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You make it all the way to the chantry and halfway up the back of the altar when you hear the scullery door slam. He's out.
You're up again at your spy-spot, your Soopageenyus Earin Orn out of the Pouch, ready for him.
He comes down the corridor...
...into his rooms again? Eh?
But you stay in place.
He comes out again quickish, and when he turns the corner into the chantry you see he has his Holy Moly book and Holy Moly mallet.
Yer, dats right, he didn't take them to dinner.
Not usual, for a Whitey. Only Axebeards and One-Sords (Sword Saint prestige class) have oplophilia of comparable severity. You've heard stories: some Whities <span class="mu-i">sing</span> to their slashies and bashies. Perverts.
He doesn't pray loud, and what you manage to catch with your Earin Orn sounds forn (Celestine Court dicta) anyway, so you settle for sizing him up close range.
You immediately notice that his Holy Moly mallet's too small: the handle's about three of his fingers at best.
And the Holy Moly book's too girly, for a sord guy. The bashed cover's moon-blue velvet, not darkened wood-board with metal corners you've seen Whitey Knighties carry (they mostly just carry it for luck, you think; you've never seen any of <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-s">them</span></span> actually reading theirs). And the bookmark's pink n frilly, there's that.
When he's done about a Time's worth of godbothering he puts the Holy Moly Mally on the altar with both hands, still on his knees.
Then he goes right back to godbothering.
Furfuggseggs.
Eh?
Oh it glowed. The Holy Moly Mallet actcherly <span class="mu-b">glow-wed</span>. Fer sure there's mojo in it now. It's a bit smoll to hold boombooms and zapzaps, you think, but you're not betting.
The fat faggit's praying changes the moment he sees the glow: it's faster, the same getty-over-with speed you use when doing the Nuptual Greeting.
Then he's up, lantern, book and mally in hand, striding fast.
You cross the ceiling beams and slide down the rope you left hanging behind the chantry door to catch up.
He's all the way down to the T junction by the time you peek out: he's goin fer the stairs! He's heading for the cubby!
For some reason he left the Holy Moly book in front of the door of the locked {C U R A} room.
Looks like whatever he boudda do he ain't finna read.
Fuggedit, you'll twig on <span class="mu-i">'at</span> lader. You can't afford to lose the faggit!
•••
He's going up! His lantern's at the second level now ... doesn't stop...
You follow cautiously, mincing, staying away from the middle of any floorboards, watching his lantern go.
...
...third.
No, past third already; he's heading all the way up to fourth.
You follow to fourth and lose sight of him.
Then you hear a trap door.
It's a ladder-attic at a dead end; the only other door this way us locked.
No lantern up the attic. No sounds neither. No steps, no breaths. You don't think you're spotted, but you wait.
Okay you've waited enough (20s): you flash a peek, both eyes wide, focus maxx.
Attic's empty.
muhhfuhhwatt
