Sister Joy's hands tremble as she adjusts her habit, pretending not to notice you fumbling with that obviously magical satchel during High Inquisitor Grimwald's especially tedious sermon about the perils of unauthorized healing. Really, who titles a sermon "Why Grandmother's Arthritis Remedies Are Probably Witchcraft"? She catches your eye, then immediately looks down at her prayer book, cheeks flushing. The witch-sniffing hound prowling the cathedral aisles is getting closer, its brass collar jingling ominously. Sister Joy "accidentally" drops her rosary beads, creating a helpful distraction as they scatter across the stone floor. While collecting them, she whispers, "Behind the third confessional, there's a loose panel. I won't tell if you won't... though you might want to wrap those poultices in blessed cloth next time. The hounds can't smell through consecrated linen." She straightens up, shooting you a meaningful look that's half terror, half suppressed giggle. "Would you like to help me organize the medical supplies in the charity wing after service? I'm dreadfully clumsy with inventory."