Strange paintings. An unexpected cleric. The joy of bread and butter. A fear of ghosts. Treasure!

Sal was hoping for the best. Ideally, he’d get inside, the Ponti would be gone, and he’d simply waltz down into the crypts and nab the treasure. He’d talked to a crypt raider back when he’d been alive who said that there was a veritable goldmine below the Yeshu of the Book’s chapel in the religious district, back when Confusion Street had been the barracks and training ground of his Gorbin army. The chapel had been kept there to avoid angering the gods.

That hadn’t worked, given the Godspear Tower that had pierced the city’s center and destroyed his palace. And killed Kenny in the process.

Entering into the church, Sal noticed the thick stone walls kept a great deal of the heat outside. As did the fact that half the building was underground. He descended the steps and had to pause to let his eyes adjust to darkness.

Candles on the walls flickered under paintings of the Sacred Family, mostly of Yeshu, who was in various stages of writing books, or holding books, or purchasing books with his Deux Coin. The god’s face was angular and stylized, and his hands were equally ornate.

Betty noticed it. “Weird paintings! And why aren’t they keeping them touched up? Weird or not, you’d think the church would wanna preserve their art.”

“Do not pose such questions to me,” Sal replied. “I have been deceased for a millennia.”

Sal reached the bottom of the steps where there was a semi-circle of prayer benches surrounding the central statue, which was carved by the same artist who did the Yeshu out front. This one was the studious Yeshu, holding a book in one hand and pointing upward with his other hand. In his palm was his Deux Coin.

Candles and flowers and books filled two tables on either side of the central statue.

To the left was the Ponti’s quarters. Not only would he live there, but he would also talk to the faithful or prepare for services. To the right, behind an iron gate, were steps down to the crypt. Even from a distance, Sal could see there was no lock.

The place was empty! Such luck! Sal couldn’t help but feel a sense of destiny as he started for the iron gate. He expected to see a warning message about his Karmic Gauge, but nothing came.

A second later, the Ponti of the chapel came out of his quarters. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and handsome. surprisingly so. Most of the priests that Sal had ever met were big, round, and doughy. Not this person. His chest muscles swelled his tunic. His biceps bulged.

The Ponti’s noteworthy face brightened. He came forward and bowed. “A visitor, in the mid-day, and normally, we’re closed, and I was just going for the door. I was going to nap. Ah, a nap, to refresh one’s senses and to bring a new joy to one’s life.”

Sal wanted to joke, or ask why this young man was wasting the best years on a church that clearly didn’t enjoy the power it once had, or comment on the man’s thick eyelashes.

Sal glanced down to see that Betty had ducked deep into his pocket.

The Ponti seemed to take it as a sign of humbleness. He touched Sal’s arm and then seemed to catch himself and took several steps back. “Please, friend, feel free to stay and pray. Or are you seeking guidance? For Yeshu of the Book is very good at guidance. So much guidance!”

Sal found himself with a million questions. He surprised himself by asking something a little bluntly. “Are you good at guidance?”

The Ponti blanched. “Uh, well, I try to be. Truth is, I don’t have as many opportunities as I’d like to provide guidance. I do provide bread for the hungry. I’m good at that. Would you like some bread? I have some butter to go along with it. Believe me, you’d be doing me a favor if you had a little.”

This was not what Sal had come for, not at all. He didn’t need charity from some strangely handsome priest. However, both his stomach and his mind leapt at the idea of a little bread with butter.

“Yes,” Sal found himself saying. “I do believe such a repast might quell the complaints of my tyrannical belly.”

The Ponti titled his head. “Come again, good sir?”

He heard Betty squeak out a chuckle.

“Yes, I would like some bread and butter.”

The handsome man waved him on. “Then come with me, good traveler.”

In short order, Sal sat down at a little table, in what could only be described as a library. Shelves were crammed with books of all kinds, and there were several scrolleries set into the wall. Among the books were a cupboard, a table, a little stove, and a bed. Vestments hung on the wall, and there were more pictures of Yeshu, though he looked more scholarly than divine. They weren’t not the stylized paintings like in the chapel proper.

The Ponti cut off a hunk of dark bread, slathered on the last of the butter, and then cut a little for himself. Both slices, one massive and one little, ended up on two blue plates, both with a splinter of cracks that added to their charm.

The Ponti also poured them both little wooden cups of wine. He came over and sat down. “I’m Ponti Fabrizio, but you don’t have to be all that formal with me. Ponti, or Fabrizio is fine, but please, don’t call me Rizzo. I mean, if you do call me Rizzo, I won’t stop you, but it’s not a name I particularly like.”

