Clayton had known of Joe Mani's flawed personality back in the army, but today he seemed to have lost all his manners.
"Have you fallen in love with her?" Clayton asked with confusion. Although Dornishmen were fickle lovers, being in love with such a wanton woman would still undermine one's reputation.
"No, not at all. But I bet that she holds some feelings for me."
While answering Clayton's question, Joe's gaze was fixated upon Rosa on the stage. "Today when I chanced upon Ms. Rosa on the street, she was selling tickets. We chatted for a while. The two tickets for the front row seats are a gift from her. I guess that she must hope that I can snatch the gossamer coat."
Given its negligible weight, it was difficult to throw it far away from the stage; only the people in the front rows could get it in their clutches.
Clayton determined there was some merit to Joe's perception.
"So you have known her before?"
As he spoke, Clayton's eyes darted every which way the spotlight moved, in an attempt to savor the strippers' artistry, but the stench haunting his nostrils distracted him.
"No, but she is a Gillardian." Joe almost craned over the spectator's scalp in the row in front.
Gillardians, an ever-wandering ethnic group, were famed for their dissipation and mysteriousness.
Clayton could not know whether Rosa was a real Gilldardian or Joe had made it all up to serve as an excuse for his very own dissipation.
"Could you give it to me?"
Shocked, Joe turned to stare at Clayton. "Lieutenant, what's the matter with you today? I won't pass this opportunity to you, definitely."
Clayton came up with an excuse without a second thought. "I just want to examine its weaving technique. I am going to buy a present for someone. It looks great."
Actually, he wanted nothing more than to see what had tainted it and made it stink as it did.
Having taken it from Joe, Clayton was certain that his sense of smell had not failed him. At first, the odor that tinged the air felt merely half familiar. But now, its pungency, rivaling smelling salts', momentarily reminded him of his past encounter.
During the Lauren War, the front lines once faced a grave shortage of supplies, forcing the military forces to tighten their belts. Later on, this news found its way to the Kingdom's navy, which shipped to the front lines a bulk batch of dried meat that was rumored to date back to the Era of Great Navigations two hundred years ago, which in turn saw hordes of originally healthy soldiers off to field hospitals.
It smelt exactly like that dried meat.
Clayton knitted his brows. He could smell the same scent from part of the audience, but scarcely believed it was because among people spoiled dried meat had caught on, which could never prevail for all eternity.
Their peculiar bearing and smells evoked in him the rumors about Zombies.
The gossamer coat was nice and clean. Aside from decaying meat, it reeked of cheap perfume.
To begin with, the fragrance had been lost on him, which permeated the air all around. But he was able to detect it only because the gossamer coat had been spritzed profusely with the perfume.
It seemed that the item's owner was aware of the stench and had purposely covered it up with the fragrance.
Handing it back to the fidgety Joe, Clayton rose and left, using the excuse of having to relieve himself. He walked toward the exit of the theatre, yet halfway, he turned back.
"Joe, I've just remembered something urgent. Could you help me out?"
Joe turned to him with a grimace and held up the gossamer coat, "Oh, please, I am booked tonight."
Clayton interrupted, "Samuel is waiting for us."
"Is that so?" Joe studied his expression to make sure Clayton wasn't joking, before getting up with a mutter, "Let's make it quick, maybe we can return before the finale."
They strolled up the aisle, on either side of which the audience appeared fervent as ever, with their gazes transfixed on the stage, whistling and applauding, seemingly oblivious of their departure.
But after their figures disappeared into the exit, the dancer on the stage changed her pose, revealing more tenderness and naughtiness.
She now looked more like a lethargic cat rather than a snake before.
It was unknown who was the first to yawn. Tiredness spread through the crowd like a pandemic. The congregation of men gradually forgot what to do, closed their eyes, and hung their heads low.
Before long, snores filled the air across the theater.
In the first three rows, the spectators hadn't drifted into a slumber but froze stiff, reminiscent of puppets without a puppeteer.
Joy, desires .... their expressions and positions, all these congealed at the moment.
The seats that Clayton and Joe had taken were left empty amid them, cutting a sharp contrast to those vivid sentiments.
The lead dancer stopped twisting her body and hung her hands limp at her sides, shifting her eyes, accentuated by the veil, to the exit high above.
"Why did they look away frequently? Were we seen through?"
A bunch of women in the auditorium pushed aside unconscious men and walked out from the cramped space in between two lines of seats.
"Cleric, should we catch up to them?"
............
"Huff puff... Huff puff..."
Joe Mani was currently retching against a wall. After they had come out of the theater, they did not come to a halt until dashing a dozen miles all the way to the deserted alley.
Clayton had a breath smooth as ever but feigned panting given how miserable and exhausted Joe looked.
After regaining a bit of his strength, Joe, irrespective of his tidiness, thudded his butt on the ground carpeted with green patches of moss.
"Lieutenant, can you tell me now what was going on back there?"
Before they left the theater, Clayton mentioned Samuel, one of their common comrades who had long since settled into his tomb.
Such an odd excuse would put even an idiot on alert.
"Someone is plotting against us." Clayton gave his conclusion. "Don't ask who they are. At least I am sure the people in the two rows ahead and behind us are part of them, including Rosa."
