Seek­ing Sanc­tu­ary

Some­one isn’t telling the whole truth in this grip­ping short story by H. John­son-Mack.

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heavy dig­ging.”

Con­stantina smiled. “You’re more than wel­come. What­ever we can do for the ladies of

Langlois, Alain and I of­fer gladly. Which re­minds me, I must pay a visit to the Rev­erend Mother be­fore I leave.”

“And I should be get­ting back to my lit­tle king­dom be­fore Nones.” Ur­sula sighed. “No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

Con­stantina hardly heard her; she was con­cen­trat­ing on some­thing over the nun’s shoul­der.

“It ap­pears you are about to have guests, my dear,” she ob­served.

Ur­sula fol­lowed her gaze to­ward the en­trance gates, where two trav­ellers were be­ing ad­mit­ted; one young and rather hand­some in cler­i­cal robes, the other seem­ingly his beast of bur­den, laden down with trav­el­ling bags and a sour ex­pres­sion.

At that mo­ment, the cleric glanced in their di­rec­tion and, catch­ing sight of an ob­vi­ous no­ble­woman in the court­yard, sketched a stately bow.

“And rather in­ter­est­ing ones, by all ap­pear­ances,” Con­stantina re­marked in an aside to Ur­sula, ac­knowl­edg­ing the cour­tesy.

Ur­sula watched the new ar­rivals ac­cept the quiet wel­come of Sis­ter

Cather­ine, Langlois’s al­moness.

They then fol­lowed her to the guest-house tucked be­hind the gates, Dour-face peer­ing about him with poorly dis­guised cu­rios­ity.

“As you say,” she mur­mured.

She was as in­ter­ested as any­one else by folk, es­pe­cially strangers. And with his air of seren­ity and an­gelic face, the cleric

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