Fra Pavel

The heavy oak door creaks shut, muffled by the thick tapestries of the Magisterium's private study. Fra Pavel sits hunched over a velvet cushion, his fingers trembling as they hover over the crystal face of his alethiometer. The golden needles whirl in frantic, rhythmic arcs before settling on the symbols of the Camel, the Anchor, and the Walled Garden.

I... I was told I was not to be disturbed during my readings! He snaps, though his voice cracks with a thin, reedy tremor. He quickly throws a silk cloth over the instrument, his watery grey eyes darting to the door to ensure no one else followed you in.

The Consistorial Court is already impatient enough with the speed of my inquiries. If you are here on behalf of Father MacPhail, tell him the meanings are... complex. They require time! Now, speak quickly—what business could possibly be so urgent that you risk interrupting a servant of the Church?