"What do you think of the three inspectors?" Grandfather asked, as he pretended to read ledgers.
His most loyal guard, Sir Wilrick stood next to him, unmoving as a statue.
"Two of them are inspectors but I think the third one is an exorcist," Marco replied with confidence.
"How could you tell? Enlighten me, I'm not blessed with holiness."
Marco was not sure why Grandfather, the Earl of Gallagher, summoned him here. But based on his dark countenance as he feigned disinterest, he must be upset. The Vermilon family name was being dragged to the mud after all. But he had always given Marco some sort of authority to act on his own as the next in line.
"It's a gut feeling. If he has holy power, he is pretty good in hiding it. But he is clearly different than the other two. And he might be after Lucas for a different reason."
Grandfather's head perked up at the mention of Lucas. "I forgot you gave it a name. Well, it's good you think you have some sort of insight and inference. We'll see if you're right. And maybe we can also deal with that thing that you call your brother."
"If there are no other matters then, I'll take my leave."
It was right before twilight that Marco spotted the light inside Lucas's building.
Discreetly, Marco took the back door and walked under the eaves to avoid unnecessary eyes. There was a path he always took that encountered the least people. He dashed under the cover of a line of trees, making for the stable by which time the servants should have finished feeding the horses.
He rapped at the window to Lucas's room.
It opened to reveal a ghastly pale lad with bright golden hair - brighter than the blond hair that Marco had. Lucas had a striking feature where there was a black streak on the locks that covered a part of his eye.
"I felt you coming," he said with a smile. He looked sweaty and there were twigs and dirt stuck to his robe. He had gone through the thicket.
"Where have you been?" Marco said sternly.
"Did you enter here? Who were you with? I saw three more distinct footprints." His complexion saddened. Marco still could not tell if he was enraged.
"They want to talk to you. But i should ask, as your brother, what happened to Father Pietro?"
"Oh, he's already here," said a voice that was far too unpleasant. Philip stalked through the unkempt grass, a smoking pipe lodged in his hand. The other two were far behind, panting.
Philip leaned over the window, "Hello there, we were told that you had some contact with Father Pietro prior to his passing. Could we have a talk?"
"Hi, I'm Lucas," Lucas greeted them. "I had. I'd like to invite you in but there are no chairs here.
"I think the Main Residence is a better place to talk," Ivan suggested.
Lucas looked to Marco. Mother will be delirious if she sees him. "I think Lucas's bedroom has enough space. Sorry for the poor hospitality."
Ivan and Greg were confused but Philip understood. "Well, it can't be helped."
The three of them slumped on the bed, with room for but one more. Lucas took the small chair by the desk while Marco stood at the door. In the darkening light, the wounds on the corridor walls looked more foreboding, sharper and closer. Marco tried not to mind them.
"My aplogies, young master, but can we talk to Lucas alone?" Ivan pleaded.
"No." You might hurt him. He might hurt you. "I'll stay here. You are inside the Vermilon Residence only under my permission."
They seemed taken aback. "Oh-we did not mean to offend. Then we shall proceed."
Marco was flustered. But Lucas seemed tranquil. Is he happy that I'm here? Or that there are more people in his room? Did the priest's death even matter to Lucas if they were acquainted?
"How did he die?" To their surprise, it was Lucas who asked the first question. Did he not know? Is he pretending?
Ivan let out a cough and replied, "He fell down the stairs."
"Really? He said he'd probably die choking on smoke from a pipe like that one." He pointed to Philip who lowered the pipe from his mouth.
A threat? It did not improve the air in the room at all.
"You were seen with him an hour before the accident. Can you tell us the purpose of your meeting?"
"He lent me this book," he said, holding up a biology text.
"Is that all? You met him that day just for that?"
Lucas nodded, "Yes, that is all."
A lie. This one Marco was certain. A part of the holy power gave the person an ability to discern dishonesty. Philip tapped on the headboard twice, probably also aware.
