The sun was yet to pierce the sky when the young wanderer woke up. Many fruit trees of the orchard remained unrecognizable in the near-darkness; the only way for him to be seen was through the flash of a guard's lamp. He was lucky that none of the guards, or even the patrolling constables outside, seemed too inclined to survey this area of the city.

  Nobody was tending to the orchards at that time; the boy noticed that many of the robed people were converging at the towering church not far from where he stood. He crept near the aged walls and peeked through one of the large open windows. His long, dark overcoat blended well with the surrounding blackness; all he needed to do to be not seen by the occasional sentry that patrolled the area was to stand still. Everybody in the compound moved about, doing their business; all were unaware of the spying figure by the window pane.

  A low tolling of bells signaled the closure of the church's doors. The boy saw a sea of women in their long, bland garbs occupying nearly two-thirds of all the pews inside. Bowed heads accented the dense silence that took over at first, followed by the tide of song that filled the place. It was a chorus of low voices that did more recitals than singing, followed by higher voices that rode on top, and on the crest of this wave were the highest and most sublime of singers, leading the rest. All of these women were entranced by their singing; the solemn bowers raised their heads in indignation to the image propped above the church's altar. Strange, the boy thought, as to why the congregation put so much effort into singing in front of a dazzling cross set against a backdrop of a rising sun.

  The singing stopped after thirty minutes. A few voices spoke; none of them were musical. What used to be invigorating singing was replaced with long, low chants, which the boy found boring. He took his head away from the window and retreated into the dark vertex between the church doorway and its small flight of stairs. The voices reminded him of somebody. It had no form in his memories but that of a shadow, but the singing felt the same. It wasn't about the foreign words or how the church echoed the voices, but the sensation of being drowsy was the same.

  It was a dreamless half-hour when he finally woke up. The church was empty; gone were the wonderful and melancholic voices. Only the wind rustling through tree leaves roamed around the place; not even the expected watchman was present. He moved out of the vertex, which was now lit by the moon, to two large trunks closest to the cloister's gates. There was a small gathering of colored robes at the open portal. They were wearing dark blue habits, but one of them was more ornate than the rest. Her being at least half a head taller than the rest made the boy focus on that person even more. A glint came from a pair of deep blue irises when it reflected light coming from one of the streetlamps.

  He felt something biting on his temples. It wasn't like the sting of an upset insect, but similar to his skin being struck with weak electricity. Suddenly, the boy's vision cleared, and his eyes magnified the group in a view of someone who stood no more than a yard away. He could not explain what was happening to him, for the stray foreigner was half a block away from the gates. They were all young and pretty women, with some nearly as old as the eavesdropper. A mix of allure and alarm was felt when he focused again on the tallest cleric - the same feelings he had last had before he escaped from the land north of where he was now.

  "...what you feel is how you detect the presence of those imbued with or attuned to... Use this gift well, my boy. We will surely gain the best benefits out of it."

  It was the same man the boy would see if his mind wandered off. He remembered his sing-song voice, the comically large smile, and the greenish light coming off his right eye. The darkly clad one attempted to break the barrier that stopped him from fully recalling who that person was. A debilitating headache that would bring him to his knees was always, if not frequently, the result of his efforts.

  This was no time to dig up the past.

  His impulses urged him to follow this odd church servant - this figure who suddenly brought his blurry memories to the surface. Perhaps knowing her would give him the answer behind the tingling of his temples. The boy sneaked closer to the convent's exit.

  · · ─ ·?· ─ · ·

  "How dare you not tell us you're leaving, Sister Euphemia?"

  "It's not right! You can't be away from us. Tell me this won't take long."

  "If only I could have a break from this convent like you."

  "Don't forget to bring some of those tangerines. I have missed the taste for so long."

  "Take care out there, Sister. May the Creator's Will never leave your side."

  "I won't forget your requests - and I intend to return sooner than you'd realize." Euphemia set a large bag on the ground. "You should all go now, or you'll miss the morning prayers. You do not want Sister Hildegarde to be too upset."