Joe didn't probe how Clayton had formed his conclusion. Believing intuition and luck was a habit common among battle-hardened soldiers.
The fact that Clayton had returned able-bodied from over a decade of service attested to his admirable intuition and enviable luck.
"They really brought an army. Who did you offend?"
Clayton furrowed his eyebrows, "It's the question I should ask you. You must have hidden something from me. Why not think hard yourself?"
Back then, he faked a bathroom break and rose from the seat. He took care to smell the air at the ventilation opening. What he discovered was that only the front rows gave off the cheap perfume scent, including the row they were in.
For sure, a cheap perfume could be popular among ordinary folks, but if the people clustered in specific rows were spritzed with the same one, one should sniff out something fishy.
Given that Rosa, the lead dancer, had given Joe two tickets for the front seats and flung the gossamer coat purposely, though in a veiled manner, to Joe, instead of resorting to violence, Clayton assumed that they had been intent on minimizing the stir. For an unknown reason, Rosa preferred to subdue them first and, after achieving their purpose, wipe them out in a way that no others would notice.
Even though Joe had brought a clue of the Extraordinary world, an yet unknown trouble had arrived on its heels.
Clayton's words had apparently reminded Joe of the force behind the scenes. Now he wore a grim but also embarrassed look.
"Yes, perhaps I know who it is."
"So who?"
"The Holy Grail Society, a mystical organization. I think they are the only ones who have a score to settle with me, but I have never expected that they would chase all the way to Dorne. "
So there was a non-governmental organization... Clayton contained his excitement. "How did you get entangled with them?"
"I have stolen something from them in Taunton..."
Clayton held his forehead. Back in the army, he knew of Joe's pilfering habits, which, unexpectedly, stretched into these very present days.
Wait a minute, steal something?
Clayton immediately sensed something wrong. "Is the Ring what you have stolen from them? If such is the case, I will return it to you tomorrow. Try your best to reach a settlement with them. If you need money, I can help."
Since they hadn't launched a frontal attack on Joe, Clayton believed that there was something holding them back and there was still room for a turnaround.
At the mention of the Bishop's Signet Ring, Joe grew more awkward. "It's just one of them..."
"One of them?" Clayton was almost shocked beyond words, "How many things have you stolen on earth?"
Now he had made up his mind that if the situation was too messy, he would let the matter run its natural course.
"There were only two. But I can't return them, because I have broken one of them." Joe straightened his back and his conscience grew ever clearer as he said,
"The Holy Grail Society is an evil organization, they have committed crimes and exploited the devotees to do their bidding. In order to punish them, I have stolen their stuff. So I am definitely not to reach a settlement with them. This is a matter of my dignity and righteousness."
Astonished, Clayton stared at him.
This sounded pretty much like a decision by a real man. All Clayton could do was respect it.
"Of course, it's up to you. But since you have just returned home and their snare is already in place, they seem too quick about it. Are you sure that those people in the theater aren't someone that you might have offended in Sasha in the past?"
This question hunched Joe down with more embarrassment. "Alright, put it this way, I had returned home two months ago. But, by then, I had run out of money and felt too ashamed to come to you. Now, it seems time for me to leave once again..." His voice grew thinner and thinner.
This piece of information was reconciled with the facts.
But Joe, evidently, had no idea what weight class the Holy Grail Society was in.
With resignation, Clayton released a sigh. Even though he was in the dark about the organization as well, he could be sure that the Holy Grail Society had a bag of tricks when it came to searching, since they had been able to track down Joe in such a large city.
"What's your next plan? Go look for a constable to arrest them?"
"I am afraid I can't. Without evidence, constables are not authorized to send these foreigners back to Taunton or to jail." Joe dusted his backside off as he walked to the mouth of the alley, where the lamplight poured onto his upper torso.
"I am going to hole up over the next few days and work out how to leave the city. Tonight sucks. I'm sorry for having got you swept up in the trouble, Lieutenant. The next time we meet, I will buy you a dinner."
Clayton stood rooted to the spot and saw his figure disappear from sight.
...............
"Good day, Mr. Bello. Is there something troubling you?"
His female assistant Charlotte was a young woman. Fresh from the Department of History at Sion University, she had started a job at Rusty Silver Coin, whose business situation hinged heavily upon her reservoir of knowledge and persuasive sales tactics.
She was touching up her makeup with a small mirror and threw curious glances at Clayton now and then.
"I'm considering whether to write a letter to an off-putting person and to give in to her in exchange for her help ."Clayton was wiping dust off a display cabinet with a piece of sponge while absent-mindedly listening to Charlotte's comforting words.
The Holy Grail Society would surely attempt to search for him.
Or more precisely, all the people who had engaged with Joe.
After half a night of turning it over in his mind, Clayton reached a new conclusion.
Last night, he figured that the Holy Grail Society was singularly proficient at hunting for a person, such that they had been able to locate Joe and lure him to the Broken-Winged Angel.
However, there lay an even worse possibility: Joe Mani's movements had been tracked since he had traveled abroad; only when he arrived in Sasha did the organization finally decide to close the net.