"Roughly. But before that, I have to be well-informed about the Holy Grail Society."
Nonetheless, Clayton was not as composed as Joe believed him to be.
Nobody knew how many members the Holy Grail Society sent to Sasha. Furthermore, he wasn't supported by the intelligence system as he was back in the military.
"But I need your helping hand to finish some tasks that stretch beyond my ability."
Joe was stunned. "Huh? Go on, Lieutenant, the Holy Grail Society is searching for me, how can you put me on some tasks? Why not employ a private investigator? They will do the job as long as they get paid."
Being a detective was an emerging profession. The impression they carved on the public was "providing all sorts of services". Many of them were veteran soldiers who excelled in nothing but undercover operations and investigations.
"I will employ a private investigator to spy on the 'Broken-Winged Angel', but you also have a task to do." Clayton handed the revolver to him. "Tell me everything you know about the Holy Grail Society."
Joe took it from him and fiddled with it, seemingly finding it curious. Even though he was a veteran soldier, rarely did he lay hands on a gun. Before long, he started talking.
"When talks turn to them, I think that they match the description of an evil religion. The first time I had met up with them was at the Oak Town in the east of Taunton. They were preaching to the townsmen back then. They also worship the Heavenly Father Carola. But what they are publicizing are all nonsense."
"For example?" Clayton's interest was piqued.
Joe shrugged. "They argued that the night is more noble than the day."
He didn't have to explain since even unbelievers knew which of the night and day was more important --- without the sun, even crops couldn't grow.
"It sounds like they are supposed to be the 'Black Church'."
"Who would doubt this? But they seem to prefer the name 'the Holy Grail Society'." Thinking back to his unpleasant experience in Oak Town, Joe playfully answered.
"By the way, Lieutenant, have ever you heard of the Holy Grail?"
"Yes, I have."
Despite the fact that the Bellos were immigrants from Mansis several generations ago and that Clayton was no believer in the White Church, he did have his share of knowledge about its doctrines thanks to his extensive exposure to it.
In the mythology of the White Church, the Heavenly Father, Carola, created all the animals and plants amid a white cloud of light, but these creatures were mindless and couldn't grow. Hence, the Heavenly Father gave them his blood to drink before the animals gained consciousness, and the plants started growing by nature toward the sun, remembering the kindness of the Heavenly Father in spite of their inability to think.
In this story, the container holding the Heavenly Father's blood was the Holy Grail. Thus, the Holy Grail was interpreted as the source of wisdom.
As Clayton recollected what a devotee once said to him, he aired, "The Holy Grail is the source of humanity. Wisdom comes along with the god's blood into the bodies of all the creatures, adding spirits to us."
"That is how it is," Joe turned excited. "However, the Holy Grail Society is asserting their heretic theory that the Heavenly Father not only bestowed spirits upon us, but also instilled hideous desires in us. They claimed that those desires that made us prone to crimes are the real blessing from the Heavenly Father. Everyone should pay reverence to strength, which sets us apart from wild beasts that couldn't restrain their desires."
Earlier on, Joe was no believer either. But probably having read a lot of the Sacred Texts these days as a volunteer, he got visibly indignant over the Holy Grail Society's misinterpretation.
Upon hearing this, a famous philosophical debate of the last century crossed Clayton's mind, prompting him to comment,
"This is something Extreme Libertarians and Progressives would say. They invariably talk like this. If they could benefit from vicious struggles, they would wholeheartedly embrace all about them, including the disgusting aspects. "
Joe completed merely his lower secondary education, thereby less knowledgeable about this, but he could at least be considered grounded and pragmatic. "I don't understand this. But their outrageous deeds were unquestionable. They killed the devotees and the sheriffs who intended to expel them from the town and attempted to blockade the entire town. If not for the fact that it was quite close to the national border where our valiant defenders were garrisoned, I might have long since died there."
In a voice tinged with fear, he added, "Unfortunately, I couldn't take the others along to cross the border. Neither were our soldiers allowed to rescue people by venturing into Taunton's territory. But those kind-hearted soldiers promised me that they would reach out to their counterparts in Taunton and inform them of this."
Clayton held his deeds in high regard. "You have done something wonderful. Even though you weren't awarded a medal, you've displayed the truly lofty spirit deserving of it."
He spared no praise for it, though such complimenting words were considered old-fashioned now. Joe scratched his head while showing an embarrassed smile.
"Anyway, during that period of time, have you ever seen some Extraordinary power in play?"
With a moment of hesitation, Joe cast a glance at Clayton and determined that he wasn't joking. "They claimed that they possessed such power, but I have never seen with my own eyes."
"Then, how did they catch up to you later on?" Clayton asked.
Since the garrisoned army at the border thwarted the Holy Grail Society's pursuit, Joe Mani must have pulled himself out of their sight. As long as he chose a good time to leave by train, nobody was supposed to catch up to him once more; there was no help, even with Clayton's Extraordinary sense of smell.
Joe had to admit ignorance. "Good question. That's something I don't know about either."
Instantly, a spark of inspiration hit Clayton.
"Then, do I need to do anything later?" Joe questioned.
"No, just keep going with your normal lifestyle." Then, Clayton pointed to the ceiling of the carriage, "But you have to look out for the sky."
