On the Steps of St Fiacre's
Before he began working for the Bishop of Southwark, Henrik had been better-acquainted with the dome of St Fiacre's than the interior of the cathedral--but for a brief stint above a bookseller's in Elderwick, he has lived and attended church primarily on the south bank of the Stolen River. St Fiacre's is proximate to the Labyrinth, though, and Henrik has recently become acquainted with the choristers and the organists (and supplied them with unearthly, golden-haired baritones, still fresh-skinned as babes). He has taken to sitting in on evening services, after his work at the Labyrinth, and the solemn music and dim stained-glass windows rouse in him an unaccustomed tranquility of spirit. The Anglicans know pageantry better than the Lutherans of his homeland; they know that art engages the feeling soul, and use it to direct that soul to God.
He emerges from the cathedral after an excellent sermon, resettling his jacket about his shoulders. He is little attending to the people who follow him out, less attending to the people on the street beyond.
He emerges from the cathedral after an excellent sermon, resettling his jacket about his shoulders. He is little attending to the people who follow him out, less attending to the people on the street beyond.