Arous sat in the middle of a
row. Those to her right – between her and the aisle – were standing. She hadn’t
even heard them move. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a little boy
dressed in a grey satin robe beckoning to her.
He wore a red mask around his eyes concealing his identity. The woman
standing beside Arous grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the end of the
aisle. And so did the next person and
the next and the next until she was following the little boy toward the doors
in the back. Through the doors and into the foyer, he turned to the left and
went down a set of hidden stairs and into a little windowless room. A man in a
grey robe stood with his back to the door as if he was looking out a window.
He turned around. It was the
man from the podium. He was not wearing a little red mask but his beady eyes
glistened under folds and folds of chafed skin. He wasn’t smiling.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know
your name,” he said.
“Arous.”
“Yes, well, I can tell you
are not from here and since brevity is the soul of wit, I’ll keep it
short. Like I said, I can tell you are
not from here. But there are certain ways that we do things around here that
you are definitely not aware of. First of all, we don’t speak out in service unless
we are collectively asked a question. Speaking during worship is reserved to
those with spiritual authority of which you have none. We were not asked a
question and you were not to have answered no matter how much you think you
know. I don’t know what you do where you are from but that is not how we do
things here. Second of all, this is
primarily an Amalgamese Temple. You
pure-bloods are not unwelcome, but it’s just unsettling to see someone new and
it would be more comfortable for you if you were with your own kind or at least
other pure or half-bloods. I’m sure you
understand; that’s a simple mistake to make, really. Third of all, you cannot
bring your animals to the Temple. All sentient beings are respected here,
however -”
Arous hadn’t noticed the man
in the grey suit before. Octavius sat as
his feet. The man in the grey suit held
one end of the leash; Octavius was attached to the muzzle at the other. The man
was wearing red-rimmed mirrored glasses and a smirk on his face.
“Please don’t look away
while I am speaking without prior written permission. The same goes for
children. If you have any, you are to leave them with children care under the Temple.
The only time children allowed inside the auditorium of the Temple is if they
are taking a rite – which only happens a few times in their life – and if they
are serving like our little friend here,” the priest motioned toward the boy
and then continued. “Let me read from
our bylaws so that it is perfectly clear to you . . .” and he rambled on.
“And to conclude, this young
man here will escort you and your dirty beast back home. We all know that most genetically altered
cats really can’t be trusted to give themselves baths, so, for heaven’s sake,
please bathe him.”
“Genetically altered?”
“You should know, he’s only
one inch under code. If he gets any
taller you will have to register him with the Spartan Guard. They might let you keep him.”
“Let me keep him?”
“This interview is over” he
said wagging a finger in her face. “Boy, take her home.” He reached to take the
leash from the man in grey and handed it to the boy.
“They mentioned the boy . .
. in the animal refuge . . . where-”
The priest interrupted her
with a stinging slap to the face.
“You have no right to
address me.”
“What?”
Since she didn’t get the
point he slapped her again.
“Until you get my point I
will continue to correct you. You have addressed me three times, of which, two
I have graciously overlooked. The third times a stinging charm, they say. We
are finished. I have not asked you anything since asking your name. You have no
right to speak to me. Now. Are you done?”
She hesitated.
He looked at her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Very well,” he looked at
the boy. “Escort her home.”
She followed the boy out the
door.
As she walked out, the
bishop put his hand to the desk to steady himself and looked to the Grey Guard
in the corner. He smiled at the priest.
“Her identity is
confirmed. She is only half Lunese.”
“The other half?” said the
Bishop, “You could never tell she was full Lunese.”
The Spartan Guard didn’t
answer the question.
“Ricci is pleased,” he said
and turned into a cocoon and then mist. His snaking mist went into the fountain
that was on the table behind him and was gone.