  An exchange of hugs, followed by the holding of hands. Smiles were also traded back and forth; some were subtle curving of lips, others came with teary eyes, and yet some could be mistaken for toothy and mischievous grins. Final greetings were said in whispers, with the sudden blow of wind making them hardly audible. The six other church servants disappeared into the interior, leaving the cleric in deep blue on her own. She picked up her bags and headed for the exit gate. An automobile wheeled to a slow halt; smoke rushed out of the exhaust underneath. The silence of dawn was broken by the repeated sputtering as the driver put it in idle.

  "Good morning, Lady Euphemia. Lieutenant Hans Gruber, returning as you have requested, yesterday. Your bags, please."

  "Ah, Lieutenant Gruber. Thank you for entertaining the request. Your willingness to assist is fully appreciated. You will only be able to accompany me to the port, won't you?"

  "That is the best extent of my efforts, most unfortunately." The soldier bent to pick up both of Euphemia's bags. They were not as heavy as she thought and felt them to be, or perhaps this man's strength trivialized the weight. "I can secure two men who will take my stead on your voyage to Alberta Port."

  "Again, I must appreciate your resourcefulness in arranging this, Lieutenant. Can you provide me with their names and backgrounds?"

  "Certainly, my lady." The lieutenant loaded the bags in the back of the vehicle. He gestured for the two soldiers to stand at attention.

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  "He's Private Markus Berens." A slim man stood straight; the hat he wore obscured half of his face. He looked at Euphemia once and thought twice about performing a salute, but he resorted to giving a single nod at the last moment. "A member of the 122nd Port Guards. He's part of a training class here in the capital and is about to join the rest of his unit in Alberta by morning. He lives in a village near the Port."

  Euphemia looked at him once and nodded. She followed the officer to the second soldier, who was occupying the driver's seat. He was a stocky man. The overcoat he wore made it seem like his arms were just as thick as his legs.

  "Our driver will be Jann Buschmann, another Private. He is from the same unit. Also, an Albertan villager."

  "Thank you for joining me, both of you."

  "This is unexpected, but we will do our best, Lady- um..." Private Buschmann jerked his arm in an attempt to scratch his head, but he thought twice in the presence of the lieutenant.

  "Oh, there's no need to address me formally; 'Euphemia' is perfectly fine in our situation."

  "Yes, Lady Eu-, I mean Euphemia." Private Berens gave a sharp nod.

  "Do you have everything you need, Sister Euphemia?" At last, Lieutenant Gruber was able to refer to her without hesitating or being confused about how to handle his situation.

  "I have all I need, Lieutenant. Thank you. We should be off, shouldn't we?"

  "Of course." The officer went to the front seat. His attention turned to Private Buschmann, who was still standing in front of the driver's seat door. Lieutenant Gruber took the front passenger seat before saying, "Private, start the engine."

  ????

  They were on the move. The car chugged along, disrupting the quietness of the street, spewing steam that dissolved into the film of fog. One of the teardrop-shaped lamps flickered and fizzled when Euphemia and company neared a sleeping business block. All of the shops in the place were closed at that time; an empty street was on the horizon, except for the outline of an animal that ran on the sides of the road. Whether it was a cat or a rat, there was not enough time to figure it out.

  Private Berens, who sat behind the vehicle's cabin, looked left and right. He tried to cover his yawn, but his body preferred stretching his arms wide. Even the noise of the engine could not quell his desire for a nap. He shook his head and looked at the passenger behind the driver's seat. She would not be impressed - at least if ever she turned her head to look at what was behind them. He rubbed his nose and passed what warmth his glove had to his face.

  Euphemia was told of the dangers the streets in this sector had at night. She looked to her left: the only direction where she did not need to shift her body to get a good view. The weather was colder than usual, and the fact that there was not a single soul loitering or walking around the streets was proof that the chill brought by the winds was bordering on unbearable at best. She wondered how the private at the back of the vehicle was doing, exposed fully to the cold with nothing more than his clothes shielding him. Even those inside the automobile won't stay warm for long; frost was blurring the outside view, and the latch that secured the door was becoming cold to the touch.

