The muggy weather and her heavily veiled robes urged her to open a window for ventilation.
Lifting the hair from her forehead, she wiped away the fine sheen of sweat, a hint of distress clouding the young woman’s face.
Dr. Callan had declined to accompany her, a decision Ghervil found regrettable.
Navigating an unfamiliar place would have been far easier with a familiar guide.
If misfortune struck and trouble arose, they could have looked after each other—though, she acknowledged, she would likely be the one needing care.
Even the barely cool breeze offered some relief from the oppressive heat.
Yet, her spirits remained low, the vivid image of the possessed Luke firing his gun still seared into her memory.
This was, in all likelihood, the first actual homicide she had witnessed firsthand since arriving in this world.
Luke’s dying words had expressed regret that the bullet hadn’t struck the last remaining person at the abbey.
This suggested they had targeted the abbey long ago, even before her arrival in this world—a grudge held by the notoriously vindictive Ratmire White Rat.
Was it truly wise to embark on a distant journey at such a time?
Yet, she had no choice but to go.
The Bishop’s peculiar letter had explicitly stated suspicions of her suffering from a narcolepsy-related illness.
This was incredibly strange, as the only manifestation of such a condition had been her sleep from yesterday until this morning, with the letter arriving at noon.
It was highly probable they were monitoring her covertly, perhaps even without Dr. Callan’s knowledge, employing some unknown method.
Still, it might not be entirely negative; perhaps the unread tome held a cure.
She sought to comfort herself with these thoughts.
‘With over two hours remaining,’ she mused, ‘I’ll rest properly once I’ve had my fill of the scenery.’
‘Most of the people I’ve encountered so far have been kind. There’s no need to be so pessimistic, Ghervil.’
****
“Beep—”
The blare of car horns and the clamor of human voices roused her from her slumber.
Rubbing her eyes, she gazed out the window.
A slight shock rippled through her.
The street below teemed with people and vehicles.
Carriages outnumbered automobiles at an approximate ratio of one hundred to one.
Even more numerous were the pedestrians, weaving through the narrow gaps between the constant stream of carriages.
Leaning out, she saw an endless procession of carriages and pedestrians stretching ahead, barely inching forward a short distance every few minutes.
Indeed, they were stuck in traffic.
At least five thousand people clogged this downtown street.
“Sir, how much longer until we arrive?”
“As you can see,” the coachman replied, turning with an embarrassed scratch to the back of his head.
“With so many people crammed here, we won’t be moving anytime soon.
However, it’s not much further.
About five or six hundred meters ahead is the vehicle-restricted zone, and from there, you can follow the crowd for another kilometer to reach your destination.”
“Alright, I’ll alight here then.”
“My sincerest apologies.
It wasn’t always this crowded.
Perhaps the recent fire has left everyone feeling unsettled, which is why…”
Ghervil offered a polite smile and a slight bow, offering no verbal reply.
It suddenly made sense why he had insisted on payment before they even set off.
‘There truly are so many people…’
Having walked only a few steps, she observed a coachman nearby, scooping horse droppings into a bag.
Numerous constables maintained order and patrolled the vicinity; those caught carelessly discarding horse droppings, disregarding hygiene, would be fined.
It was indeed the city center, where many things were handled far better than in the suburban districts.
Her appreciative gaze lingered on the cityscape for only a short while before she encountered another predicament.
Her relatively short stature typically posed no issue.
However, with everyone now standing on tiptoe, craning their necks to see ahead, her view was entirely obscured by the backs of people’s heads.
Only when jostled within the throng did people realize a shorter person stood before them.
Before long, Ghervil found herself utterly disoriented from the constant bumping.
After being struck several times, she felt a surge of irritation, only for them to offer earnest apologies upon noticing her attire.
Thus, her anger was quelled repeatedly.
‘Were it not for these robes,’ she fumed inwardly, ‘I would have given those with eyes on the back of their heads a proper ‘discussion’.’
*Thump.*
Another shove, and even though her shoulder was steadied, preventing a fall, she resolved not to endure it silently this time.
“Sister Ghervil?”
The retort poised on her lips was abruptly swallowed.
She recognized the voice: it belonged to Clovie, the female police officer from the Mistfall City precinct.
“Isn’t there a church on Canary Street?
What brings you all the way out here?”
The young woman’s face was puffed out in a silent pout, prompting the officer to glance around, immediately grasping the reason for her displeasure.
With a wry smile, she bent halfway down.
