“I a-apologize for our delayed greetings. I did not know that a call for help was sent until a fortnight ago. The C-creche is sure quick!”

Mr. Barnes’ meek demeanor has steadied itself as he settles in his home. Though he is no longer quaking in our presence, his stutter has not gone.

“Fiends are a time-sensitive matter, Mr. Barnes.”

The parlor’s furnishings are richer than what we would expect from the ever-practical Creche. Fashionable jacquard paper adorn the walls and the room smells heavily of cheap floral perfumes popular with the nouveau riche.

The mayor must be taxing his constituents well-enough. Bringing these small luxuries down to this area would be quite the logistical feat. This mayor must have minor connections from the House of Ley.

Thomas paws at a crooked frame displayed at the home’s hearth like a kitten exploring his surroundings. After discovering how loosely it’s hung, he adjusts it. It's a sepia-toned composition of Mr. Barnes and a woman, presumably his wife. A small boy, dressed in a sailor's costume, sits on a traveling trunk between them. They are all in modest, but presentable clothing.

I shift my eyes from the photograph to Mr. Barnes nervously fidgeting his hands around the hem of his velvet-lined coat. He notices my glance and waves his hand to take a seat at a table.

A flurry of hard-soled footsteps soon echo in the home’s hallway. A robust woman, the same one from the photograph, rushes through the parlor threshold with a silver tray of porcelain tea cups and saucers.

She performs a deep curtsy with the tray in hands. She services the tea in hurried movements, all while keeping her eyes downcast. She presents a tray of finger sandwiches before scampering away. Mr. Barnes stammers and gestures to the table. He rubs his hands together in his nervousness.

I stare at the spread before us.

“P-please, sit and have some refreshments.”

I turn and nod to my covey brothers. I take a chair opposite Mr. Barnes, while my three covey brothers take their own seats.

Our host sits upright, tapping his fingers on his knees. The clock near us ticks loudly before ringing in the afternoon hour with peeping whistles. A carved wooden chicken pops out from the clock’s face, chased by a full-breasted woman with a cleaver. They run about the face of the clock, with more chickens popping out from the sides in sheer terror for their friend’s fate.

The mayor offers an apologetic expression while he looks at me. His mouth opens, struggling to start a conversation. Strange sounds escape from his lips but are quickly dashed by timidity.

More whistling, and the broiler chicken retreats into a tiny hole to be chased again the next day. After a few moments of the clock ticking, the mayor finally succeeds in uttering a sentence.

“You must forgive us...again, we’re not a-accustomed to Creche Children in these parts. D-do you even take tea?”

I pick up my tea cup slowly in front of him. Silence drapes us while I keep my eyes on him like a predatory raptor.

“Ah! Then right you are. So you do, like a proper lady it seems.”

Thomas and Alan struggle to keep fish-eating grins from forming on their faces while they sip their teas. Mr. Barnes looks at them and offers an awkward smile, trying to soothe his ignorance.

“Mr. Barnes, I’m sure there are multitudes of frightful stories about us. But allow me to be frank-”

I sip my tea. There is a bitter aftertaste, so I reach to add a lump of sugar.

“Creche Children are given one purpose outside the island, and that is to find and exterminate monsters of the night.”

The mayor nods slowly to us.

“Since the Church has deemed it highly probable that you have at least one Fiend, it is our duty to lead this investigation, and your duty to comply and assist.”

“Y-yes, agreed. Then, what’s the first step?”

I take one more taste of the awful tea and lay my linen napkin out.

“You.”

“W-what?”

“Our first step is to examine you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Is that really necessary?”

I wave my hand as Alan stands from his seat. He procures a pair of iridescent-lensed goggles from his knapsack. Thomas on the other hand, brushes off the last few crumbs of food from his coat. Both Thomas and Gilbert make their way behind Mr. Barnes’ chair and grab to sharply pivot it away from the table.

“What is going on? W-why are-”

“Alan Arius is our covey’s physician and capable of detecting any infections. He will be examining you, as well as your town’s whole populace.”

“Be rest assured, Mayor, the process is painless.”

Mr. Barnes’ lips move, as if to ask a question, but Alan has already positioned himself before him.

Alan pulls the goggles over his bright blue eyes. He looms over Mr. Barnes as the mayor tips back into his creaking chair. Alan places his gloved palms on the sides of Mr. Barnes’ face, peering through the brightness of his lens. Alan then shifts gears on his temples to release a series of smaller lenses.

Alan gently guides Mr. Barnes’ thin face to pose at different angles. The village mayor’s lips quiver; His skin pricks into tiny mounds as Alan lifts his chin up with his thumbs.

“It will only take but a moment, Mr. Barnes. Please direct your gaze to me.”

Mr. Barnes keeps his eyes down, purposely looking away.

“Mr. Barnes. He will need to look directly into you.”

“I-i-into me?”

The mayor pulls back and forces his eyes shut, quivering under everyone’s gaze.

“H-he’s capable of seeing all of it, then? All of my rights and wrongdoings? My past and my future?”

Alan pauses in his examination. I interject while keeping my eyes on Alan.

“You are mistaken. Rumors, no doubt. Only the divine Soul Seers have such an ability.”

“Divine what? Aren’t they of House Aria, too? How could I be sure?”

I turn to Mr. Barnes. So he does know a little something about us. Though, it is not so surprising as church hymns often sing praises of Aria, the first of Cerna’s consorts.

Mr. Barnes opens his eyes to me. His face reflects worry and fear. I cross my arms.

“They are of House Aria, true, but Soul Seers and their talents would never be called upon in a small town for a simple Fiend investigation. Your understanding of our peerage is incorrect.”

“Incorrect?”

“She means to say that Soul Seers are far above us. None have come from the Creche in over a millennia, though on rare occasion they visit."

Mr. Barnes’ jaw slackens in a dumb stare.

"Hmm, simply put, Soul Seers are akin to Alan's...great granduncles several times removed. Distant relatives and not exactly family."

But once he weakly nods his head, it seems that he is satisfied with Thomas’ explanation. I turn back to Alan and gesture to him.

“Now Alan, please proceed with the examination.”

Alan turns and leans closer against Mr. Barnes, so close that the mayor’s erratic breath fogs up Alan’s lenses. The mayor reluctantly gazes into the bug-eyed lenses on Alan’s face, wincing.

“If you please, Mayor, eyes here."

A moment passes while Mr. Barnes’ face, in-between Alan's palms, stills under scrutiny. Beads of sweat trickle down to Alan’s fingertips. Alan then pulls back.

“You are clear, Mr. Barnes.”

The mayor heaves a sigh of relief and slumps further into his chair.

“Now, Mr. Barnes, call upon the rest of the town. We need to examine everyone.”