The undercroft during mass was a haunted house, a purgatory were only whispers and dark shapes floated, undisturbed. Attention was focused elsewhere. To draw eyes to oneself here would be tantamount to sacrilege, or at the very least inexcusably bad manners. The intentional lack of recognition shared by the few who came and went suited Lukas perfectly.
It meant he could pocket the morning's alms without being noticed. They'd been left unattended and out in the open. Clearly God's will. Praise his name.
The large German was working with easy, practiced care, stationed by a high table of candles lit in red glass valises. He stowed a shilling and three pence in the pocket of his over large, patched brown coat. Leaving a few coins still sparkling in the plate, he lit a wick before departure. "Vergeben." Requests for forgiveness always went unanswered, but that didn't stop him from asking.
He rounded a baroque pillar, almost colliding with small figure partially hidden in the dark: the girl he'd scared while she'd been sneaking around behind the west transept the previous mass. "You might consider wearing a bell, let people know you're about," he said quietly. His face blank, he considered her, hands still stowed in his pockets with his earnings. She was no good as a mark. If she had coin she'd be sitting in a pew. She seemed harmless. His eyes ticked outward to the congregation; packed like sardines freshly canned. Then back. "I apologize for startling you last week."