Nigel composed himself. This is nonsense, he thought to himself. An Oracle, prophesizing that five people would come to the aid of the Church of the Holy Family. And if it were so, it certainly wouldn't be us, he thought, looking over his shoulder at Orla, Doctor Holmes, Artimis, and Sandor.
"Did you do any other divinations?" he asked. "Did you learn anything more, uh, specific?"
"Yes," Sebastien said. "We were quite concerned that the Quatarian sect might have had something to do with this. We learned, however, that they did not. We learned that the attack was directed at Altamaic specifically, and was targeted for a reason other than being the the acolyte on duty that night. We know they did not steal anything beyond his robe, and we know that the attacker means no further direct harm to the Church of the Holy Family."
"Well, that's good, then," Nigel replied uncertainly. "Did the Oracle say anything further regarding the five who would come to help?"
Sebastien hesitated. "I'm not sure I can reveal that. I am not certain that I believe that your and your friends are the five prophecied."
Nigel walked over to Doctor Holmes, and looked on as Orla and Sandor spoke with Altamaic. Artimis had wandered off somewhere, and was nowhere to be seen.
Doctor Holmes flipped open a small notebook, filled with notations. Nigel could certainly tell from the handwriting that he was a pharmacist by profession; either that or a madman. Somehow the Doctor could make out the scratchings.
"Let's see," Doctor Holmes began. "The name Altamaic is something he took upon joining the priesthood. Family name is Meyers. Father works for the Bank of England, something to do with imports and exports."
"He's been volunteering for the latest shifts, by the way."
"I see," Nigel said, with a grin. "And why might that be?"
"A woman, of course," Orla replied, walking up. "Gwyneth, specifically. Long dark hair, green eyes. An older woman, apparently. All of twenty-two or so. Very flash, as they say. East Ender. Always enjoyed spending time with Altamaic in the Church's menagerie."
"They have a menagerie here?" Nigel asked.
"Yes, they keep sacred animals," Sandor replied. "Artimis went that way as soon as he heard about it."
They made their way towards the menagerie. Along the way, Orla filled in more details. Altamaic and Gwyneth would exchange messages by leaving them under a rock by the back gate; he didn't know where she lived or much about her; they had only been seeing each other for about two weeks.
The Church's collection of animals was extensive. Each of the five members of the family had their sacred animals, in most cases more than one. Artimis was making friends with several of the dogs, which were apparently sacred to the Son.
"She was fond of the puppies, apparently," Orla said, rolling her eyes.
"Laddie here remembers Gwyneth," Artimis said, standing up and brushing the dirt from his trousers, and indicating an irish wolfhound. "She apparently wore quite a bit of perfume."
"I see," Nigel said, silently counting on his fingers. "How many days has it been since the attack? I wonder if Laddie could catch any scent after this much time?"
"It's possible," Artimis responded, starting to open the kennel. Sandor stopped him.
"You cannot simply take one of the holy animals," he protested.
Artimis looked confused. Orla took matters into her own hands, and went looking for one of the priests. She cornered a young priest of the Son, and explained the situation.
"We're hoping to track down the person responsible for the attack on Altamaic," she said. "If we could just borrow Laddie for a few hours, it might be an immeasurable help."
"I'm not sure that would be possible," the young man stammered. "I, uh, I'll have to check with my superiors."
He left the five investigators there to wait while he went back to the main Church building. It seemed like an hour until he returned. Orla could not read the expression on his face as he approached, he seemed slightly bewildered.
The priest went to the cage, let Laddie out, attached a leash, and handed it to Orla.
"There," he said. "He is a gift to you."
"What?" Orla replied, caught completely by surprise. "We only need to borrow him for a few hours!"
"We insist. He can serve us best by helping you."
"Very well, then. To whom do we owe this great honor?"
The priest looked confused. "The Oracle, of course."
"Of course," Orla muttered. "Well, let's get cracking."
Laddie proved to be quite an adept tracker, led by Artimis. He caught a scent of Gwyneth's perfume just outside the Church compound's walls, and followed it unerringly down the London streets, despite all the olfactory competition. Nigel noted that the trail was leading them back towards Highgate.
Finally, Artimis and Laddie lost the trail. Laddie was distracted by a fish-monger not far from Highgate Cemetery. He seemed unable to regain the trail. Nigel stopped, and looked down the streets in each direction, getting his bearings. He stepped up to the fish-monger.
"Sir, I'm looking for a young lady that might frequent these parts. She's pretty, in her twenties, long dark hair, green eyes. Does she sound familiar?"
The fish-monger shook his head. "Cood be any noomber of folk," he replied.
"Her name is Gwyneth," Sandor offered.
"Oh, Gwyneth! She a pretty bird, she is. She lives in the ol' mansion just down that way," he said pointing down the street.
Th investigators looked down the street, and groaned as with one voice.
The mansion he was pointing at was the Green Dagger headquarters they had just broken into the night before.