Sal sipped the wine first—it was weak and watered down, and yet, the sweetness was so very pleasant. His heart sang inside of him. He’d been far thirstier than he’d first thought. He took a bite of the bread. It had such flavor, a deep, dark rye that was unapologetically strong. With the creamy butter, it was a perfect meal.

Before he knew it, Sal had finished the entire piece without saying a word. Had he shoved it down too fast? Had he eaten like an animal? Where were his manners? He was shocked by his own unrestrained appetite.

Fabrizio shot to his feet. “Well, sir, it seems you were very hungry indeed! Sorry I’m totally out of butter. But here, let me get you another hunk. I have a bit of ham to add to the feast.”

It felt like a feast. How could that be? Why, it was better than Earl’s squab!

The Ponti returned with the food. This time, Sal stopped himself from eating like a spring bear. The ham was old, salty, and tough as leather. Still, it might have been the best thing Sal had ever eaten. He’d forgotten how it was to be hungry. In truth, he’d rarely been hungry, even on the lengthiest of campaigns.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

After more wine, he said simply, “I promise to refrain from calling you Rizzo. I’m…Salvang—” he realized he had nearly said his full name. “I’m Sal Fang.” It was kind of a ridiculous name. Too late to change it. Was it ridiculous? He kind of liked how it rolled off his tongue. It was better than Sal Ord, and much safer.

“Good to meet you, Sal,” the Ponti said, then nibbled and sipped. It was clear he was just eating so Sal didn’t have to eat alone.

“Well met, your grace.” Sal winced. Was that too formal?

Fabrizio laughed. “No one says that anymore. You must be new in town. Where do you come from? I can’t place the accent, and the way you talk is so strange. Oh boy, I’m sorry. I don’t want to insult you. Now, let’s talk guidance. How can I guide you?”

Sal wasn’t insulted, and he didn’t want guidance, especially from a Ponti. He’d never been religious at all, no, not when he had an inside information on the gods and goddesses and how truly strange and imperfect they were. Carrying around one of the primeval objects of power in the universe did that to a person.

At the same time, Sal was grateful for the meal. Maybe he’d ask for guidance he didn’t need. What he really needed was to get down to the crypt, to grab the treasure, and get out of there. Then he wouldn’t need a handout. He’d buy feasts, real feasts for himself, and for Betty, of course. He couldn’t forget the mouse in his pocket.

She would have plenty of room in the palace that he was going to purchase. Maybe.

“I am new in town. In a sense,” Sal added quickly, careful not to lie. Grief City was new to him, and it wasn’t even called that anymore. Tower City, that was the name, and for a good reason. “I come from…another time, if I am to be honest. Verily, that is how I feel.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” The Ponti put up a hand. “I only ask that because, you know, I want to help. While the Rat’s Den is packed full, there are rooms in other parts of the city. You wouldn’t be able to stay long because, well, Tower City is full to bursting!”

“I have accommodations. I have taken over the old tavern in Dark Lord Square.” He grimaced. “Not that it’s called that anymore. The Champion’s Plaza, there. It’s very deserted, which I find strange.”

Fabrizio shook his head. “Oh boy, but the Plaza is haunted. Everyone knows that. It’s cursed, especially that old tavern, though I forget the specifics. Maybe it’s because of the Dark Lord and all that Dark Lording he did. Not sure, though. I think it might be something else. Anyway, how did you find yourself there?”

“It is a long story.” Sal paused. Like he thought, he was able to duck many of Fabrizio’s questions. However, he needed some sort of backstory that wasn’t an outright lie, though he’d grown up on Tower Island. It was where he’d been born, and it had been where he’d died. The first time.

Sal let out a breath. “As for guidance, I know there is magic to make deals with demons and ghosts, though the thought troubles me.” He’d made deals with ghosts and demons before, that wasn’t the issue. He was troubled because he didn’t have the magic to solve the problem himself. Darn locked Diagraff.

Fabrizio frowned. “Well, if a guy has some faith, you know, a little faith, he can gently suggest ghosts move on. As for curses, again, a guy could probably get Yeshu to help. You know, light a little incense, do a little blessing, that kind of thing.”

“How much would that cost?” Sal asked, thinking that back in his day, the local Ponti would charge in full gold coinage.

Fabrizio frowned like he might never smile again. “Oh, it would be free, of course. I wouldn’t charge.”

“Would I be so bold to assume that you will provide this service for me?” Sal asked.

