The sun began its westward journey when the young wanderer woke up. Many fruit trees of the orchard cast shadows that raced to the east; their span completely hid the boy from being seen. A red light was all the sun left in its westward voyage; it would soon be one with the darkness that was taking over.

Nobody was tending to the orchards at that time; the boy noticed that many of the robed people were converging at the towering church not far from where he stood. He crept near the aged walls and peeked through one of the large open windows. The foreign clothes blended well with the church's giant shadow; all he needed to do to be not seen by the occasional sentry that patrolled the area was to stand still. None of the people inside seemed to notice the spying figure by the window pane.

A low tolling of bells signaled the closure of the church's doors. The boy saw a sea of women in their long bland garbs occupying nearly two-thirds of all the pews inside. Bowed heads accented the dense silence that took over at first, followed by the tide of song that filled the place. It was a chorus of low voices that did more recitals than singing, followed by higher voices that rode on top, and on the crest of this wave were the highest and most sublime of singers leading the rest. All of these women were entranced by their singing; the solemn bowers raised their heads in indignation to the image propped above the church's altar. Strange, the boy thought, as to why the congregation put so much effort singing in front of a dazzling cross set against a backdrop of a rising sun.

The singing stopped after thirty minutes. A few voices spoke; none of them were musical. What used to be invigorated singing was replaced with long, low chants which the spying boy found boring. He took his head away from the window and retreated into the dark vertex between the church doorway and its small flight of stairs. The voices were more than wonderful enough to put him to sleep.

It was a dreamless half-hour when he finally woke up. The church was empty; gone were the wonderful and melancholic voices that put him to sleep. Only the wind rustling tree leaves roamed around the place; not even the expected watchman was present. He moved out of the vertex, which was now lit by the moon, to two large trunks closest to the cloister's gates. There was a small gathering of tan robes at the open portal. They were with another cleric who was taller than all the six and was wearing an ornate dark blue habit. A glint came from a pair of deep blue irises when it reflected light coming from one of the streetlamps.

Suddenly, the boy's vision cleared and his eyes magnified the group in a view of someone who stood no more than a yard away. He could not explain what was happening to him, for the stray foreigner was half a block away from the gates. They were all young and pretty women, with some nearly as old as the eavesdropper. A mix of allure and alarm was felt when he focused again on the tallest cleric – the same feelings he last had before he escaped from the land north of where he was now.

"...what you feel is how you detect the presence of those imbued with or attuned to... magic. Use this gift well, my boy. We will surely gain the best benefits out of it."

It was the same man the boy would see if his mind wandered off. He remembered his sing-song voice, the large toothy smile, and the greenish light coming off his right eye. The darkly-clad one attempted to break the barrier that stopped him from fully recalling who that person was. A debilitating headache that would bring him to his knees was always, if not frequently, the result of his efforts.

This was no time to dig up the past.

His impulses urged him to follow the one who wore the habit. Perhaps knowing her would give him the answer behind the tingling of his temples. Tears rolled on the eyes of the younger clerics as they hugged the eldest one. The boy sneaked closer to the convent's exit.

The step out of the gates was made; those left behind watched their senior disappear into the street. It took a few minutes for the other clerics to take their eyes off their departing colleague; they then turned around and returned to the cloister right before the boy zipped out of the shadow that hid him. His coat glided in the air his reflexes made with every lunge, leap, and tumble on his way out of the church grounds.

The soft but rapid taps of the foreigner's legs stopped when his target turned to a well-lit street. He momentarily paused before his feet shifted and bolted for an alley that connected the adjacent roads. Perhaps moving through the alley was a bad idea – the scent of rotten eggs began hugging his clothes.

She was coming about. The chance to see her closer was a few seconds away from being realized. Heightened senses replaced the slight vibrations of his head now that the woman was a couple of yards away from him. No apprehension was felt from the cleric or a sense of alarm. The boy took a step back, and that move negated his dim refuge when something caught the hem of his coat.

-o-

One of the teardrop-shaped lamps flickered and fizzled when Euphemia neared a sleeping business block. All of the shops in the place were closed at that time, only leaving a lone woman walking by dark and silent buildings.

A flash from a constable's spotlight was seen at the other end of the street, but the man did not seem to notice the canoness' dark clothes and passed by without even pointing the torch to the other side. She had read about the recent attacks on nighttime travelers, and none of them were to be trifled with. Someone has been arming rascals, ruffians, and thugs with weapons even the constables never had their hands on. Frightening thoughts indeed; and Euphemia wouldn't have a means of defense should she run afoul of such people. What would they take from her if ever? Surely the Order's cross could sell for a few hundred Marks, and her half-full purse only had enough money for a one-way journey by ship to Alberta and a little on food. Euphemia cringed under her habit but shook the thoughts from her head and walked three steps near the dark spot in the middle of the street.

She stopped only a step short of the shadowed section of the strip; Euphemia saw the staircase that led to the southwestern canal on her left and a closed bakery to her right. Her ears were plugged by the silence that was shortly interrupted by a soft blast of air; it made a whistling exit from the street on its way to the artificial waterway. Euphemia looked at the street behind her; she could turn back now and prevent a possible danger of going through the dark path, but the detour would make her fifteen minutes behind the last ship. She certainly would not be able to wait for two to three days before her next chance at a ride to Alberta would anchor at the pier.

This was the shortest path to reach the harbor.

