The Cyneweard

2

Watcher Wilcox heard a familiar squik sound, telling him that he had just trod on something that wouldn't clean easy. He looked down and saw the toe of his shoe dipped in crackling, coagulated blood. He grunted and slid the tip of his boot against the side of his trousers.

"Whatcha got for me, Greer?" he asked after looking back up. He met the gaze of his only Protector, Fielder Greer. The feline stood a hand shorter than Wilcox, himself quite tall, and was covered in a thin layer of black fur. Though not a fan of Animas himself, Wilcox could appreciate good work ethic in anyone, be they Hume or other. Greer was damn near the best he'd ever buddy'd up with.

"Dead priest," replied Greer, a stick of rolled Whistleaf burning in the corner of his mouth.

"Is that all? Priests die all the time. They're old."

Greer shot him a glance.

Wilcox finished the thought. "Like me."

Greer grinned. "This one looks to have been murdered."

Wilcox looked back down and followed the pool of darkening blood to the horror-stricken, wide-eyed face of Priest Dumdhall, a prominent and long-serving leader of the Chop's Humbolt Church.

"Shit," he remarked, eyeing the holy man's wound. "That looks like one mean cut."

"Yup," Greer confirmed, leaning over. "Scraped the back bone."

"Strong attacker."

Greer nodded.

"Smell anything?"

"Just blood. Sweat. Your damn thistleweed."

"Funny that you mention that," Wilcox replied, spitting a bright green glob of saliva next to the corpse. He rolled a gob of sour stems to the other cheek with his tongue.

"Not much faith in you, is there?" Greer sighed as he eyed the gob mingle with some blood. He knelt down next to the body and began looking over the robes.

"Nope. Lost that when I saw two soldiers peeling off another man's skull skin."

The Protector shook his head. "Spare me."

Wilcox huffed and moved over, kneeling beside his subordinate.

"Witnesses?"

"None that've told me about it," replied the feline. "If there were some, they either got swept up in shift traffic or escaped the bad weather."

Wilcox nodded. "Who reported?"

"A devotee who had an appointment for an anointment."

"Damn. Say that five times fast."

Greer chuckled.

Wilcox patted at the robe's pockets. "Nothing here. Thought these Humbolt guys were loaded."

"Not much tithing here in Lil' Mille."

"True," Wilcox nodded. "But these guys always have a secondary job, ya know."

Greer shrugged. "Office is clean. No sign of a struggle. Judging by the look on the man's face, he didn't expect to die today."

The Watcher nodded. "So no witnesses, no sign of a struggle... think the priest knew the attacker?"

Greer shrugged. "Can't tell."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Haven't got around to checking out the church's garden. Door was open when I got here. Blew shut with all the wind and rain."