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“Does this place look familiar?”
“Not this one, nor any other.”
Clearly, this damned amnesia of his isn't going to help us.
The only link between this village and him is the manor. Somehow, I'm going to have to find what we're looking for there.
“My body,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly filled with nostalgia. “I can't let them have it.”
“You won't be doing much with it, you know...”
“They can still root out my sins and compel me to leave this world, if I believe what you've told me.”
He has a point there.
“You've got to get it back,” he says, without worrying about demanding more than I can give him.
“You've got to be kidding. How do you expect me to carry around a body?”
“We'll find some way,” he continues evasively.
Some way; he's a funny one! Between us, the only one with a tangible body to carry his is me! So, he expects the solution to come from me, whatever it takes. But does he care what I risk if I'm caught stealing the remains of an unregistered stiff? I'm not sure that my clandestine status will have any influence on the penalty, but theft and concealment of human remains, added to the practice of my profession, suggests that I'll end up at the end of a lethal injection.
Stop kidding yourself. You've already been doomed for a while!
I'm used to talking to myself, but I'm not sure I'm alone in my head anymore. In any case, the observation remains the same: I don't belong to those who die of old age in their sleep.
“First, we'll take a look at your body.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
In order to become a Sin Eater, I concentrate on my notes and try to gather my memories. It's necessary to be as precise as possible and to obtain the tools that most closely resemble what I think I saw in my dreams.
Once again, I wander the alleys of my city, looking for an esoteric store.
I've never really understood why anyone would be interested in this kind of thing, even though I've always been convinced of the existence—in one form or another—of magic. Ultimately, perhaps the one we call God is a manifestation of it.
In any case, at the outset, I had no idea where to get the items I needed for my upcoming ceremony. So this kind of business seems appropriate, hoping that the proprietor knows a thing or two about it. And that he's anything but a mediocre charlatan.
Eltz's journal
6
The Ghost
“The way is clear!”
“Are you sure?” she insists, her voice hesitant. “No mutts?”
“No whats?”
“Dogs. Where did you come from?”
Never mind. It's obvious that I don't know a tenth of her vocabulary; we obviously don't come from the same world.
“No dog, I assure you,” I confirm, scanning the gloom.
