As the evening bears upon them, its darkness slowly enveloping the landscape, they can see in the near distance the faint lights of a town. Armen breathes a sigh of relief as he looks at Mariette sitting upon the horse, "Is that where we travel?"

  Mariette nods, "Indeed. There is a postmaster here." then hushes her voice so that Armen won't hear, "I hope."

  The three of them continue into the town, a second wind within their breasts as their destination comes clearer into view with every step. The scent of fireplaces burning and various savory meats greets them as they near the edge of the town and its well-tread paths that weave throughout.

  A campanile, rising above the thatch rooves in its simple stone spire, stands lonely with its bell held in its peak. Another, much smaller stone tower, only as tall as the housings around it, stands at the edge of the town. Attached to it is a small hut, maybe only half the width of the tower itself. One can see pigeons fluttering into the portholes that dot the top, white stains that plaster the top of the tower and drip from the openings assure that this was the very post that they sought.

  Armen nears the door to the tower, while Mariette disembarks and holds the reigns of the horse behind him. Upon pressing the door, he finds it barred and latched with a shackle. "The postmaster seems to have retired for the evening. We must wait until the break of day for his return... There is a bunkhouse around here, yes?"

  Mariette, tapping his shoulder, points across the pathway at an apparent tavern. "I should imagine that they would have some form of accommodations."

  "Hmph... Drunkenness and revelry. Is there any place else?"

  "It is only a small town. Mostly of farmers and few tradesmen." Mariette says in denial to his hope.

  "As the Lord wills it..." Armen assures himself as he begins to step towards the tavern. Mariette abruptly grasps his arm, pulling him back a moment. "Armen... I'm afraid I may not enter. It is forbidden for women of the cloth to enter establishments of debauchery."

  Armen grunts in acknowledgment, "Yes... It slipped my mind that you do not bear the same leniencies as I." He sighs and turns to face her, placing both hands on her shoulders as he looks into her eyes. She returns his gaze uncomfortably as he speaks, voice weighted with authority.

  "Sister Mariette. I, Armen of the Inquisition of the Holy Covenant of Kingdoms, from Cathedral, hereby bestow upon you: authority of sinless intent. Hence forth, you are permitted within the formally forbidden establishments in the search of greater truths and divine conquest. To search that you would not search, in order to bring the light of His grace unto the foul corners of the world." reaching into his satchel, he presents his Bible to her, "Kiss the word of the Lord, our God, and know that you march on in His grace."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Mariette's eyes widen in shock as she is given such impunity. Eagerly, she bows her head and places a single kiss upon the leather cover of the Bible. She feels a rush of excitement at her new licensure and her cheeks flush under her fur. "Thank you for your endowment unto me. May the Lord witness my heart in my new creed."

  Armen bows his head at Mariette. "Now that you are above reproach, we must go attain a room from the tavern..." He turns away from her, stowing his Bible back in his satchel while he approaches the inn. Mariette quickly steps up next to him, nearly clinging to his side with anxious glances around her as they near the entrance.

  Mariette's heart thumps in her chest nearer the tavern door, the raucous sounds begin to seep through the walls at them, jeering and laughing, the clatter of mugs between friends. Armen pulls the wooden handle and the door lurches open on rusty iron hinges, creaking loud enough to interrupt some patrons in their conversation, beckoning their eyes.

  As Armen steps inside with Mariette mere inches behind him, visibly timid at her environment, the patrons within begin to hush their drunken sentences and slurred words as they stare one by one. The deafening silence captured the attention of the barkeep, an older badger, with tufts of gray fur sprinkled into his white and black stripes. He was busy checking the perpetual stew that bubbled in the fireplace behind the bar, setting the wooden spoon down he turns to face the newcomers that begat such silence amongst his normally rowdy clientele.

  He turns with an apathetic roll of his eyes until he looks face to face with a steel helm, the slotted visor giving no hint of the wearer underneath, only a dark chasm. The old badger clears his throat, somewhat suspiciously as he addresses his new customer. "Humans are of little popularity here. What brings you?"

  "We need a room," says Armen as he motions to Mariette, shyly hovering behind himself.

  The badger peers around Armen and sees Mariette, his lips curl into a lecherous smirk upon seeing the woman. "A human and manolon, traveling together?" a risible tone in his voice. "I've never met one of your kind with such,” he sniffs the air and bares his teeth in a mocking smile, “eloquent palate.”

  Armen ignores his implicitly foul words and repeats his request with an impatient tone, "Have you a room?" Despite Armen's voice implying his composure were wearing thin, the badger continues his jeering while answering, "A man with a manolon, in my own bar, feeling like joining the animals that we are? We have no rooms for you, human, but, we might make an exception for your company..." He leers as he licks his chops at Mariette, whom turns away, hiding her face from his undressing eyes.

  Armen, silent, reaches in his satchel and pulls out the same gold medallion that he had presented to Mariette earlier. He gently places it flat upon the bar top and slides it over towards the badger, moving it so that the only person that might discern its details are himself and the barkeeper before him. The badger, upon seeing the coin, drops his smirk while his eyes flash with concern. His confident sordidness abruptly replaced with humble fear, "Oh... L-listen. I meant no ill. I just don't get very ma-"

  "Is. There. A room?" Armen interrupts, voice devoid of humor or forgiveness.

  "Ye-yes! For you? Of course there is. No charge for a man of the Lord. Stay as you wish..." the badger skittishly replies.

  "Grace be to thee..." Armen speaks in a gentler tone, almost a shushing coo, "We would also appreciate your... discretion of our presence in your stewardship." he adds, a few silver coins chime as he drops them onto the bar top.

  Hurriedly glancing at the patrons that still eyed the three of them, the barkeep swipes the coins into his hand and pockets them, nodding in agreeance before he points to the stairs at the right end of the room, "Up there, last door down the hall."