[b]Observatory.[/b]
"Conantes dicere quid?" More fluent than his own words, and a reassuringly human sentiment. Some tension released by the change of tongue and tone, Sidwell listened closely.

The confused foreigner in finery, whom he had decided to establish as a woman, was plainly lying or self-deceived, or perhaps even a pagan. Saint John had been shown the dead rising from their tombs at the end of days, and Thomas Didymus had put his finger in the wounds of the risen Christ; So surely Innocent could be yet dead while he feels his heart pump and his chest shift. Or if not dead, in some state of having died. [i]I am in Purgatory,[/i] he concluded with ultimate confidence. [i]This place is my Judgement.[/i]

A third stranger arose, mumbling. The boy. To Sidwell's immense relief, his first action was very familiar. "Benedico te," he mumbled, waving a hand in blessing underneath the marked man's stoic but polite introduction in a blend of sounds not entirely dissimilar to what Innocent's precious few Anglish visitors spoke. Christopher- A good name, a very good name, although his arms remained his most distracting feature. Was the man diseased, or cursed? [i]Yet still a small oddity in the land of the dead.[/i]

The hairless woman's name was Zosime. By her own confession, she too had no answer to their surroundings, but was vigorously intent on finding them. Sidwell already had the only answer he needed to be satisfied, but the notion to stay grouped was a good and obvious one. He stepped a little closer to the metal device, noticing the rock in the floor and the strange, salty tang in the air that he had missed. "...Credo fiunt ex aere," [i]I suppose they are made of brass[/i], he offered in innocent helplessness, uncertain of the Latin phrasing. His world was too small to know much about anything here except the books.