After another stroll through the main chambers of the temple, arm in arm with the head priest, Jonathan was again ushered into the dining hall and took the very same seat as before at the long and well dressed banquet table.  His chair was in the place of honor, at one end of the table, next to that of the head priest.  Down the two long sides sat the other priests, in descending order of rank.  At the far end there was a vacant seat, reserved for citizens who had won some special promotion or prize that included a temple banquet.

     For this was by far the best fare in town.  There were even servants here, novice priests, all boys in their teens.  It was their task to learn obedience, to stand behind their superiors and serve the fish and wine and bread and catch whatever crumbs they could of the wisdom that was supposed to fall from such learned lips.

     In a smaller hall at the opposite wing of the temple sat the nuns, in equal number, and with fifteen young girls to serve them.  Jonathan's girl had been led in and seated in the lesser place of honor, at the far end from the head nun.  She was very frightened at the strange scene and said nothing.  The young girls serving her were as old as she was and better dressed.

     As most of the nuns at her end of the table had taken vows of silence, she was relieved from having to talk.  She ate her fine meal in silence, taking in the sight, and sipped cup after cup of an aromatic tea she’d never tasted before.  Each person was served from a silver pot and tray, and each cup tinted white by the serving girl, with a few drops of the miracle paint.

     In the other wing dinner began pleasantly enough, with the business of eating foremost at hand.  Civilities were bandied between mouthfuls.  It was not until the main courses were consumed and the sweetbreads not yet arrived that conversation began in earnest.

     It was not the old priest but one of his chief assistants, a lean and scheming man of middle age, who seemed to smirk every time he smiled at Jonathan, who asked the unavoidable question.

     "If I may inquire, sir, what brings you here so soon again after your last gracious visit?"

     The whole room hushed of a sudden to hear Jonathan's reply.  They dropped their forks and were all staring at him intently.  Only the old priest had a different look on his face, one of displeasure at his secretary for being so forward and in his eyes, impolite.

     Jonathan knew full well that the question was coming.  He wasn’t ready, but he was glad that it came from this quarter.  He already distrusted this man and with a quick scowl he indicated that he didn’t appreciate interrogation.

     "When does the next supply ship arrive from White Perth?" he asked the man bluntly.  The secretary was a caught off guard by this response and showed a hint of fear in his reply.

     "In three moons," he said nervously.  But then, as if to regain control over himself he went on, like a true secretary.  "But sometimes it’s a full moon late.  The schedule isn’t rigid and we are an out-of-the-way place.  Sometimes we send off messengers in our own vessel if we have any pressing request."

     "Good then" replied Jonathan, glad to have humbled him.  "I will have time to complete my project before the boat arrives."

     The table was still silent as Jonathan paused and looked boldly about.  Then he went on in a loud voice, "I will require several assistants to travel away with me for a short while and besides this I’ll need all the holy paper from the houses of your citizens."

     As he said this he reached down to the satchel at his feet and lifted up, for all to see, a handful of the folded and somewhat crumpled sacred leaves.

     An audible gasp was heard through the room.  To touch such sheets and unceremoniously fold and pocket them seemed like an outrageous act of sacrilege, though no specific decree could be cited against it.  Some of the priests actually thought for a moment that the man must be mad.  Most were too blinded by his high rank to suspect any such thing and waited, gawking, like children at a magic show, for the explanation.

     Jonathan paused a moment and then added, to double the shock, "I need these sheets because I intend to make a book."

     Another long and painful silence followed.  Even the head priest, who was trying hard to keep up a friendly smile, now looked concerned.  To mention the word "book" without adding the most pejorative condemnation of the thing was just not done in any circles.  The word had become synonymous with ‘pollution’ and ‘sin’.  Many years and many lives had been devoted to eradicating this stain from the face of the earth.  And it was still a current evil, because fragments of print kept turning up in the most improbable of places.

     So the old priest, to break the uncomfortable quiet, softly asked, "Is there some new law that we know nothing of that commands or sanctions such a thing?"

     "Yes" replied Jonathan, "and a very high authority has commissioned me with the performance."

     "But are the shrines of our people to be emptied?" pleaded the old man, concerned for his flock.

     "They may pray to their shrines as they’ve always done," he replied.  "The sheets they sacrifice shall be replaced.  But these sheets shall be put to a purpose that will bring them great honor, far and wide.  Do you remember the Bible, my friend?"

     Here again a universal gasp was heard through the hall, as a word, long proscribed, but still softly couched in the minds of the old, was now uttered in a holy place.

     The head priest looked positively pained in his questioning gaze, as did many others.  He was too struck to say anything, so Jonathan continued on.

     "Well, I intend to stitch these pages together and cover and embellish them to make such a book, or rather several.  Then I plan to deposit one here, another in your capital, and another before the Great Council of White York.  That is why I shall require some fine leather, some glue, string, a small amount of silver and several apprentices to help me."

     By going into this unexpected explanation and offering up these minute details, as if it were a perfectly legitimate project or commission, Jonathan brought a sigh of relief to the old priest and most of the others.  They even followed his cue and smiled in unison.  The use of the forbidden word was instantly justified and a dangerous moment had passed with a pleasant and almost humorous end.

     Not only that, but it also rang a distinct bell in the minds of the older priests who remembered the thing, even the head priest.  There were many unresolved qualms concerning the destruction of the old Bible.  It had left quite a void.  Of course it could never be revived, but even this namesake sounded like an inspired idea and a soothing balm for what had been lost.

     Many of them recalled from television the previous such blank book, which was held up often in the first months of the revolution before the Great Council as an example of the purity to come.  But nothing ever came of that prop.  It was lost a few months later in the confusion and forgetfulness of progress.

     No one here dreamed of anything being written in this new model, except, of course, Jonathan.  They assumed that it would be a fat, blank book, a collection of many holy pages, guilt in silver and a holy object to adorn their church.  They even caught fire to the idea of such a thing emanating from their tiny town, to be presented in their capitol, and then before the highest officers of Church government.

     They were made heady with the thought of so much fame, and one of the priests nearby couldn’t refrain from asking, "We are greatly honored, sir, by your choosing us to partake in this great matter,  but how do you think it will be received?  We’ve never been asked to send tribute to the World Council before?"

     "Rest assured," replied Jonathan, "I will assume all the risk, and you the glory, when it does succeed."

     "But from what source," asked the sharp-witted priest who’d first spoken, "did you draw inspiration for this project?"

     "From the highest authority," replied Jonathan, rather loudly, "the highest in the land.  And you shall see with what zeal and certitude I prosecute my design."

     It would have been inappropriate, even disrespectful, to further question the visitor along such lines.  Yet the main question still remained unanswered and bred a host of doubts in some of those present.  Why did he come to such a small place to carry out this business and who could this mysterious commissioner be?  Some guessed that it must be a new Church edict, announced in many places, of which they hadn’t yet been informed.  The officials on the next supply ship could settle that point quickly enough.

     But other priests weren’t content to wait so long and were quietly thinking of ways to pry more information from Jonathan without angering him.  The chief secretary suspected that Jonathan was mad and an imposter of sorts.  But he didn’t dare take the risk of unmasking a scoundrel.  "Let others do the prying," he thought, "and face the danger."  He would orchestrate the plot and step in when there was glory to be got.

     With all this thinking going on, the table had quieted down to a strange peacefulness.  The sweetbreads and tea were brought in, and to restore good cheer the old priest kindly asked Jonathan if he would treat them to a travel tale, as he had done the last time he was there.

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