The Chief Constabulary was a five-storey cube, with a gleaming white lacquered facade.
Its sleek appearance belied a history of over a century.
Back when it was under construction, the city government splurged on the quarrying and polishing of stone blocks. The sweaty work chants from the builders had hung over the construction site until the sturdy building could serve its basic purpose six years later.
Three years after the city hall was relocated here, the more handy cement became available.
A stone-framed building came with numerous everyday inconveniences. Thus, the half-completed building was deserted until the downtown wealthy community jointly purchased it, then completed its construction and donated it to the city as a constable's station.
With the office building in place, the number of constables tripled, substantially furthering the city's security.
Looking back, Clayton used to believe that the rich's charitable acts served both their private interests and moral integrity. But now, he had a new inspiration.
The Council of Elders must have, since then, embedded Darkins into the Constabulary such that they could pull strings for their own kind.
Since every constable was assigned to a fixed route on patrol, they could even designate the area where 'accidents' were allowed.
Clayton walked into the ground-floor lobby, where only a few people could be seen, mostly citizens seeking help here. The position of constable was a part-time job, after all. Most worked their main jobs by day.
The floor was so polished that it reflected like a mirror.
Not long ago, he had come once to report the watcher's death, so the receptionist immediately recognized him.
"Mr. Bello, we've already found the family member of ... that Sir. It's his wife. Would you like to meet with her? "
Clayton paused in his steps. Such a question amounted to a shock to him.
Though he had killed the demented man in self-defense, a reason justified enough, he would still feel awkward around his family member.
Due to his thick beard and military bearing, even his slight frown could be mistaken for a sign of anger.
The male receptionist's Adam's apple bobbed. "Mr. Bello, actually, you don't have to meet her. After claiming her husband's body, she didn't make any request and left straight away."
Clayton required, "Arrange for me to meet with her. I must make it up to her. Relay this message to her: choose the meeting spot and time as she pleases, but no sooner than next Wednesday."
"I will reach out to her," the receptionist swallowed.
"Thank you."
Clayton's thanks were heartfelt. Yet, thinking of what's on his docket, he swept his eyes around, but didn't locate his objective. He turned to ask,
"Is Mr. Gilead here today? I am here for him."
The receptionist pointed upstairs. "I suppose he is having a conference with the fire station staff in the fourth-floor archive room. He may be free in a while."
Clayton nodded, then took firm strides toward the staircase.
In Dorne, generating electricity using stored whale oil was becoming a widespread practice. Many public buildings had already been installed with elevators and whale oil generators. But such a stone building, difficult to renovate, still relied solely on outdated lighting, such as candles and oil lamps.
It was unknown whether this had been forecast back then, but the fire station had been assigned the area behind the Chief Constabulary as its base. Even if a fire broke out, it could be extinguished in no time.
Moreover, the nearby port area provided convenient access to water.
As Clayton climbed the stairs, he saw a few red-vested gentlemen coming down, their chatter and laughter in the air.
They are all fire station staff; Gilead's meeting with them must have already been concluded.
He slightly quickened his pace. Sure enough, he saw Gilead stretching in the corridor.
Remembering that he would forget Gilead's appearance, he couldn't help but try one more time.
The result was unchanged.
Shortly after closing his eyes, he couldn't picture Gilead's appearance. Nonetheless, while eyeing him, Clayton still recognized Gilead.
"Mr. Gilead, I've come to you."
Back home last night, he flipped through 'Two Thousand Common Knowledge Facts for Enthusiasts of the Occult', Cuitisi's gift, in a bid to review his experience. Two days of reading it left his head dizzy and numb.
Though touching upon common knowledge facts, the book was studded with specialized terms hard to understand and mixed with texts in various languages.
To reconcile the facts by consulting the tome, he had to be on par with an enthusiast of the occult in the first place.
Apparently, Cuitisi had overestimated him.
"Let's go to the archive room and have a talk." With his hands behind his back, Gilead, listless, walked into a room stacked with safes.
During the daytime when the Chief Constabulary was short-staffed, shift workers could disregard part of the rules and regulations.
"I want to learn about Darkins. How do we crop up in this world?"
Upon hearing this question, Gilead slapped his forehead in disbelief.
"I don't even know how ducks appear in this world, how can I answer this? It might be a question of interest to a philosopher. Could you ask something more practical and related to everyday life?"
Clayton was rendered speechless for a moment.
Imperceptibly, the anticipation he held for Gilead had grown high.
"Alright. I transformed into a Darkin about half a year ago. Last night, you said that similar events had taken place more frequently these days. What's the reason for it?"
Gilead breathed out in relief. "Because the Era of Trial is drawing near, the Dark Moon is coming back."
"What are those? I have never heard of the two terms."
"They stand for the same thing. If the Dark Moon emerges, then the Era of Trial has arrived." Gilead squinted his eyes. "It might sound a little inconceivable, but in the Old Era, it's said, the sky harbored two moons: the Crescent Moon and the Dark Moon."
Clayton looked out the window. Since it was in the light of day, he saw nothing.
"I am sure that I have never seen a second moon."
"Surely, because the Dark Moon has hidden itself. But now it is coming back. Perhaps in our lifetime we can set eyes on it, the source of power and life for us Darkins."
While saying this, Gilead didn't seem in a good mood; Clayton couldn't understand why.
"Even a creature of nature has in itself a share of Dark Shadow, which the Dark Moon could nurture until the creature transforms into a Darkin." Gilead opened his arms wide.
"The Dark Moon is to us Darkins what the blazing star is to natural beings. Without the sun, human beings would become frail. Without the Dark Moon, our strength would be discounted."
Clayton looked thoughtful. "So that is how we have been transformed into Darkins."
"Not exactly. In the Dark Moon's absence, some Darkins would choose to seal their strength and to return to the frail body as a mortal. They would await the Dark Moon's return in the shadows of human society. But their past might fade from their family's memory over the course of a long human life. Perhaps in under a century, their initial intentions would be forgotten."
Gilead's gaze wandered over Clayton, seeking his singularities.
"Of course, it's just one possibility. Only if your true form differs vastly from your human body do you stand a chance of being a Darkin's offspring. After all, the Dark Moon has little impact on one's body when it has not yet returned."
Clayton crossed his arms, his mind a tangled mess.
If what Gilead had said was true, his entire family must also be werewolves, though unwitting.
Was Donna Bello, a family member of the younger generation, a werewolf, too?
He asked seriously, "If a Darkin marries a human being, will their children become a Darkin as well?"
"Good question!"
Gilead's spirits finally lifted. "It is a matter of chance. Some will inherit the blood of Darkin, some won't. Do you know your history? Still remember the Inquisition?"
"Certainly." Clayton had reacquainted himself with this part of history not long ago.
"When the Inquisition was dismissed, it was the last stage of the Old Era, as the Theory of Species began gaining widespread popularity."
Gilead held up his right forefinger.
"The writer of 'The Theory of Species' classifies creatures by their reproductive systems, indeed a stroke of genius. Without reproductive isolation between them, the idea that human beings and Darkins are the same species started catching on. Both elves and dwarves are classified as human subspecies. Though eventually, he was burned at the stake for spreading rumors and blaspheming, the seed of his thought endured. "
"Within the White Church, there were also a host of erudite scholars. At last, they came to realize that Darkins cannot be exterminated, so they dismissed the Inquisition and reached a peace agreement with us.
Consequently, our general peace with the White Church has extended to now."