Chương 22: Chapter 21: The Exorcist Duo

After a hearty breakfast, they donned their finest coats and shoes fit for men far beyond their class. Micheal went upstairs for his things, while Marco waited in the living room, probably reading over the morning paper again. After a while, Micheal emerged from the laboratory, holding a large black suitcase in hand.

"Marco?! Get over here!" he yelled from the second floor. Marco ran over to the base of the stairs.

"What?" Micheal flung one of the suitcases down. Marco gasped, barely catching it mid-air.

"By the Lady!" Marco gritted his teeth, holding the suitcase against his chest.

"What's in here? It's so bloody heavy."

"Equipment. Where we're going, we have to look the part." Micheal walked down the steps, slinging his suitcase over his shoulder.

"Let's get going, boy." Marco grumbled under his breath.

"Is this heavier than yours?" Micheal shrugged.

"It's good exercise. Get some muscles on those damned twigs." He opened the front door and stepped into the snowy streets.

"Lock the door for me."

"You don't need to tell me." Marco lowered the suitcase and fiddled with a copper key, locking the front door.

"Where are we going exactly?"

"To the florist." Micheal began walking down the sidewalk.

"What? I thought we were going to White Tower?"

"The florist first, then White Tower." They went down the block and stopped by a local florist. Micheal bought a small bouquet of roses, and for a moment he thought of Eliza. The bright red petals reminded him of her gleaming hair. Then they went back out and hailed a carriage with a white tarp for a roof. The coach driver—an old bald-headed man—pulled over in front of them, and he tapped his reins and said, "Where to?"

"Northup Cemetery," Micheal said. Marco raised a brow but said nothing more.

"Visiting someone? Get in, it'll be quick," the coach said. Micheal and Marco climbed inside and settled into the hard wooden seats.

"So we're going to Northup. Are you trying to find a dead man this time?" Marco said.

"Close. A dead man's family," Micheal said.

"What's gotten into you this time? How much did Valentine give?"

"He gave me two hundred, and he promised four hundred more once I'm done with this one," Micheal said. Marco furrowed his brows.

"That's… that's a lot, isn't it?" The coach driver whistled.

"A hell of a lot, young man. Looks like someone struck it rich." He laughed. Micheal rubbed the back of his head.

"Hopefully. A bit more and I can get out of this city." The coach chuckled.

"Vakundir ain't so bad. If you just ignore the beggars, the filth, the factories, the monsters in the sewers, and the monsters in the river."

"The cold too, don't forget about that," Micheal said. The coach rubbed his nose and chortled. The ride continued in a slight awkward silence, but Micheal didn't mind. Within minutes, they left the filthy urbans of Lovel and circled around roads of the Central district, till they came upon the Northward bridge. They crossed the Vakundir river, passing under a marble arch adorned with engravings of angels and saints. The street widened as they rode into the bowels of White Tower.

Micheal looked up at the place's namesake, an enormous marble tower far off into the distance. It rose above the manors and mansions and nearly kissed the sunlit clouds with its ridged peak. How it stood for centuries was beyond him.

"Can we go there later?" Marco said.

"Some other day, Marco. But we'll go there, I promise." Micheal turned his gaze to the manors and mansions lining the streets. They had wide outer walls and massive steel gates, and they were large enough to house at least three dozen men with ease. Some were two stories high, others three, the largest four. To think that even if he did a thousand jobs for Valentine, a house like that would still be beyond him.

The carriage turned, and a long stretch of stone brick walls just high enough to block the view greeted them. They rode past it, and it spanned the entire length of the avenue, more so than that. The carriage stopped in front of an open steel gate, and the coach said, "Goddess bless you." Micheal paid the fare of five pence, leaving another five as a token of good will.

"The same to you." As Micheal and Marco climbed out of the cabin, the coach drove off ahead.

"How big is this place?" Marco gazed further down the road, looking at the stretched-out wall.

"Rather big. All Argent nobles are buried here, at least those born in Vakundir." Micheal placed his right hand against his heart and uttered, "Praise the Lady, as I enter the valley of death." Marco followed suit and said the same.

"Praise the Lady, as I enter the valley of death." They strode through the open gates and into the open fields of Northup Cemetery. Rows of marble tombstones were scattered across vast snow fields going in every direction. Some were tall, others were shorter, but in the end it mattered not. Families and lone men stood by the graves of ancestors and friends, and caretakers swept off the snow on the rest. Micheal placed his hands inside his pockets as they walked down the main path.

It's been a while since I've been here.

"So, who are we looking for?" Marco said.

"A man named von Austig."

"How are we gonna find him? There's at least a thousand tombstones here."

"The cemetery is divided into parts. The ones at the back end, they're the first that came here. Soldiers from the Victorian War. Our friend von Austig perished in the Great War; he'll be somewhere up front, on the right side," Micheal said. Micheal walked off the old path and headed for the many eastern rows. It was quite smaller than the other sides, but there was still at least a few hundred there. Most of the visitors lingered there, passing to and fro the fallen stones. Austig… he should be near the first row.

