The news of this pilgrimage preceded them by about a month, through the supply ship returning from their district. Because of this forewarning they were honorably received. The Bishop of the city of ten thousand souls was a good friend of the old priest, and had these visitors wait at the docks until he could greet them in full regalia, with a long line of temple administrators behind him. The gift was well presented and well received. Jonathan treated the table of priests of this city with the tale of his vision in the wilderness, along with other tales of his wanderings around the globe.
For one week he and his two disciples were treated royally and taken on tours of the town each day. Indeed, the ruling clique of this remote Capitol had long been frustrated with their isolation and insignificance in the forward march of the Church, and they hoped that this piece of luck would give them the notice that they craved. They readied their finest cruiser to convey Jonathan and his youths to the distant capital of White Syd. After the most superficial examination of the book, and the installation of it in a public gallery of the temple, they presented Jonathan with a charter describing their appreciation of the gift.
His staff and his dignity and his story had worked their spell. He presented the Church with what looked liked another step in its glorious procession, a valuable artifact and symbol for their faith. With this success he now altered his plans, and sent back a message to his town, asking the priests there to get word to his disciples, on their next visit for supplies, and inform Paul to travel with the other set of bibles and with all haste, all the way to White Syd where they’d wait for him, before setting out on the long trip to America.
The Bishop concurred with these plans and sent along the proper commissions that would rush Paul behind them. He was eager to see what reception Jonathan would receive at the Capitol and made sure to send along two of his own secretaries with them, part spies and part players in the unfolding drama.
This ship was one of the small fleet still maintained for the most urgent business and had an engine. The trip took nine days, through stormy seas, but the crew of the vessel carried them safely to their destination, a fair city of some fifty thousand, bigger and whiter than anything Simon or Mary had ever imagined.
On his arrival Jonathan found that the two secretaries sent along with him acted as his agents, and ran off to meet with officials, while he stayed on board waiting for instructions. It wasn’t a summons but a welcoming committee that came to the docks, a good omen, and Jonathan and his disciples were shown quarters in a wing of the main temple. The next day he was asked to send his bible with the two spokesmen to a review board. The college of priests in this Capitol considered themselves too professional to be taken in by dupes or charlatans.
A few hours later a messenger was sent to inform Jonathan that the Bishop of White Syd would receive him for a private interview the following day. Jonathan and his young wards were still confined to their three adjoining chambers. Fine meals were brought to them and they paced the floors and talked a great deal of the city, often looking out the windows onto the busy streets below.
Next morning Jonathan was led down the corridors to a private room where he met the young Bishop of this place and a single secretary. They had his commissions and his book lying closed on the table before them. The Bishop chatted in a friendly manner and was impressed by his rare staff and asked a few questions about his inspiration and his sanctuary. Before long Jonathan knew they’d accepted his pretensions. A presentation ceremony was planned for the following day.
At the end of this meeting the Bishop reminded him that this was only a conditional acceptance of the gift, but that it seemed worthwhile for the city to undertake the charge of conveying his group to White York, and await the final decision of the council there, whose word was law.
So, with a small gathering of priests, they received the gift from his hands and placed it on its stand in one of the darker aisles of their hall. Without fanfare or excursions Jonathan was again cooped up with Simon and Mary in their chambers for several weeks, until Paul arrived, breathless and full of excitement and talk, with three more finished bibles and stands in his luggage, enough to carry them to the Capitol of the world.
On the day before their departure Jonathan was allowed to take his disciples on a walking tour of the city of White Syd. Its workhouses and glasshouses were as impressive as any he’d seen, and his wide-eyed followers drank in the sights and all his commentary as never before. Two days later they were out of sight of land and rolling across gray seas, on a month-long journey to White Sans.
After another subdued presentation, Jonathan contrived to meet his old friend, and gained for his entourage a comfortable carriage up the coastal highway to White Seat. Here he deposited another bible in the most humble manner, knowing that final approval of these presents must come from the Capitol. At White Seat he was overjoyed to find the engineer. Their own youths seemed to flow in their veins again as they paced around town, the young ones barely able to keep up, or follow the complex conversation of ancient memories and events.
A luxurious carriage was obtained to waft Jonathan across a continent, along the highway he’d been instrumental in building. His disciples couldn’t help but be amazed at his influence. All along the way, in the most remote stations, old soldiers rushed forth at his arrival and kiss his hands and treat him like some divinity returned to them. But they never stayed more than a few hours, just long enough to eat and change horses. After forty days of this quick-paced odyssey they found themselves racing one afternoon towards two glimmering towers in the distance, the magnificent world Capitol of White York.
As they were transported through the Capitol that evening they had very little chance to admire its sights. Through tall and narrow streets they were conveyed to one of the smaller temples and deposited in its puny courtyard. From here they were led by an old priest to a group of inner rooms, without windows, and told that their documents would be examined by the proper officials in the next few weeks. Again Jonathan could do little but pace the floors and explain to his disciples the snares and intricacies of Church government. They listened with the greatest patience and respect, taking cue from the honors they’d seen him receive along the way.
A board was convened to review Jonathan's material; the last bible, its props, and the large packet of letters, some of them sealed, that Jonathan had collected along the way as testimonials to his work and travels. He was summoned to this board and surprised to see sitting there commander hot head, now on the very committee about to examine him. The man had aged considerably, his hair gray, caught up in the tedium of bureaucracy. But he was still glad to see Jonathan, as one familiar and a party to his auspicious beginnings. He’d already talked long and hard to convince the board that Jonathan was an inspired and dedicated Church militant.
His old friend stood up and warmly introduced him to the other five members of the review board. There followed a long interrogation by two of these priests as to the exact nature of Jonathan's vision, the spring, the sanctuary, and the skills he wished to teach his disciples. The questioning was thorough and carried out in a cold, professional manner. Jonathan stuck to the facts and described his school in its most limited bible-making scope. They probed him from all angles for other motives and intentions, but he wasn’t caught off guard. He’d had a long time to prepare for this interview and painted himself as the humble servant of a vision, and parried question with question, asking them what he should do about the matters of pride and the glory-seeking they suspected in him.
No doubt these inquisitors were expert in Church doctrine and wanted to make sure no schisms or deviations were about to take place from their straight and narrow course, in some far off continent. The interview was abruptly cut off after more than five hours, still caught up in the most hair-splitting questions. The eldest priest told Jonathan to meet them at the same hour the next day. His former commander accompanied him out into the hall.
"You did alright in there, old chum”, he said. "I've seen this group tear most people's schemes to shreds in a matter of minutes. They wouldn't have called you back if they didn't like you."
"Well they sure know how not to show it," Jonathan replied, wiping the sweat off his brow. "How do you fit in?"
"They just called me in because I knew you," he said. "The grim one who does most of the questioning is my uncle. I can’t vote on the decision, but don't worry, the fact that you've lasted this long is a sure sign that you’re in. But let’s go your room now, I've got something to tell you."
Jonathan took his former commander to his chambers and sent his followers next door, to prepare some tea and then leave them alone.
"I don't know if you've heard any rumors," he began, " but you've come at a very awkward time. It's bad, very bad for the Church right now. You're probably the least thing on their minds. I almost envy you going back to that sanctuary in the middle of nowhere, but I'll stick around for this one last fight. You know how I love a fight."
Jonathan was at a loss to understand these ramblings. He took his friend by the shoulder and looking him in the eye, asked, "what is it?"
"They're running out of paint."
