Turning to face the bodiless voice, he was greeted by two figures. The one who had spoken out had stark grey hair and emerald green eyes. The second trailing behind him had cloud-white hair and light blue irises hidden behind a silver monocle, with sharp black tattoos underneath his eyes.
He recognised the former as Eamon Stroud, and the latter as Adonis Trinder. They were underlings of a small crime organisation that operated out of Cobbler's Street. It was, after all, a place where no one would willingly go, and so it was the perfect place for them to stage their operations.
"So, will you be paying the toll today?" Eamon spoke with a grin, extending his palm as if greeding his emptied wallet.
"You know as well as I that I have nothing, Mr. Stroud." Lumière smiled softly. "What little I do have, apart from necessities, goes to the church so that the wretches that live on this street may eat. Would you wish to take away the food of a starving child? I didn't know the ideals of the Blackfeather Group had been twisted to this extent." Of course, this was a lie. He still had the collections from the attendants of the show hall tucked away in a hidden pocket in his coat. Just because he was someone who swindled others didn't mean he should allow himself to be swindled in return.
Eamon's brows furrowed, and he let out an audible 'tsk'. "Well, forget it. I'm just messing with you, anyway."
Lumière looked towards Adonis, who with a calm expression, trailed in the background like a loyal dog. He tipped his top hat towards the man, and Adonis quickly blushed and averted his gaze.
"Why are you so dirty, Mr. Croft?" Eamon asked of the magician. Lumière had been too lost in his thoughts to notice that during the fight against the monster, his clothes had become covered in mud and debris. The blood had been no issue. His coat was a dark-black colour for that very purpose. Still, it was clear that it had been soiled to a great degree.
'Damn it, I forgot something as simple as this… will Sister Alinde and Father Benedict notice this?'
Suddenly, shadows overtook the street bathed in lamplight. A large silhouette appeared behind the two, with eyes gleaming in the darkness like two rubies.
"I told you two time and time again." The silhouette scowled. "No Sisters, no Father, and no Magician shall be held up. Stop wasting his time with your nonsense."
The two underlings looked up with surprise towards the towering shadowy figure, their gazes darkening with anxiety as he spoke. Illuminated by the lamplight, the form of his carefully sculpted face with deep cheekbones came into view. He had midnight-black hair, bright red irises, and soft sepia skin. It was Constantine Adler, the leader of the Blackfeather Group.
The tall man grabbed hold of Eamon's collar, lifting him high into the air as he looked down towards Lumière. He wasn't nearly a giant, but he was surely taller than the magician by many heads.
"I'm sorry about them, Mr. Croft."
"Mr. Adler, it's no problem at all." Lumière smiled dejectedly. "It's nice to see you again. Were you able to find your sister?"
Constantine shook his head sadly, his gaze mellowing as he spoke.
"Valerie is still missing. It's been two weeks, so our Blackfeather Group has lost hope…"
Constantine's lips curled up humorously, and in a joking manner, he continued.
"By any chance, do you have any magic that can help us out?"
The show magician shrugged while shaking his head.
"Sadly, I only deal in doves and flames," Lumière spoke with pity in his voice. "But, I have two human eyes capable of watching the world, so I'll keep a lookout for your sister in the coming days. I'm sure she'll be found, so don't let your heart soften up too much."
Lumière stepped close beside Constantine, still looking onwards as he spoke softly into his ear.
"You're a leader of many, and the only glue that keeps this street afloat. Do not let this matter ruin you, Mr. Adler. Family is important, but you have even greater responsibilities to maintain." Lumière said seriously. "The church can feed the Dwindlers, but only you can sustain order in this lawless street."
Constantine's eyes widened for a moment but quickly returned to a serene and calm state as he smiled assuredly. He simply nodded towards Lumière, and leaving him behind, dragged Eamon on the ground as Adonis trailed quickly behind them. Before long, he turned his head back towards Lumière, who was still looking at him with pity and spoke in a gruff voice.
"May the Veridian star guide you."
Lumière waved his hand in objection before showing off an embarrassed smile.