Micheal walked up to the opposite end of the column, and he read the name engraved on the tombstone. Von Alren…

"Walk with me, boy. Our friend should be over here." Micheal said, and began walking down the aisle, his eyes glancing at the many perished names. They were strangers, yes, but his heart ached for each and every one of them. Eventually, he stopped in his tracks, at a cross-shaped tombstone. Written over the plaque was the name, Timothy von Austig. Died as he lived, a hero without fear. May his soul rest in paradise.

"What a lucky bastard." Micheal knelt, placing the bouquet on the gravestone.

"Not many got their recognition in the war."

"They weren't buried here?" Micheal snorted.

"If they were, this place would be the size of the city. A lot of them were just left in the trenches, or in the rivers. Some were even turned into ghouls. A time will come where everyone will forget about them." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"So… what are we going to do now? Are you going to use your Witnessing?" Marco raised his brows.

"Do you think I'm an Angel? Our friend here died decades ago." Micheal looked about the cemetery, his eyes darting from visitor to visitor.

"But I'm sure someone here is at least familiar with the name. Nobles tend to stick together." Eventually, his gaze stopped at a group of young fellers, clad in the deep navy blue uniform of the army. They had their rifles slung around their shoulders and their revolvers over their waists. They reminded Micheal of himself, if he was twenty years younger. Micheal took a deep breath, and he feigned a light limp as he approached the group of lads.

"Good morning, fellows." The soldiers looked at him in surprise but quickly greeted him back. There were five of them; one was blonde, and the rest were black-haired, and they were pretty much around the same age. Micheal looked at the tombstone before them. Von Awen.

"Are you lads Argent Nobles?" The blonde one nodded.

"Yes sir."

"You're all quite young." Micheal rubbed the back of his head and smiled.

"We came to follow in the steps of our fathers," another one said.

"Tell me… are you familiar with the other Argents from here?" Micheal said.

"I suppose we are. Why do you ask?" The blonde furrowed his brows.

"I'm looking for someone, an old friend of mine. Von Austig."

"Are you also a soldier?" another said.

"I am, or rather I was. My name's Arthur; I served in the Eighty-Eighth." Micheal reached out his left hand. The blonde shook his hand.

"The Eighty-Eighth? My father was there too. Where did you fight?"

"Rotsferd, and the Rorch," Micheal said.

"The Rorch? That was some horrid shit, wasn't it," one of them said.

"Aye, it was. Austig rescued me, and I never got the chance to give that old man my thanks. He's gone now, but I know his family is still out here. I want to meet them," Micheal said. The blonde looked at his friends and asked, "Do you know the man?"

"Von Austig? I've heard of them. They live on the east side." Micheal's eyes widened on purpose.

"Truly?"

"Aye. If you've got paper, I can write it down for you," the man said.

"Of course, of course." Micheal reached into his pocket, and he pulled out a folded parchment. The man produced a pen from his breast pocket and quickly wrote something down on the piece of paper.

"Here you go, friend."

"Thank you. May the Lady watch over you."

"To you as well," the man replied. Micheal lowered his head and turned back around, heading for the gate.

"Come on, son." Marco followed behind him with a light frown. He looked back at the soldiers, then to Micheal.

"Hey, was that true? You were a soldier?"

"The hell do you think? Of course it isn't. I evaded the draft." Micheal whispered.

"Then what the hell was that?" Marco said.

"I've known a few soldiers back there. I just tossed a name and a few places." Micheal clicked his tongue and looked at the piece of paper.

"Elton Ave, right, that makes sense." That part of White Tower used to be a large park. I guess that's where they put all those new nobles. Micheal left Northup Cemetery, and he waited by the gate for another carriage to come by. He tapped his foot on the pavement, his throat getting parched with every passing second. After a while, a carriage with the insignia of a two-headed lion came up from down the street. He hailed the coach and told the driver to make way for West Wall.

"Come on, boy." Micheal reached for the door and clambered in. Marco frowned as he climbed into the open cabin.

"West Wall?"

"We're not going there dressed like this, no." Micheal shook his head. Marco glanced at the brown suitcase, his hand inching for the handle.

"Don't open it. You'll see what I'm talking about later."

"Fine, fine." The sun was already setting below the city walls by the time they arrived at West Wall. The coach took them to the far ends, where the lands met the mighty river Vakundir. Sprawling factories and warehouses—some abandoned, others not—began appearing along the roads, and the stench of smog and shit became quite apparent. There was another bridge at the end of the road, leading right back into White Tower.

"Where the hell are we?" Marco murmured.

"Boss, you can drop us off here." Micheal tossed a sparkling Leon coin to the bald coachman.

"Keep the change." The coachman yanked his reins and stopped right by the sidewalk.

"Thanks." Micheal nodded and hopped off the carriage with the suitcase in hand. Marco quickly followed after him, glancing at the coachman with a confused look.

"Over here, boy." Micheal climbed into a broken chain-link fence and headed for a large boxy warehouse.

