Chapter Twenty-Eight – Master Of Nun

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Master Of Nun

“God has not forsaken us, though the hour is dark and the days grow long, we have new, shining beacons of hope, raised from the best, the sinless, those who are redeemed! Bow your heads in prayer, sheep of god, and allow the shepherds to guide you to a better tomorrow!

This sermon comes with a 15% discount for the devoted members of our enlightened church!”

–Pope Roboticus the First, New Christian Order, 2037

***

One of the nuns stopped to stare at me. She was a few years older than me, maybe in her mid-twenties, and she didn’t look impressed with the state of me. “Pardon me, miss, but this area should be off-limits,” she said. I don’t think someone could sound more prudish if they tried.

“Is it?” I asked. “I don’t recall there being anything like that.”

“This is the residence of a samurai,” she said. “You don’t want to be caught spying on a saint, do you?”

“Sister Datamaria, is something wrong?” the other nun said. She came to stand next to… Datamaria? That was a new one.

“Just an interloper, Sister Ethergrace,” Datamaria said.

I glanced between the two. They weren’t dressed like on-duty nuns, so no habits or whatever, but there was no mistaking the style they were dressed in. Long skirts, long-sleeved blouses that covered everything, hair done up in severe buns. Datamaria was the taller of the two, with light brown hair and eyes too blue to be real.

Ethergrace was much shorter, and it looked like maybe she was spending more time snacking on the alms than handing them out. She looked my way and smiled though, and I got the impression that she was far nicer than her companion. “Hello dearie,” she said. “I’m sorry, but Sister Datamaria is probably right. We’re helping move things to the floor above. I don’t think we need any help, however.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” I said. “I genuinely don’t mind. I was just taking a break from work. If you want, I can have a drone help you carry stuff.” I pointed past her to the van. It looked like someone had been playing tetris with furniture in there because it was packed to the brim.

Sister Datamaria sniffed. “I said we don’t need the help.”

I was about to pull away. I didn’t feel like getting into an argument, let alone with someone that was probably the friend of a friend. Starting something on the backfoot like this would take a lot of work to fix, and I really didn’t feel like it.

Then Franny came around the van, a small stack of boxes held in her hands. Her chin was resting on the topmost box, keeping it pinned in place. She saw me and the two nuns, then brightened. “Cat! I didn’t think you’d show up,” she said.

“Well, I wasn’t invited or anything, so that’d probably be fair,” I said.

She chuckled, raspy and dark. “I thought you’d be out shooting more politicians or something.”

“I really hope that’s not the only thing I’m remembered for,” I said. “That’s the kind of rep that’ll be hard to work back from.”

“Do you know this girl, Sister Pureheart?” Sister Datamaria asked.

I blinked. “Wait, Franny, your name is–”

“Don’t,” Franny snapped. “It’s…a nun thing. We get names given to us. We don’t pick them.”

“That much is obvious,” I said. “You’d have picked Sister Hellion, or Sister Inthecloset or something.”

Franny’s look was flat and unamused, but the gasp from Sister Ethergrace was worth it. “Honestly, yeah, I probably would have picked something rude and gotten the switch for it. Pureheart is just so… tacky though. Before you ask, Delilah is Sister Holy Firewall.”

“Huh.” Yeah, that tracked.

Sister Datamaria shook her head. “Is this one of your street friends, Franny?” she asked. I saw that the title was dropped there.

Franny sighed. “Sisters, this is Catherine… I can’t remember her family name. Something French?”

“Leblanc,” I offered. It was a name that was too fancy-sounding for me, but I didn’t pick it.

“Right,” Franny said. “You probably know her better as Stray Cat. She’s the owner of the giant cheesy cat-shaped building above.”

“Hey,” I said. “It’s not cheesy. Tacky, kitsch, gaudy maybe, but not cheesy.”

The sisters both gasped, and Ethergrace almost dropped what she was carrying as she slapped a hand over her mouth. “You’re a saintess,” she said. “Sister Daramaria, apologise, quick!”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Sister Datamaria did just that, bowing twice before she spoke. “Forgive me, saintess. I allowed my poor judgement to overcome my good sense. I will accept any punishment you see fit to hand out for my poor conduct.”

“Uh,” I said.