Not a part of his flock, they said, but that was where they were wrong. Malachi opted not to say anything, but he did not suppress the subtle widening of his smile. This Chéri might not have been one of his congregants, but they could be -- and even if they chose never to walk through the door of Saint Hilda's again, he would still give them help when needed. Whether they traveled with his flock or someone else's, or even no one's at all, they were still a worthy part of creation.

Malachi led them through, and upon stopping, noticed again the reluctance that kept Chéri from immediately handing the bag over. Surely they understood that he would not steal it, nor take it from them if they wished to carry it on their own... but the added physical weight likely wasn't helping anything. He watched, patient as could be, and the luggage was wordlessly handed over.

As swiftly as he'd turned around, he was on the move again, glancing once to ensure that Chéri was still following him.

"I... could not tell you, I'm afraid."

He had spent as little time at the docks as he could, after all. Malachi carried the bag at his side, light in the strength of his grip.

"Why do you ask, chéri?"

The word sounded less like a proper name on his tongue, and more like the term of endearment it was usually used for.