"You mean that they train birds to track people?" Joe tried his best to make his guess sensible.
"Maybe."
Clayton looked out of the window and then turned back to Joe."By the way, where have you been living in recently?"
"Very near to the chapel." Joe said, "214 Mercy Street."
............
What Joe knew was very limited. But Clayton was certain that he had already learned how to find the traces left behind by his enemies.
He knew that the 'Broken-Winged Angel' was possibly one of their bases of operations, but the ability to mentally control others shattered any of his illusions of fighting them head-on over there. Such an ability could produce an army out of nowhere where necessary. As time dragged on, any attackers would find it hard to pull their feet free from a swallowing swamp.
He might well obtain the most important clue from the organization's surveillance method.
As an important target of the Holy Grail Society, Joe would be subjected to surveillance by its formal members, definitely not a mentally hypnotized outsider.
As long as he could capture the watcher, Clayton was confident that he would be able to coax the other formal members' locations out of the watcher ---- if the watcher stayed alive.
The hackney carriage took him back home, where he removed a large breech-loading rifle from the snowy-white wall in the study.
It was composed of a dark, sturdy barrel and a noble redwood stock, crawling with splendorous gold-plated patterns all over its body. Its length was almost on par with Clayton's stature, vertically standing on the ground while its muzzle reached the height of his eyebrows.
This was the latest firearm, named 'The Conqueror', a gift from the royalty that came with the Lauren War Distinguished Service Medal.
Its barrel had rifling, providing for an effective range of up to four hundred yards; a single shooting would break anyone's limb.
At the last stage of the Lauren War, some soldiers called 'Hunters' emerged on the battlefields. With such weapons, they performed tasks of sniping at horsemen and officers from across a long distance.
Both of the countries channeled a relatively small number of such soldiers into the battlefields.
For fear that the colonies would see uprisings with advanced weapons, the powers had reached a consensus ----- the military troops stationed in the colonies would be allowed to use only old flintlock weapons instead of the upgraded ones. Clayton was among the soldiers equipped with old weapons. Nonetheless, he had once practiced the latest ones after his retirement.
As a member of the cavalry that was mostly faced with melee combat, he had never gotten his shooting skill anywhere close to bringing the best out of the gun as the 'Hunters' did. However, he could at least hit a stationery human-shaped target within two hundred yards.
Tomorrow evening, he would play a hunter with this gun.
Perhaps due to his werewolf lineage, he was now bursting with anticipation at the mere thought of the expected hunt.
"Knock, knock."
The door in the living room was knocked.
Clayton, who was currently immersed in his fancy, was startled, instantly looking over his shoulder, his heart racing within his rib cage.
"Mr. Bello, your parcel has arrived."
It was the landlady who was speaking.
Clayton let out a breath of relief, placing 'The Conqueror' horizontally on the desk, and then walked over to open the door.
The post office presently operated in shifts even at nighttime, which was a blessing for those waiting for letters.
As an antique dealer, he had stayed in contact with several partners who collected antiques for him and a few old-time customers for a long time. Thereby, he would use mail services at a frequency higher than most people.
But this letter had nothing to do with his trade.
He took the paper bag for mailing from the landlady and noticed on its surface the name of the sender: Cuitisi Bello.
At last, this woman wrote back to him. This letter must contain the information that he had been longing for.
But considering Cuitisi's nasty history, Clayton's gratitude was greatly diminished.
Aside from their poor personal relationship, he remembered that he had sent holiday cards to his dearest niece, Donna Bello, during every important festival over the years but never received a greeting card from her. Apparently, this woman had kept Donna from doing so all the time.
She was the one who interfered with the two blood relatives meeting each other and even forbade her niece
from sending a greeting card to him.
This woman threw her weight around as Donna's mother, simply unbearable!
After taking the paper bag into the study, he, with a paper cutter, cut it open, from which he removed a letter and an old tome.
In no mood to read the book, Clayton unfolded the letter paper first.
In stark contrast to his letter, which was filled to the brim with words, this letter was written barely half full. Clayton didn't have to be told that Cuitisi didn't answer every question he brought up.
From the sheet a pungent smell of chemicals was issued. The setting in which Cuitisi Bellow wrote the letter was, nonetheless, unknown.
Even though his nose was protesting, Clayton still decided to read it.
"To the unlikable Clayton,"
"Your questions amuse me. Don't you remember the Fifth Taunton Division that you crossed swords with? Among them there were a large number of Beyonders, their 'horsemen'(crossed out)... knights all shared the ancient Legacy of the Knight, mastering the set of Extraordinary techniques. So ridiculous that you haven't realize this after engaging with them in so many battles..."
After recalling for a while, Clayton found himself stunned.
Dorne never boasted the mightiest cavalry; instead, Taunton's was crowned as such.
Back when he saw those horsemen who were donned in ancient armor and equipped with a sword, Clayton believed that it was part of a traditional custom in Taunton. After all, it was a very traditional country, titled "the country of knights".
Now that Cuitisi had reminded him, it dawned on him that to wear such hefty armor, which proved impenetrable to the shots from firearms, was nothing that ordinary folks could manage even after undergoing some training.
Over all those years dealing with them, he took them as commonplace horsemen and, hence, tuned this peculiarity out.