It was on the first morning of the fourth week since Luc's coming that the villagers of Mont Clare noticed a small plume of smoke rising on the hill which overlooked the village from the east, near the road to the cathedral. Young Henrietta was sent to investigate, being the fleetest and most fearless, and reported back that the young knight had returned set up camp, but would not yet enter the village. He extended his welcome, however, to any who desired to speak with him.
Many took up his offer, visiting to exchange a cup of wine and ask of what had transpired at the Cathedral, though the answers he gave were cryptic at best. In turn he asked of events in the village in his absence, learning of Father Joc's illness confining the old priest to his bed, and of the Father's thugs. Freed of his oversight, they were combing the village for the Witchhazel in hopes of showing up, as they put it, "that jumped-up outlander," though without any sign of success.
There he stayed, saying only that he would return at the proper time, when he had found clarity. Days passed, and though he spent his days at the small fire he tended, the young knight was sighted now and again wandering through the woods at night, seemingly lost in thought yet moving as silently as a ghost through the thick undergrowth. Claude claimed that he had seen the knight knelt in prayer in a shaft of moonlight, deep in the wilds, surrounded by a parliament of silently watching owls, but no one believed a word of it, of course. All the same, change was in the air, and the village's anticipation swelled in time with the waxing moon.
It was on the morning of the night of the full moon that a message arrived, warning that Father Joc was on his deathbed and demanding the young knight attend him. Luc left at once, Tonnere as always at his side. The village children surrounded him and cheered as he walked through the town, but the grim cast of his face did not alter, nor the shadows under his eyes lighten. It was only as he arrived in the town center that he paused. He stared, face setting harder, at the newly-built gibbet, its rough timbers now forming edge of the town square, a noose already dangling from its crossbeam. Luc's gaze swept the square to see the same group of heavyset men he had met in the woods, and seeing his attention on them, they sneered and made mocking gestures of hanging and strangling. He turned his gaze from them without responding and walked on.
Finding themselves ignored, the children dispersed as Luc arrived at the church and tethered his horse, but as he reached the church's door, the wind changed and a scent stopped him in his tracks. A teasing floral scent... and one that he recognized. Each time the witch had visited him, this was the smell of her skin, lingering even after she had vanished.
He followed the scent to one of the village's small market stalls, where Michel, a minor trader, had set out a meager array of perfumes on the thin board of his stall. It was the work of a moment (to the great amusement of Michel himself) to determine which of the scents on offer was the one he sought, which the trader clearly thought intended as a gift for a lady. Inquiring into its purchase, Luc nearly choked at the cost of even the smallest vial, comparing it to the cost of feeding Tonerre for a year and finding little difference. The trader laughed at his dyspeptic expression and leant in close, slipping the tiny vial of the perfume into a pocket of the knight's tunic with a theatrical wink.
"My little Henrietta, well, she is so very fierce and headstrong, yes? No man may approve of poaching, of course, lest God and Father Joc strike him down, no matter how great the need... but a father's gratitude for his daughter's safety, well, could even God begrudge that?" Michel winked once more at the knight and turned to resume crying out his wares to the public. Luc essayed a thanks to the man's back, seemingly forgotten already, and turned his feet once more to the church.
The young knight paced through the small church without a glance at its empty benches and the small stained glass that was its greatest glory. He presented his summons to the brute who stood outside the door to Father Joc's private chambers, sharing a Look that made clear that their encounter in the woods was not forgotten, and was allowed inside.
Lying on his thin cot, Luc could well enough believe that Father Joc was soon to depart this mortal coil. The rise and fall of his chest was scarcely perceptible, his skin an ashen grey, and it was only slowly that his eyes swivelled to face his visitor. One stick-thin arm raised and gestured him nearer, and Luc knelt down, leaning in close, allowing his hand to be taken in straw-like fingers.
"I am the last, you know," Father Joc said weakly, gradually turning his head to meet Luc's eyes. "I will not be replaced as priest. The Cathedral can neither spare the body nor the funds to maintain the chapel here. Do you understand what that means?"
"Not entirely," Luc admitted.
"It means one more step toward the rule of heathenry!" Father Joc said with sudden fire, spindly fingers crushing into Luc's hand. "It means the further weakening of the mother church and her faithful. You are our last hope to stop it."
"How?"
"The authority of the church, and thus of the Lord, must be maintained! You are not a man of the cloth, but as a Templar you are sworn to the Church's ends. Rid the village of this wretched witch and its rulership will be yours by the endorsement of the church, as the Charter of Mont Clare requires."
"And what does the Church ask for this great boon, other than the completion of my quest?" Luc asked carefully. Father Joc gave him a conspiratorial wink and what he likely thought a cunning smile.
"Wise, my boy, wise. The request is little enough; that you enforce the faith of the people of Mont Clare and ensure that their much-needed tithes continue to bolster the Cathedral."
"The villagers may be... reluctant to give tithe when there is neither chapel not priest," Luc pointed out.