“Will I do it?” Fabrizio shot to his feet. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t. You’re not in my ward. That would be Pontra Genetrix, from the Church of the Sacred Family. You probably wouldn’t want to ask her, though, because she’s so busy! I have the time. I mean, I serve dinners at the Mind & Body Tables in the evening, and if you’re still hungry, you’re welcome there. And I have prayers in the morning to attend to, yeah, and I’d love to have you there as well because, uh, attendance is sparse. But this time of day? I am very, very, very free.”

Sal motioned for the Ponti to sit. “Again, from your speech, I take it that you will aid me in dealing with the specters haunting my tavern. Café. My cursed café. Since the Pontra is too busy.”

The handsome Ponti sat. “Yes, well, I should probably get her permission, but really, Mr. Fang, I’m not sure. You see, I’m not good with…” he glanced around “ghosts. My heart would fail me, and then, you know the stories, they come and kill me, and I become a ghost, and then I wouldn’t be able to help people with bread and guidance. In short, I am terrified of ghosts.”

Sal wanted to blink his eyes at this man and wanted to call him a coward. How could a holy priest be afraid of ghosts? This was an odd turn of events, truly. Instead, he kept all emotions off his face. “This is the service I need, Ponti. Perhaps if you know you are helping me, you will find your courage. And your faith. For how can we secular folk believe in the power of the Sacra Famiglia if their representatives on Allbreath fail in their faith?”

Was he being too forward? Had he just insulted the Ponti? This all felt so delicate. He hadn’t needed to be diplomatic in a long time. Having a Deux Coin let one speak one’s mind without any consequences.

But Ponti chuckled. “Sacra Famiglia? That’s a term I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve got to tell me where you’re from. Please. You seem so, I don’t know, traditional. And the way you talk is like poetry.”

“Bad poetry,” Betty muttered from Sal’s pocket.

That stung.

Again, Sal tried to think of a way to phrase things so he wouldn’t be lying, but nothing came to mind. All he had was the truth. That wouldn’t work because followers of Yeshu pretty much loathed Alikor and his sects. No one liked the Bad Dad, or that was what most people called Alikor, Yeshu’s father and Madra’s no-account husband.

“If you help me with my cursed café, then yes, I will tell you all about myself.” Sal didn’t like making the promise, but he felt cornered in some strange way by this strange priest. He added quickly, “Do not think of it as payment. Think of it as a pleasant surprise. One thing though, what are Mind & Body Tables?”

The Ponti exhaled with relief, then tittered. “Oh, they’re like a soup kitchen, only they involve books as well.”

Sal glanced around, and there were plenty of books to choose from. “So will you offer me succor for my cursed woes?”

Fabrizio closed one eye. “I think I understand what you’re saying, uh, about succoring and woes and curses. Let me ponder it and pray about it. If I see the Pontrafax Genetrix, I’ll ask her, but again, she’s so busy!”

Sal wanted to ask about Fabrizio’s family, and why he wasn’t married. He didn’t have the marriage ring on any of his fingers. Sal wouldn’t suppose he’d have any trouble finding a wife, though maybe things had changed drastically.

The church didn’t seem to have the same power as it did back when he’d been alive. The Alikor Acolytes had been an important part of Sal’s arsenal, not so much on the battlefield, but as a way to raise money and to make his empire more legitimate, as far as evil empires went. It was very complicated.

The Ponti looked pained about the interchange, though it seemed it was mostly shame about his fear of ghosts. He brightened his face with a smile. “But I don’t think you came for bread and guidance. Something tells me you came for another reason.”

Sal’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Verily, I did. I came seeking treasure.”

Finally, he could tell the absolute truth.

Fabrizio laughed good-naturedly, his cheeks showing dimples. “Oh boy, that’s something I can’t help you with.”

Sal joined in laughing, though he felt himself sweat a little. “I seek the treasures of joy and security in the arms of the Sacred Family, and the wealth they provide.” He was riding the edge between the truth and lie.

He waited for the pain in his chest.

Nothing happened except the Ponti laughed. “That I can help you with. This is your home. Go where you like. I have an errand to attend you, and to show I have nothing to steal, I will leave you alone.”

Sal’s smile was as genuine as could be. “It was both a surprise and a joy to meet you, Ponti Fabrizio Pasha. If I am not mistaken, I think perhaps you and I could be friends.”

Again, his genuine enthusiasm was honest.

And he was rewarded for his honesty. A message appeared.

<<<>>>

Friends are awesome! Karmic Gauge increased by 4%. The Ponti likes you! That’s huge! Do more of that, and you will be rewarded.

Current Karmic Gauge: 6% (A little brighter of a red)

<<<>>>

Sal felt his heart swell with warmth. He liked being rewarded.