  Euphemia saw a staircase that led to the southwestern canal on her left, opposite a closed bakery. A fast whistle, more like a loud whiff of air, made itself heard despite the clanking engine of her transportation. Euphemia looked at the street behind her; at the edge of her eyes was a dark figure that stood still for a few seconds as if it was following the car with its gaze. She blinked, and there was no one there - nothing but a flickering street lamp struggling to keep lit.

  "I must be seeing things. Is it the cold, or perhaps I need to at least take a nap during the voyage?"

  "Something bothering you, Miss Euphemia?" Private Berens must have taken notice. He held his rifle with the intent of aiming.

  "It's nothing. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Please pay no mind."

  "I think the cold must be playing tricks on all of us."

  "Yes. I believe so, too."

  Her heart felt much lighter when her eyes caught the pale yellow lights of a nearby tavern; the scent of roasting meat and steam coming out of a docked ship meant she was safe - for now.

  The transport stopped at the harbor's toll gates. Private Berens unloaded Euphemia's bags from the vehicle while Private Buschmann extended a salute to Lieutenant Gruber, which was responded to likewise.

  "This is where my assistance to you ends, Sister Euphemia." The officer bowed his head before occupying the driver's seat. "May the Creator bless you with calm seas and a safe ship."

  "I am truly grateful for your efforts, Lieutenant. Be safe under His care."

  Euphemia watched the officer drive away from the port; the vehicle completely disappeared after making a turn. She looked at the two men who were carrying her bags before she went to the ticket stall and called the attendant's attention.

  "Three tickets, please. Do you also have two rooms?"

  "Just in time, sister. We have them."

  She untied a pouch on her waist and handed over a thin wad of Marks and some coinage. Euphemia almost emptied it of its contents, and she stored her purse on her sleeve. She was handed small brown stubs after the money was put in a metal box at the side of the counter.

  "Thank you, holy sister. May you bless our voyage tonight."

  "And by the Creator's Will, our journey will be safe."

  Euphemia headed closer to the port. Behind her were the two privates carrying her bags. A man in charge of the ramp saw this strange entourage, which prompted him to ask:

  "Your company in the army, sister?"

  "Ah, yes. I have booked a room for them."

  All the sailor could do was to follow them with a glance. The liner Euphemia would be embarking on, which was still being loaded with high stacks of crates. Small columns of steam rose from its two smokestacks - the ship would be ready to depart for Alberta soon. She led them to the passenger cabins, scanning the room numbers as she looked at a piece of paper that was handed to her by the ticketing office. She stopped at a room that almost led to the starboard side before saying:

  "If this is A-110, then A-109 is... here." She handed a key to Private Buschmann.

  "Are you sure, Sister? This is simply too much. We would have been fine standing guard on your door."

  "What better way to look after me than to have you in a room closest to mine?" Euphemia pulled another piece of paper from her sleeve. She gave the ticket to the bewildered private. "Consider this as my way of thanks for agreeing to this request. Do not fret. I have no wish to call your attention every time. Take this as an opportunity to rest on this voyage."

  "Thank you. It has been a long morning - and an even longer night before that. Don't mind if we doze off for a little."

  The two soldiers helped Euphemia put the bags in her room. She closed the door when the men left and looked through the only small circular window found. Small bells tolled from a post near the docks. The clanking of gears and chains was heard by those on board the old liner. A blank scent of steam has reached the deck. There were shouts for a last call from the dockside, but the cleric either paid no mind or her thoughts were elsewhere to pay attention to what was said. Euphemia heard the clanking chains of the anchor being pulled out of the water. A cloud of steam erupted from the smokestack and went on as a faint hiss from above. She felt the ship's slow movement out of the port begin; it was time to retreat to the passenger cabins.

  Nobody noticed the shadow that leaped and clung onto the stern.