“Come with me.
I’ll get you out of here first.”
With a police officer clearing the way, their progress was significantly swifter.
Unlike the auxiliary constables, Clovie held a formal position within the force.
Most people, upon seeing a police officer approach, instinctively made way.
Ghervil, however, noticed their deference stemmed from the genuine firearm holstered at Clovie’s hip.
‘How wonderful it would be to have a gun,’ Ghervil thought.
‘If I had one, I would have truly wanted to fire a warning shot into the air just now.’
After approximately ten minutes, they finally emerged from the dense throng of people and vehicles, reaching the front.
At an intersection, a temporary roadblock had been erected, manned by over twenty dedicated police officers who were intercepting both cars and carriages.
After explaining the situation and handing over her duties to her colleagues, Clovie returned to Ghervil’s side, while several officers cast curious glances their way, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.
“Nothing too urgent here.
I’ll escort you to the Cathedral.”
“Thank you.”
The path ahead was now exclusively for pedestrians, and the level of crowding diminished considerably.
While she could have managed without an escort, fearing other unforeseen circumstances, she did not decline the kind offer.
“I’ve come to the Cathedral at the invitation of the Bishop here,” she inquired, walking alongside Clovie.
“Has something happened?
Is a routine service really reason enough for such a heavy police presence?”
“Many things have been happening lately.
Which one are you referring to?”
Clovie took off her cap and fanned herself, clearly feeling the heat from patrolling in such an environment.
“How would I know?
I’m not a police officer,” Ghervil retorted, casting a puzzled glance at her.
“But both matters concern you, you know.”
A cool breeze swept past, and Clovie’s cap fanned her face.
It carried a scent that was difficult to describe, like perfume mixed with sweat.
Knowing it was done with good intentions, Ghervil didn’t dwell on it.
“They’re calling you the mysterious and powerful nun who thwarted the Ratmire conspiracy.”
“It spread that fast?
No… what on earth are you talking about!”
“Isn’t that how it happened?” Clovie feigned a look of profound shock.
“What do *you* think…”
Ghervil was nearly speechless, suspecting Clovie was merely using the escort as an excuse to slack off, rest, and chat.
Pulling her cap back to fan herself, Clovie frowned as she wiped sweat from her forehead.
“A gag order has been issued from above.
Due to your identity and the sensitive nature of the incident, not many people are aware of the full details.”
“Let me think… Based on the clues provided by the Sister, the Ratmire were located at the hotel in time, and the florist from Florence was rescued—that part I was personally involved in… And then, thanks to the Sister’s wisdom and decisiveness, casualties were almost entirely avoided during the operation.
Honestly, I’d love to see your heroic demeanor for myself, to see if you’re as legendary as everyone at the precinct makes you out to be.”
‘It’s good that it hasn’t spread widely then…’
She dreaded a repeat of her market experience, where being constantly watched had been profoundly uncomfortable.
“But these two incidents didn’t happen particularly close to here,” she countered, shaking her head and looking at the officer.
“Even if they’re increasing security, it shouldn’t be *here*, should it?”
“It’s always like this during summer and winter,” Clovie explained.
“Departments and systems always heighten security.
In spring and autumn, the two seasons without mist, it’s not so troublesome; evening services are held later, usually around six in the afternoon.”
“This year, however, is a bit different…” Clovie slowed her pace, turning her head sharply to scan their surroundings before bending down to point a direction within the crowd to Ghervil.
“See that man?
Anyone dressed like that is an agent from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau.
We’ve never had so many in previous years.”
Following her gaze, Ghervil spotted a man wearing sunglasses and a grey deerstalker hat, casually dressed in a black uniform.
He was walking and chatting with a plainly dressed woman.
He was unremarkable, an utterly ordinary man.
Yet, as Ghervil scanned the surrounding crowd, she found several others similarly dressed, both men and women.
Clovie quickly intervened, stopping her from such curious gawking.
“Don’t stare!
You’ll interfere with their work!
I only told you so you’d know who to trust if you ever find yourself in danger or trouble!”
…
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?
It seems we’ve already been noticed…” Ghervil muttered, her voice low and tinged with a hint of complaint.
Clovie, still clinging to a sliver of hope, secretly followed Ghervil’s line of sight.
Not far off, a woman similarly dressed but without sunglasses, her deep, lusterless eyes fixed intently on them.
Her heart sank completely.
‘I really shouldn’t have been so meddlesome as to tell her so much!’