain functional. Well worth a few foggy nights and a rest for the town’s miners, I hope you agree.”
I frowned.
“... You raised an entire tourism industry around a vampire’s evil presence for the sole purpose of generating income for a dilapidated chapel?”
“With great difficulty. Sadly, deficiencies in the ability to rein in wasteful expenses have hampered my ability to swiftly see this one out. And now I’ve been delayed further. Do you have the slightest notion of how gruelling it is to see all my work quite literally tossed to the floor?”
I stared, my instinct for deceit latching onto every word she spoke …
And finding not a single whiff of it.
This sister … why, she had altered both the weather and the economy of a town on an industrial scale, all in order to funnel funds into the Holy Church’s coffers through an elaborate scheme utilising mercantile craft, subterfuge, and an imprisoned aspect of evil.
Hearing such a feat, all I could do was nod.
... Nod and point, all the while keeping myself from rolling off the pew in derision.
“Ohohohohohohoohohohohhohohohohoohohohhohoo!!”
The sister bit her lips.
Still, I continued to suffer the effects of my amusement as I rocked back and forth. I looked towards my loyal handmaiden, hoping she’d catch me should I fall.
“Ohohhooho! Behold, Coppelia! The plotting of commoners! Why, it’s both so needlessly complicated and so utterly inefficient that it’s like watching a baron’s first lie at court! … Ohohohohhhohoho!”
Eventually, I was forced to catch my breath.
It took several moments longer before I returned to my immobile lounging, inhaling deeply as the sister’s expression creased with indignancy. I didn’t know why. I certainly wasn’t the one who told her to commit to such an inane scheme.
“Ahem, you shall have to forgive me, sister. You see, as someone overly accustomed to the lowest bar of plotting, I find your lip service to duplicitousness a fresh source of entertainment. Your scheme not only lacks longevity, but also fails to meet a minimum standard of discretion. A fine homage to the plots concocted by the infant children of nobility as they steal one another’s toys. But one you as a commoner have neither the ability, nor the need to meet.”
I raised my finger as she opened her mouth to refute me.
“So allow me to provide some advice. If your goal is simply to fill coffers without adherence to social status, then you should have skipped, let’s see … everything, and simply robbed the townspeople in their sleep instead.”
I lowered my finger.
The sister waited a moment before responding.
“I am no robber,” she said, her tone slightly aggrieved.
“Clearly. They would have accomplished this far more efficiently than you. Should you ever escape your indefinite detention in incarceration, I suggest taking up with a group of bandits. You’ve much to learn.”
At last, the woman before me broke into a façade of a gentle smile.
There was no warmth in it. Just as there was no warmth in this chapel.
“I’m afraid that I’m no vampire. Imprisonment is anathema to my role as a sister. And the bars of a dingy prison would be unsuitable for me as a messenger of justice.”
“You are not the one who decides that.”
The sister’s smile widened.
“You’re right. I’m not.”
The sister raised her hands.
A moment later, they were filled with golden light.
Comments
How disappointing, yet another ne'er-do-well who must learn the hard way. You’d think they would be smart enough to realize what the Ohhohoohing means for their ill-conceived existence.
The peasants might be poor and muddy, but at least they have their dignity.
Vega
I have a lot of things I could point out her. But I will keep it simple. At the very least the peasants can be glad they aren’t nobles. Sure they may be worked tirelessly, but I have yet to see Juliette wander if all the peasants would be better off (un)dead
