Murderer in the shade

Lumière's heart shook rapidly, shaking the madman's loose grip off of him as he repeated the echoing word within his mind.

'Murderer? Did he just call me a murderer?' Lumiere thought, unable to keep a placid expression on his face as he looked down towards the man. 'No... surely he must have been referring to something else. What then? A warning? Or is it just another of his ramblings?'

Quickly, Lumière composed himself, brushing off the idea that anything the old man Carthel said could be true. So, with a smile, he looked back towards the wretch and pinched at his hair as he bowed slightly.

"Goodnight, Mr. Carthel," Lumière spoke with a soft and forced smile, before turning back towards the darkened city street.

Still, even if he chose to escape the situation with quickened footsteps, it couldn't distract well enough from the harsh pounding of his anxious heart.

Once- only once had the old lunatic said something truthful. On an autumn day, whilst Lumière gave Aineth Carthel some stale bread and some fruit that had nearly rotted over, the man spoke one simple word in response, same as he had just now- 'burn'.

That same night, the monastery had caught on fire. No one had been harmed, apart from a slight burn upon the father's arm. Still, it had shaken Lumière up enough to believe there was some slight mysticism to the lunatic's ravings. So, for the time being, he decided to proceed with caution and keep his head on a swivel.

After a short time walking through the rain within the stone-carved city, Lumière came to a wooden sign standing up on a large pole, with lettering carved into it in the Thalis language- a lettering system bound to the greater Iles language, spoken almost exclusively in the west of the continent.

'With a linguistic system so simple, even wretches could easily learn to read the signs to the wayside, couldn't they?' He thought simply, trying to wave his worries away.

Lumière didn't for a moment consider himself a poor bastard. The Monastery had taught him the minute details of life, of literature and language, and of art and music. It wasn't as if he allowed himself to bolster his ego, however.

He stretched out a hand towards the sky, blocking out the lettering of the sign in the foreground as he tried to grasp at the stormy clouds to no avail.

As long as he was a denizen of the cold ground within such a cruel world, even he was no better than an illiterate rotting fool.

Pulling his hand away, the lettering on the sign came back into view, and he read it haphazardly as he passed it by.

It spelt out, in thick sprawling text- 'Cobblers Street'.

Despite its amiable name, one who travelled along it with no prior knowledge would be shocked to realise that most all of those who lived within Cobblers Street wore no shoes.

It was a street where those without a home would stray, stay, and die. It was a street where no business sought to open, where those with minute amounts of fortune were sure to stay away from, and where a single monastery rested silently on a hill at the end of its winding cobble path.

Still, because of the Monastery, and because of the father's kindness, he had been allowed the boots on his feet that had been repaired and refurbished many times over, now cracked and worn in appearance.

It was, as Father Benedict would put it, the 'sun within a cruel world'.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Croft." A man spoke suddenly from beside him.

Turning to face the bodiless voice, he was greeted by two figures. The one who had spoken out had stark grey hair and emerald green eyes. The second trailing behind him had cloud-white hair and light yellow irises hidden behind a silver monocle, with sharp black tattoos underneath his eyes.

He recognised the former as Eamon Stroud, and the latter as Adonis Trinder. They were underlings of a small crime organisation that operated out of Cobbler's Street. It was, after all, a place where no one would willingly go, and so it was the perfect place for them to stage their operations.

"So, will you be paying the toll today?" Eamon spoke with a grin, extending his palm as if greeding his emptied wallet.

"You know as well as I that I have nothing, Mr. Stroud." Lumière smiled softly. "What little I do have, apart from necessities, goes to the church so that the wretches that live on this street may eat."

Lumière looked towards Adonis, who with a calm expression, trailed in the background like a loyal dog. He tipped his top hat towards the man, and Adonis quickly blushed and averted his gaze.

Suddenly, shadows overtook the street bathed in lamplight. A large silhouette appeared behind the two, with eyes gleaming in the darkness like two rubies.

"I told you two time and time again." The silhouette scowled. "No Sisters, no Father, and no Magician shall be held up."

The two underlings looked up with surprise towards the towering shadowy figure, their gazes darkening with anxiety as he spoke. Illuminated by the lamplight, the form of his carefully sculpted face with deep cheekbones came into view. He had midnight-black hair, bright red irises, and soft sepia skin. It was Constantine Adler, the leader of the Blackfeather Group.

