James looked around. Nobody in sight. He went down on one knee in the direction of the altar and put his hand on his head and then wiped it over his body trying to imitate what he had seen other people do. He walked over to a pew, knelt down and folded his hands, but looked around again. Still no one in sight. 

He sneaked over to one of the smaller altars that had several candles burning on it. He blew them out and quickly gathered the candles. Nice ones these ones were too. Not the smoky or smelly type. The wax dripped on his hand, but that was a small sacrifice.

"Thanks, baby Jesus," he whispered.

The church was quiet, save for a few distant footsteps in the nave and the shuffling of folding fabrics. Malachi was still unused to such silence. Whitby was smaller than anywhere he had lived, even with all of its tourists, and he had not yet adjusted to the difference. He did not long for chaos nor the clamor of too many voices, but a church was meant to live, to breathe, to sing.

Setting aside the folded vestments, Malachi turned and departed from the sacristy. His steps were quiet, as they always were, and his hands clasped behind his back out of habit. There was only a child here, he noted, as he passed through the aisles in slow approach. A child that was... holding candles? From... right. He must have taken them from the altar. These people needed his help more than he had even thought.

"Careful," warned Malachi. "You'll burn your hands."

A gasp. He dropped the candles. One of them broke in two. He quickly gathered them up and put them on the altar, before looking at the approaching priest. "I... was just makin' sure they wouldn't cause a fire, ser, father... mister," he muttered.

"Father," swiftly confirmed Malachi, unperturbed by the child's clumsy hands. The small altar, cluttered now with the returned candles, was given only a glance before his attention turned back to the boy. He was yet to meet everyone that attended services, but he was not sure that he had seen this child at all, until now.

There were plenty of things to ask him. Why he had really grabbed the candles, for one, and why he thought to lie and cover up his taking so blatantly. Instead, Malachi took a step closer and asked, "What is your name? Why are you here alone?"

James took a step back a the priest stepped forward. Would the man believe that he was past school age? "Bram Ward," he lied. "I just came in for..." What did they do in church? "For confession. I'm very religious, you see?" His eyes darted to the door. The nearest aisle was too far away. He was quick, but the priest was a lot taller.

Of course, the boy was here to confess. Whether Malachi believed him or not was unclear; his face displayed only his indifference for the matter. This Bram Ward hardly looked old enough to be wandering about on his own, and he was not about to turn anyone away from his church, regardless of their intentions.

"I see," he agreed, "and you must have noticed the candles burning along your way."

With a slight dip of his head, Malachi lifted a hand and gestured to the confessional.

"Penance is an important thing, Mister Ward, and I would be happy to listen now."

"Yes. Yes! That's it!" James confirmed, glad that the priest was so gullible.

"Who-? -oh." Oh no! Was he supposed to confess now? He didn't know how to do that. "Errr...." He thought quickly and looked around. "But I have to pee first," he tried.

"Oh?"

Malachi's brows lifted, and his hand returned to its comfortable hold behind him. The child was a slippery one, but he did not appear to be all that determined to call him out on his list of excuses. In his experience, berating a child for such things did not bring them any closer to God, no matter how far away they were from him to start.

No, this boy must have been in some sort of need, to resort to stealing candles from the altar. If Malachi wanted him to ever return, he could not scare him off -- not anymore than his somewhat imposing stature could really help.

"Of course. I can wait," assured Malachi. Stepping aside, he continued, "will you be taking the candles with you, then? In case they catch fire in the meantime. I would not want the church to burn down before I hear your confession."

James looked from the priest to the candles. Was he cooperating? And then something happened that he didn't normally experience while nicking stuff: He felt kind of bad.

He looked at the candles. His parents really would like them though.

"Uhm... Maybe I can just take two and you can watch the others. I can't hold so many when I pee."

Patiently, Malachi observed the child's face, and the way he glanced between the candles and the priest himself. Weighing his options, he supposed. He wondered if this Bram Ward expected punishment, if that was the risk he had to weigh before he had reached for the candles; if it was so routine that the consequences no longer mattered.

Malachi hummed, nodding once. Looking back to the altar, he said, "yes, you're right. I can look after the others."

Setting the broken candles aside, he grabbed two of the undamaged and held them out to the boy. Still warm, but not enough to burn.

"Could you take care of these ones for me, Mister Ward?"