So she did take his cassock for a coat! Just as comfortable alongside Mable as she was with him, Malachi turned his gaze skywards and pretended to consider her questions.

He did not sleep in it, though he did not sleep much at all, for that matter. Did she liken him to a bat? Draped in a long black coat, sleeping up in the trees he could not climb? That would have been preferable.

“I have other clothes, but not here,” he conceded. In London he had plenty to choose from, if any of his wardrobe from before his ordination still fit. It should; his form had hardly changed much since then.

“It’s alright if this gets a bit dirty. I have others, and I’m perfectly capable of cleaning it.”

It might not have been the most proper thing to do, getting his vestments all sandy and wet, but was he supposed to just sit on the rocks and do nothing?

Malachi tipped his saturno forward just slightly, blocking the sun from his pale face. It was hot out, but the light appeared to bother the priest more than any heat.

“What about you, Eddie?” Malachi inquired, tossing a curious glance his way. “What do you think we should do?”