"And where were you when it happened?" Philip asked.
"On my way back home."
Truth.
"Who accompanied you on your way back?" Ivan probed.
"No one. I was alone."
A lie, Marco's holy instinct told him. Philip tapped on the headboard twice again.
"How about the coachman? Surely you would have some company."
"I walked home. I didn't use a coach."
Truth. If he traversed the Pilgrim Road by foot to the Residence, it would take him at least three hours.
"Why did you walk home?"
"I don't have money to pay for a carriage." Unfortunately, he was disowned. The only reason Grandfather let him stay was because he was still young. But in a year or more, they would drag him out of the residence if that was what it would take to get rid of him.
"Well, isn't it dangerous for a young man like you to tread the Road by yourself?" Philip questioned.
"It's okay, people usually avoid me."
Marco did not need a talent to discern that that was true.
"Seems to me, your family doesn't like you." Philip uttered.
Marco flinched, annoyed yet helpless because it was true. Even Marco himself was not sure if he himself watched over Lucas with pity or with that faint hope of bringing back the good old times when his face was scar-free and Lucas was indisputably innocent.
The inspector's remark made Lucas quiet, his pale frame caving in. Then with a breath, he straightened his back again, saying, "Do you have any more questions? It's getting dark."
"Where were you earlier today?" Philip asked.
Lucas was reluctant for a second but answered, "I visited him."
"His grave?" Ivan said, surprised.
Lucas nodded. Truth.
Greg asked, "What is your relationship with Father Pietro? Are you very close?"
"We don't meet often. Only when I come out to the capital. Once a month, even less."
"How did you meet him?"
Lucas paused and stared in mid-air. "Ah, I can't remember."
"Can you try to recall?"
He kneaded his brows in effort. "I don't know. I can't remember."
Truth. Philip's eyes rounded, intrigued.
"When did you first meet?"
"I-I can't remember. I'm sorry." Truth.
"Why can't you remember?"
"I…I…I… forgot."
Marco had an inkling. But he was not entirely sure if it was Father Pietro then. He was too young to exactly recall; Lucas, younger even.
A ginger-haired boy was lying on the ground, dying. They called in a priest with a decent holy power to heal him but by the time he arrived, it was too late.
Then the next day Vermilon almost lost its power. When Lucas was disowned, everything went back to normal, nearly.
The inspectors would probably find out soon enough, if they dug deeper the stories surrounding the Ghost of Vermil. In his defense, Marco had done more than his fair share. Whether they prove Lucas's involvement or not would be up to them.
"I think you've asked enough. I hope you've found your answers."
"Some of them, thanks to you, young master." Ivan stood up. The other two copied him. "I hope you found your answers too."
"Will you come again?" Lucas got to his feet.
"If there is a need to. But I feel like we'll meet again, very soon." Philip said, talking to Marco than to the other. "Thank you, young master, for allowing us here. But I wonder what your motive is."
"I have no motive."
As the other two inspectors were out of earshot, Philip whispered close to Marco, "You seem to care for your brother but just little enough to not endanger your own position. Isn't that sanctimonious of you?" Then more loudly he said, "Well, good luck in your studies. I hear you want to become a Holy Officer of the kingdom. You have the talent for it. But make sure to tie all loose ends." He looked right back at Lucas.
Marco followed Philip to the door and spoke, "I know you doubt Lucas's identity. I understand." After seeing all those marks on the walls, they were surely convinced. The Vermilons could be harboring not a ghost but a demon. "There is a way to check. I know that you know that he wasn't lying about his visit to the priest's grave."
"Ah I see what you're getting into. You're smarter than I thought. And here I was unwittingly resigned to the idea that you were blinded by familial affection for a little brother." Philip gazed at his scar, blowing puffs from his pipe. "Then I'll contact you, out of kindness and recognition of this… resolve. Fitting of a holy scholar indeed."