Rai slipped into the main hall of the temple, all but unnoticed among the crowd gathered to hear this week’s sermon from the High Priestess.
It was the usual drivel; service to the church, service to the crown, a humble life is a holy life, so work hard and give all your money to me.
She didn’t actually say the last part but it was a clear message nonetheless, at least to Rai’s ears.
As a blessed master crafter, Rai was exempt from the obligatory tithes and taxes, but was strongly encouraged to set an example of voluntary contributions.
Such a pity she was more of a crafter than business person, and rarely turned a profit on her exquisite wooden carvings and furniture.
Rai merged into the back part of the crowd, blending in easily, she was a worker like them after all, not one of the merchants in their fine silks and velvets, hovering behind the chairs of the nobility. The nobles sat attentively, or appeared to. Rai’s conversations with certain members of that group opened her eyes to a constant movement of hands, fans, and heads in the front section of the main hall. The droning monotony of the priestess’s oration, rarely changing in pace, tone, or even content, week to week, made an easy cover for covert communication.
Now where was Tyler?
The DNA of Stories 