Arthur stands directly in front of me, with Lieutenant McVey and Peter Kurt, John's brother, trailing behind, their weapons casually shouldered. Except for the silent tension, you wouldn't know they're feeling anything—that emotion burns fiercely just behind my mind.
They must believe I joined Morgan's slaughter of their comrades. Though I didn't physically strike a marine or slit a throat, my inaction feels just as deadly, as if I've already sent them all to their graves. Whether I killed or not, my presence alone is enough for them to hate me.
Yet, I know I am the one who effectively led the events that took John's life. If I had left John there in the Sewers, then maybe he would've survived. He would've never encountered that Matriarch. And then, John would've reunited with his brother. Alive.
"Do you know what meals the galley is providing, Arthur?" I ask.
Arthur glances back. "I'm not entirely sure. But it's always safe to assume they'll serve eggs."
Eggs. I was never a fan of eggs.
We keep walking down the hall, reaching the main staircase with Arthur still in front. The two marines stay close to me as we go down. The escort had already made the stairwell feel tight, but those two were close enough to feel their hateful breaths.
As we got to the second floor, Arthur began to slow down. I couldn't see his expression from where I'm standing, but the way Arthur's clenching his hand, it's someone he didn't expect.
"My dear acolyte, where are you going with Cole Sear and these two marines?"
The Inquisitor—what's he doing here? I thought Arthur said he wasn't feeling well. We all stop midstride, standing still on the staircase. Arthur keeps up his grin while hiding his hand behind his back, one ball in a fist.
"Oh, my Inquisitor, I didn't expect you to leave your bed. I believed you to be unwell."
The Inquisitor offers a gentle smile. He stands a step below Arthur, with me behind him. Both the marines and Arthur stare long at the Inquisitor.
There's something different about him. Despite only seeing him yesterday, he seems changed, though only slightly. He appeared to be in his thirties, aging gracefully, but overnight, wrinkles had crept beneath his eyes and around his cheeks. His skin looks less smooth than I recalled at dinner. Why does he seem so much older now?
"You're correct, my Acolyte," the Inquisitor replies. "I went to grab some fresh air, and as I am returning to my room, I see the young Mr. Sear being escorted? Why is that? I specifically told you earlier, Arthur, to bring him to my room despite my condition."
Arthur chuckles slightly, staring into the Inquisitor's eyes. "I should say the truth. It was Cole's idea to leave you be."
It was my idea?
"He didn't want to disturb you as my Inquisitor recovered. When I mentioned that the galley is serving eggs, Mr. Sear considered dining there. He finds eggs a delightful morning meal. Besides, it's such a pleasant morning. I do like Bruis's morning after a heavy storm. Why not wander in the fresh air?"
The Inquisitor ignores Arthur's last words, glancing towards me. "Is he telling the truth?" He asks me.
The Acolyte certainly has put me in a situation. What should I say? Lie to the Inquisitor, or tell the truth?
It should be a simple answer. My mother never taught me to lie and insisted that I shouldn't.
"Well, sir," I reply. "I didn't want to disturb you. I did agree to eat the galley. Plus, I agree with your Acolyte, I also enjoy Bruis's after-morning weather. It gives a peace of mind when the smell of rain strikes my nose."
Despite my words not being a lie, they didn't come out well. I keep my face blank as the Inquisitor glances at me, then at Arthur. "Very well, then. Since both of you are adamant about the galley, I'll join you. I agree, the weather is quite good this morning. It eased some of my numbness."
"Of course, my Inquisitor. It'll be an honor if you'd join us," Arthur says.
"I agree with your acolyte, sir. Why don't you join us? I do want to learn more about topics similar to last night."
The Inquisitor smiles toward both of us. He glances towards Peter and McVey, making a gesture. "Could the two of you leave us? The boy no longer needs an escort as long as I'm here."
The two heed the Inquistor's and push past me, continuing down the stairwell. Peter shoves his shoulder into mine, pushing me into the rail. He whispers an apology before leaving entirely.
I wish he weren't so angry with me. If he knew the events that had occurred before John's death, would he be angry still? Or would it be a different kind of rage? The kind where a mother blames a father for a hunting accident that kills her own son. Or the one where a son blames a mother of abandoning him soon after her death.
Hopefully, they find John's body soon. I can't be the one to lead them to his body. They'll probably still blame me.
The Inquisitor inspects the coat I'm wearing, the one he laid out for me. "I'm grateful you're wearing that coat, my boy."
"How so?" I ask.
"The coat has history, Mr. Sear. The Inquisitor carries many items to continue his studies despite his position as an Inquisitor," Arthur speaks out.
"Of course, in saying that," the Inquisitor continues. "The symbol hasn't been used in many, many years. However, the Inquisition kept it in great condition. I'm personally grateful you're wearing it."
What's so special about this coat? Sure, it's thick as well, nice and warm, but other than these symbols, it doesn't feel special. "What exactly is the coat's uniqueness?"
The Inquisitor gazes deep into one of the coat's symbols. "Well, my boy. It's a part of one of the topics we talked about last night, during dinner. That coat originates from a Seer—a Seer's coat, as it was known. Long before they met their fates."