"You know I'm not that devoted to the church. What star would choose to shine for me?" Lumière laughed.
Constantine smirked, and his laugh became a huff of breath, so he turned back around and continued walking towards the towering multi-layered streets of the lower borough stacks.
'That man is your 'sun' in this cruel world, Father Benedict. He is the hope you want to preach about.' Lumière teased inwardly. 'Although, I'm sure you wouldn't readily think the same of a crime boss.'
The Peacekeepers of Leiden rarely ventured into the lower borough. It was a place of crime, but as long as that crime stayed out of the middle and high boroughs, it was no matter they concerned themselves with. The entire population of the lower borough could die off, and it would have been a relief to them. Such chaos that tarnished their ideals of order was nothing more than nuisance.
In place of an organised police force, the citizens of Etten-Leur and Cobbler's street relied on Constantine Adler and his Blackfeather Group to maintain a semblance of order. Within the crime-ridden lower borough, rules still remained, and it was up to them to enforce them.
For years, due to the cooperation of the monastery on Cobbler's street and its proximity to the headquarters of the Blackfeather Group, as well as Constantine Adler's and his sister Valerie's love for magic shows, Lumière had become a close friend to him. This meant not only that Constantine constantly looked after the wellbeing of the magician, but that he was always looking to assist the monastery in their endeavours to help the Dwindlers of the lower borough.
It was a shame that Valerie had gone missing...
Soon, Lumière came to a broad grassy hillside in which the light of the lilac moon shone brightly, bathing the monastery in bright colours.
Stepping up the steps of the cobblestone pathway towards the Monastery's front door, Lumière let out a sigh of relief, brushing the excess dirt off of his coat.
Its stone architecture, although worn by centuries of age, was brilliant in its design. While he knew nothing of the mathematics and artisan's craftsmanship that went into building it, the Monastery of the Crown of Thorns within Cobblers Street was a spectacle. The brick towers on each end of the monastery stretched as high as a tree, the right-most tower holding up a large bronze bell that would ring out during sunrise, midday, and sunset. Of course, the nun in charge of ringing the bell was hard of hearing. It was unfortunate irony.
Because it was after sunset, the noise within the monastery had all but died down. In its many rooms, and upon its wooden floors, all who could fit were given space to sleep through the cold night, and a hot meal to warm their emptied, usually-frail stomachs. The rest bundled themselves together on the hillside, trying to stick close together to avoid the chill of the night.
So quietly, as to not wake anyone up, Lumière rested a hand upon the unlocked, rickety doorknob made of chilled copper, and crept with silent feet into the monastery.
'Finally, I'm home.'
Lumière crept past the bodies of the sleeping Dwindlers, up the staircase to the right of the main hall. It was cast in darkness, not a thing visible to his eyes. Still, he had spent enough years within the monastery's interior to be able to navigate off of memory alone. When he had reached the second floor, he walked down the hall, less cautious of making noise, and entered the bathroom to the left. He reached up above him and turned the knob on an electric wall lamp mounted with shoddy brass fittings.
In recent times, the Church of Thorns had begun to renovate every monastery, abbey, and cathedral in majour cities. The monastery on Cobbler's street had been one of the last to receive electrical innovation, but it came around eventually. Often times, when the weather grew bad, as it usually was, the electricity would fail to function. Luckily for Lumière, that was not one of those nights.
He made his way over to the sink, turning the faucet handle and allowing the ice-cold water to flow out. He washed the dirt off of his face and neck and let out a sigh of relief. While the wounds on his arm and leg still stung, he decided not to deal with them for the time-being. The knife given to him by Thomas Hawthorne had looked relatively clean, and if the teeth of the human-amalgamation had carried any disease, it was likely that cleaning the wound any further than he already had would do nothing more for him.
As Lumière looked at himself in the cracked mirror of the bathroom, he felt a shiver go down his spine. He grimaced, staring at himself in the mirror.
The 'him' staring back at him was smiling.
As Lumière saw the sight of the figure that resembled him, his vision grew dark, and he soon after fell unconscious.