Chapter 4
Deacon Verily can’t be this guy’s real name. It fits, I admit, but until I meet Father Forsooth and Bishop Thus I Say Unto Thee, my money’s on my translation spell unravelling. Stick-thin arms protrude from voluminous white (ish) robes like toothpicks from a marshmallow, as if he’s been inflated to the point of bursting with righteousness. A worn red band of cloth is draped around his neck, the ends connected by a fringeless black cord.
“So you’re the one who rescued our Brother Paules,” he says. His clipped speech oozes aristocratic condescension.
I nod, saying nothing. Next to me, Paules stands silent.
“On behalf of the Church of the Southern God, I thank you,” the deacon continues. “We thank you. Our path may be righteous, but even one premature departure for the paradise