"You're being strange, Micheal," Marco said.

"I'm perfectly reasonable." Micheal strode into the wide-open doors of the warehouse. It was completely silent, save for the squeaking of a few rats and cretins. It was dark, and he could barely see the numerous metal containers littering the warehouse grounds.

"Alright. Get dressed, boy." Marco frowned and took a wary step back.

"Excuse me?" Micheal grinned and opened his brown suitcase, letting a black robe with red sleeves fall to the ground.

"I said get dressed. We're exorcists for the night."

"By the Lady…" Marco quickly opened up his suitcase, revealing a similar but smaller black robe inside.

"We're doing this again?"

"What? You thought we were just going to waltz in there?" Micheal chuckled and took off his winter coat.

"Is this really a good idea?"

"You got any other ideas?" Micheal slipped on the black robe and began flattening out any creases with his hands.

"Last time we tried this, we nearly got executed."

"Caught, not executed. Now get dressed."

"We'd have been executed if we'd been caught."

"This is different. Those nobles won't know a damn thing. They'd see our robes, and they'd be too scared to question us. They're Argent. The way they see it, the Church can take away their damn names if they even make a small mistake," Micheal said.

"You're bloody crazy." Marco sighed and took off his jacket, and quickly donned the black robe.

"I ain't." Micheal pulled out a black bottle of perfume from the suitcase. He sprayed himself with it, letting this faint pungence soak into his clothes and skin, like the smell of a rotting corpse.

"Here, brat." He tossed it over. Marco caught the bottle and gave himself a few sprays, his face instantly crunching up in disgust.

"God damn it."

"A man of the Lord does not say the Lord's name in vain," Micheal said. Marco scoffed.

"Shut up." He tossed the perfume back. Micheal caught the bottle and stuffed it back in his suitcase alongside his winter coat.

"Let's get going. Elton Ave is just past the bridge."

"If this goes south, this is your fault."

"Aye, aye. You still remember our names?"

"You're Arthur, and I'm Maron."

"That's right. We ought to hurry now; the less people see us, the better," Micheal said. They left the old warehouse and climbed back out from the broken chain-link fence. Micheal took a deep breath, feeling a growing emptiness in his throat. Still, he walked it off and they headed straight for the White Tower bridge.

"So, Sir Arthur. What's our plan exactly?"

"I want to confirm a few things. See if they match with the Baruch case. We'll just pretend to do a few purifications and inspections here and there. It's not that different from what we do." They crossed the old bridge and entered the lofty northern district where tall manors and mansions stood proud and tall. They walked quick, crossing roads, turning blocks and twists, till they arrived on a particular avenue called Elton.

Micheal glanced at the piece of paper for one last time, and it said there 'Elton Avenue, 901'. As they walked, he watched the numbers on the front gates increase one by one. And there, he stopped on 901. It was a modest manor, at least compared to the grand mansions south of here. It had a steel-fenced wall and an ornate black gate, leading into a sparse garden half buried in the snow. The home itself stood two stories tall, but it was wider than most complexes in Lovel.

Peeking through the gaps of the gate, he spotted a few ghouls clad in scullery clothes and rags shoveling up snow and snipping the boxwood bushes. Here we are. Just act natural, Micheal. You're not doing anything bad. You're just pretending to be a member of the Church. Micheal pressed the doorbell, and a loud ringing bellowed from the other side. One of the ghouls shambled forwards and leaned against the fenced gate, his blood-red eyes bulging from his rotting sockets.

"Good evening. We are exorcists. Could you call over your master?" Micheal said. The ghoul opened his jaws, revealing the black cavity that was his mouth, and he moaned.

"Who?" Ghouls… all of them are stupid. Micheal frowned.

"We are exorcists."

"Stupid ghoul!" A male voice rang from the manor. Soon enough, a blonde-haired man pulled the ghoul away and unlocked the fenced gate. He wore a buttoned shirt with a coat, and his eyes were a bright blue, and he looked no older than thirty.

"Come in, come in. The ghouls have been acting strange lately; I hope you don't take offense."

"None taken, von Austig." Micheal stepped inside.

"It's that time of the year for them; it's only expected."

"If we'd had known your people would come again, we'd have properly welcomed you," von Austig said.

"They didn't tell you? It is standard protocol." Micheal furrowed his brows.

"Of course, of course. Let's go inside, Sir…" Austig said.

"I am Arthur, and this is my apprentice Maron." Micheal patted Marco's shoulders. Austig quickly nodded and led them down the garden path. A woman clad in a black dress stood by the front porch; her hair was a tad black, and her eyes were a gleaming green. Her face was as pale as a ghost, but her neck was a shade browner. The woman lowered her head as they walked up the front porch.

"This is my wife, Erika," Austig said.

"Erika. We hope we are not intruding." Micheal extended his hand and said. A nervous laugh escaped Erika's mouth.

"Of course not." She quickly shook Micheal's hand.

"Come inside, sirs."