She stood underneath one of the working lampposts as she pondered for a few moments. Perhaps it was not dangerous to walk through, and the dark spot wasn't that wide. Euphemia did not trust the silence though; it could be a trap, but she saw that lamppost work normally before its bulb died out. Perhaps her feelings were wrong, and that nobody was waiting for her to go through the dark spot. Her veil wagged as it followed the cleric's shaking head; Euphemia commanded her legs to move through in a half-run.

Boxes thumped against each other until one of them clanged against a metal lid which in turn toppled a pile of empty bottles that rolled out of the alley. One of the bottles had enough inertia and ended up rolling towards Euphemia's left foot. The young canoness stopped on her journey and tried to move back to the light of a crystal lamppost. Air passed out of her nostrils as her sight was fixed on the space between a closed bakeshop and a corner store. It could have been an unfortunate cat that tripped in a box or another small animal scavenging for tonight's leftovers.

"Who goes there?" A soft voice resonated in the empty street. Euphemia's gaze was tightening in an attempt to see what, or who was hiding in the dark.

It wasn't any animal at all; the shadow at the alley's mouth outlined that of a man. His dark coat suggested a tough built, although his mass was lacking to complete the appeal. Euphemia saw galvanized lines that glimmered on his shoulders and sleeves. The figure was there, neither advancing nor retreating from where it stood.

"Is anyone there?" she asked again but the figure did not answer; the silhouette was reduced to thin black lines followed by the empty view of a cluttered alley.

The canoness tried to follow where the lines led, but a force from behind stopped her from turning. Something blunt was pointed at her nape, followed by a soft click that crept through her clothing. She froze from where she stood, slowly raising both her arms to the back of her head. Euphemia was sure that it was made of steel, and a wrong move would spell death.

"Who are you?" The voice definitely was a boy's. It could have been a trick of the night, for his outline was more similar to a man a few seconds earlier.

"I am just a passing traveler on my way to the harbor." Euphemia stood still; her palms worked their way up while open. "I am unarmed, with no other thought than getting through this street."

"I don't believe you." A snappy remark came from the boy. "I can feel magic in you. I don't like people with magic. You will be hurting me with that, won't you?"

"I am not sure if I am hearing you right, but will you trust me if I say I do not want to hurt anyone?" She stood still, her tone becoming softer to her would-be attacker. Euphemia drew breath in a way that the air about her moved slower. Robbery wasn't his reason for subjecting her to this situation; he would have moved in closer to her otherwise. She did not know what led this boy to act like this.

"Magic..."

She felt the figure move from where he stood; the muzzle of his gun kept its vigilance. A boy clad in a pitch-black coat stood in front of Euphemia; his reddish-white face and strong auburn hair were not native to Kriemreich. Much of his hair was swept to the left and covered half his forehead and a small section of his eye. Euphemia could tell that he had not stayed in Blaurosen for a long time, judging by how he ended up in a quiet section of the city. The outlander had an uncommon pair of eyes: his left iris was tan while his right had a hint of purple.

Both locked eyes for a few moments; a rebellious stare meeting with the deep blue calmness of the cleric's gaze. Something killed the seemingly defiant pride of the youth and made him lower his gun. A silver revolver was revealed by the streetlamp right before it was swallowed by his greatcoat. He stepped back into the darkness, turning away from the canoness without saying anything before he broke into a run and jumped down into the canal below.

"Wait!"

Euphemia bolted to the edge of the road and stared at the tunnel. The boy took the impact of the fall very well and paused in a half-kneel before he was back on his feet. He had run quite far within moments; the night covered his escape and the cleric's eyes could no longer see his profile. Shoes tapped against the ground and even that was reduced to soft tics until the air completely dissolved the sounds he left behind.

The canoness took one deep breath of relief. A strange one, she thought. Getting to the stairway down the tunnels was easy, but going after her would-be attacker proved unwise in the end. Euphemia could not stay too long pondering in the middle of the night either. She thought of reporting this incident to the nearby constabulary, but filing it would take more time for her. The ship to Alberta would be leaving in a few hours, and the canoness would have to wait for another half-day for the next voyage should she divert her course. Euphemia thanked the Creator that the encounter ended on a better note.

She moved on; her steps beating the street in uneven tones. Her heart felt much lighter when her eyes caught the pale yellow lights of a nearby tavern; the scent of roasting meat and steam coming out of a docked ship marked her safety.

Euphemia headed closer to the port. The liner she would be embarking on was still being loaded with high stacks of crates. Small columns of steam rose from its two smokestacks – the ship would be ready to depart for Alberta soon. She readied twenty-five Marks to give to the old sailor before the ramp. Her fare was dropped on a waist-mounted pouch.

"Thank you, holy sister. May you bless our voyage tonight."

"And by the Creator's will, our journey will be safe."

Small bells were tolled from a post near the docks. The clanking of gears and chains was heard by those on board the old liner. A blank scent of steam has reached the deck; her voyage out of Blaurosen shall begin. Euphemia looked at where she left the boy moments ago. A rosary was drawn out of her waist pocket; Euphemia's hands clasped on the string of beads with its cross swinging gently in the air.

Prayers did not do much to divert her from the thoughts of the armed boy back at the street. Euphemia saw both the aversion and confusion in his eyes. Who was he? Could he really sense magical traces in her? Why did he have a certain aversion to it? The canoness opened her eyes again and walked towards the other passengers. There was no sign of the boy anywhere. A small bell at the docks was rung; Euphemia heard the clanking chains of the anchor being pulled out of the water. A cloud of steam erupted from the smokestack and went on as a faint hiss from above. She felt the ship's slow movement out of the port begin; it was the time to retreat to the passenger cabins.

Nobody noticed the shadow that leaped and clung onto the stern.