“Inspector?”

The liveryman’s gentle prodding brought Inspector Bryar out of his daydream. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, drawing up the hood of his white linen Sepulcher robe.

“I apologize if the village children offend your worship,” the liveryman said–Dex was his name, from Pexate originally by the accent. He gestured at the crowd, the eldest no older than five, who were roughhousing near the stables.

“Oh, no offense taken,” said Bryar. “They remind me of my nephew, actually. I had to take responsibility for him after my sister died.”

One of the village children noticed the strange man in his strange clean robes–far different, far cleaner than the local priest–and stared.

“That boy has the most striking blue eyes,” said Bryar. “Not unlike my nephew’s, actually.”

“Well then,” said Dex with an uneasy laugh. “You must be used to children staring at the great and powerful envoy of the Creator himself.”

“Not really, no,” said Bryar. “My nephew is blind. Shall we go now? I hope to make the cloister before nightfall.”

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