The tall man grabbed hold of Eamon's collar, lifting him high into the air as he looked down towards Lumière. He wasn't nearly a giant, but he was surely taller than the magician by many heads.

"I'm sorry about them, Mr. Croft."

"Mr. Adler, it's no problem at all." Lumière smiled dejectedly. "It's nice to see you again. Were you able to find your sister?"

Constantine shook his head sadly, his gaze mellowing as he spoke.

"Valerie is still missing. It's been two weeks, so our Blackfeather Group has lost hope…"

Constantine's lips curled up humorously, and in a joking manner, he continued.

"By any chance, do you have any magic that can help us out?"

The show magician shrugged while shaking his head.

"Sadly, I only deal in doves and roses," Lumière spoke with pity in his voice. "But, I have two human eyes capable of watching the world, so I'll keep a lookout for your sister in the coming days. I'm sure she'll be found, so don't let your heart soften up too much."

Lumière stepped close beside Constantine, still looking onwards as he spoke softly into his ear.

"You're a leader of many, and the only glue that keeps this street afloat. Do not let this matter ruin you, Mr. Adler." Lumière said seriously. "The church can feed the Dwindlers, but only you can sustain order in this lawless street."

Constantine's eyes widened for a moment but quickly returned to a serene and calm state as he smiled assuredly. He simply nodded towards Lumière, and leaving him behind, dragged Eamon on the ground as Adonis trailed quickly behind them. Before long, he turned his head back towards Lumière, who was still looking at him with pity and spoke in a gruff voice.

"May the Veridian star guide you."

Lumière waved his hand in objection before showing off an embarrassed smile.

"You know I'm not that devoted to the church. What star would choose to shine for me?" Lumière laughed.

Constantine smirked, and his laugh became a huff of breath, so he turned back around and continued walking towards the towering multi-layered streets of the lower borough stacks.

'That man is the hope you think the world has, Father Benedict.' Lumière teased inwardly. 'Although, I'm sure you wouldn't readily think the same of a crime boss.'

Stepping up the steps of the cobblestone pathway towards the Monastery's front door, Lumière reached a hand up to block the gleam of the sunset on the large bronze bell above him.

Its stone architecture, although worn by centuries of age, was brilliant in its design. While he knew nothing of the mathematics and artisan's craftsmanship that went into building it, the Monastery of the Crown of Thorns within Cobblers Street was a spectacle.

The brick towers on each end of the monastery stretched as high as a tree, the right-most tower holding up a large bronze bell that would ring out during sunrise, midday, and sunset. The nun in charge of doing such a thing was hard of hearing, and it led Lumière to wonder whether the chicken came before the egg in such a regard.

Because it was nearly after sunset, the noise within the monastery had all but died down. In its many rooms, and upon its wooden floors, all who could fit were given space to sleep through the cold night, and a hot meal to warm their emptied, usually-frail stomachs.

So quietly, as to not wake anyone up, Lumière rested a hand upon the unlocked, rickety doorknob made of chilled copper, and crept with silent feet into the monastery.

"{..//.#..-}"

Although, suddenly, he let go of the doorknob with an audible gasp, his breath escaping from his lungs in an instant. A static shock erupted through his arm, and his whole body froze in stunned silence.

Lumière staggered as he grasped at his head, which suddenly felt as if it had been shot straight through with a soldier's rifle. Shadows crept at the edge of his vision, and he could feel clouds envelop his thoughts as he glanced around him.

In the distance at the far end of the monastery's hall, a shadowy figure rushed quickly towards him.

"{..//.#..-}"

Instead of the shouts of the figure whose mouth seemed to gape open wide in a semblance of horrifying emotion, Lumière could hear whispers calling out from the darkness in the corner, layered over each other like a symphony of murmuring.

'These sounds… they're nearly unbearable…'

The ramblings in the distance were wholly indiscernible, and they seemed incredibly far off, although Lumière's shaky mind wasn't too worried about that in the moment.

Forgetting the sharp pain that shot through his head, and of the voices that whispered, and the clouds that enveloped his mind; his eyes widened, and his last thought as his vision darkened rang out into the night.

'Is this…'

'…murderer?'