There is no doubt about it; he is a daemon.
Siogari paused at the sill of the window. What I am about to do is illegal. And probably unethical. If I am wrong, I will most likely be defrocked, and possibly arrested. Am I sure?
It had started with a round-table discussion on how the work of each of the students under Father Jeshel. Siogari was relaxed -- most of his final dissertation, a work on comparative metaphor used in translations of holy works, was finished. All he needed for his graduation and ordination as a priest of Ausa was to spend a few good evenings with quill and ink to prepare a draft -- well, and the final draft and defense.
Serio had been checking a translation of the old book he was studying with Father Jeshel. Siogari listened half-heartedly -- it seemed to be an old Guardian manual on identifying daemon activity -- while letting his eyes wander over Father Jeshel's library. He thought he spotted a few new volumes on the shelves. They were leather-bound and old-looking, with gilt titles in an archaic script -- Siogari identified it as one not used since the Dragon Kingdoms era. It had to be a reprint -- great care had to be taken with parchment that old, or the pages would turn to dust. Father Jeshel would never let something that delicate be jumbled onto his shelf.
Let's see... Siogari knew a bit of the language -- not enough to be considered fluent, certainly, but it was the precursor to a few modern languages. He boredly started translating the title, while Serio struggled over a rather complicated verb phrase, under the watchful eye of Father Jeshel. This... this is about magic .
He was fully awake now, blood pounding in his ears. Wha6t would Father Jeshel be doing with witch's grimoires? The damning books were on the shelves, hidden in plain sight. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his fellow students gathering materials into their satchels. The meeting must be over, then. He stood up, moving hesitantly towards the door. He wanted desperately to ask Jeshel about the books, hoping he would give a nice, simple, innocent answer and that everything would be fine. It felt like there was a hummingbird in his stomach and he could feel the hairs on his neck rise, as if someone was sneaking up behind him.
"Do you need something, Mister Milvirde?" Father Jeshel approached him, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled gently. "You are looking a bit out of sorts."
"Er... it's nothing, Father," Siogari stammered. "Good night." He backed towards the door, suddenly losing his nerve. If he is a witch or demon or dragon or something, he could probably kill me for speaking up... or worse. The image of himself, lying in bed, not possessing the volition to even sit up and notice his surroundings leapt to his mind, and he had to suppress a shudder. No.... no I mustn't go charging into things. I must be clever.
But, that's exactly what I'm doing right now, isn't it? he thought, turning around once he was sure no one was out for an evening stroll. Maybe I'm being subtler by sneaking into his office at night through the window, but I still don't know what I'm going to do once I get there, let alone if I do find evidence.
He checked his shoes, suddenly glad for his boyhood in the Atanies. He hadn't done much climbing recently -- there weren't any mountains within a day's ride, and he was far too busy, anyway -- but he knew something about the equipment. Luckily, while Deile didn't have mountains, it did have a port and a number of scientific, mercantile, and military expeditions setting off regularly. It had not been difficult to at least grab a pair of climbing shoes that hugged his feet. The soft rubber soles would mold themselves around the rough stone of the masonry, helping him keep his footing. Theoretically.
He lowered one foot outside from his perch on the windowsill, and found a foothold. He tested his weight on it. It seemed to hold. Carefully, he lowered his other foot, checking to find another foothold. He turned towards his right, his eyes on the decorative work at the building's corner, maybe ten paces away. Maybe another fifteen to Jeshel's window. "Trust in my own abilities, and the Gods give me fortune," he said the benediction softly, and began to move across the wall.
There was moonlight tonight, and it was one of those sticky summer nights you sometimes got on the coasts. Siogari was suddenly glad he had folded his outer robe into his backpack with his shoes. They would be useful if he needed to leave through the halls, but they would not only be hot right now, but also awkward and dangerous.
Made it! He had reached the corner of the building. Siogari crouched in the shadows of the carvings -- a bundle of grain made an excellent perch, giving him a chance for a breather. He looked across the grounds. He thought he spotted movement, and tried to draw himself up further into the shadows. He relaxed when he saw it was just a squirrel.
I will be happy when this is over , one way or another. Maybe it would have been easier just to approach one of Father Jeshel's superiors for help. Or at least see if my suspicions are justified. Once he had started paying attention, he had noticed other things, besides the books. He was always more fatigued after Jeshel's lessons than other lessons, a sure sign of a daemon's energy-draining effect.
What if he was wrong? Maybe that just meant the lessons were boring, or too easy. If he spoke to someone above Father Jeshel, at best, this escapade might be dismissed as too many late nights working over an oil lamp and not enough sleep. Burn out wasn't unheard-of among the clergy and students, and he would most likely be given a lecture about not taking proper care of himself, and a break from his other duties to recover. But... at worst, they might think he was some sort of paranoid. Then it would be the sanatorium for him -- a paranoid was dangerous to himself and others. They really would have no choice in the matter. He shivered, despite the heat.
Not that they wouldn't think he was paranoid if he was caught now. At this point he was doomed if he did, and equally so if he didn't. He could give up, but the problem would eat at him until he knew either way. If Father Jeshel was a daemon, he needs to be contained. Well, as long as he wasn't caught, it would be a moot point -- if he was wrong, no one need suspect he ever thought about it. And, if he was right, he would sing the accusation from the clock tower.
Best to move on now. He attempted to slip across to the right wall, but a tugging on his collar made him nearly lose his balance. He clung to the stonework for a bit with a death grip, slowly readjusting himself, before turning slowly around. The pressure of his collar against his neck stopped him.
Oh. My undershirt is caught on something. He struggled a bit, trying to free it -- of course, it had to be caught in a position that he couldn't quite get at with his hands. He would just have to worm his way out of the offending garment. Which would have been fine, except the fabric decided to tear halfway through, leaving little more than a rag. He stuffed the remains into his pack -- his robe would cover his chest in a pinch, allowing him to make it back to his spare clothing without incident, should the need arise. However, if someone spotted him before he could put his robe on -- well, running around half-naked would do nothing for the estimation of his sanity. Probably a lesson -- I should stop buying cheap undergarments .
Well, there was nothing he could do besides continue climbing -- once he got back into the rhythm of the task, he quickly made it to Jeshel's window. The lighting appeared to be dimmed, coming only from the crack in the door and the window. The window was open though --probably left open to improve ventilation in the stuffy building. Father Jeshel would have closed the window where he retiring for the night --therefore, he must only be out for supper or something. I better hurry.
He stepped in, looking around in the half-light for the bookshelf. Jeshel's chair was near enough that he nearly tripped on it. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He peered into the shadows, trying to decide if he saw something moving in them. Just a chair. And over there are the three others he keeps for students. The desk is in front of you, the bookcases to your right. There is a globe in the far left corner. You've been hear many times before. Calm down, Siogari.
Maybe I really am just burned out. I should just go back to my bed and sleep . Still, he was here --might as well take a look. HE padded over to the bookshelf, careful to avoid squeaky floorboards. The air seemed almost electric -- he would have to return via the hallways if a storm sprang up. Even explaining why he was leaving an empty office that didn't belong to him was better than climbing with rain and lightning. It was the season for thunderstorms, after all, and the humidity felt like the air was nearly drinkable.
He reached the shelf, and purposefully started removing volumes and holding them up to the moonlit window for examination. It took him three tried before he located the one he had spotted earlier. As he was removing it form the shelf, there was a brilliant flash of light from its cover. Siogari yelped, and stumbled backwards, his arm brought up to protect his flash-blinded eyes. Something exploded in the region behind his eyes, and he felt himself fall.
Well, this was not a good idea , he thought. Then the blackness overtook him.