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Theophilus Velingtham stood in the sweltering darkness to speak. Theophilus had been Head Deacon forever, at least since long before Jarvis, and spent most of his time as a one-man performance review committee.
    —Father, I, and I believe the rest of the congregation, would find it difficult to countenance your request.
    —I beg your pardon?
    Even given Theophilus’ penchant for self-righteous droning, the man couldn’t seriously be suggesting two more hours.
    —The Collingham Sacraments are our highest holiday, Pastor. What does a little discomfort mean to the true penitent?
    More murmurs, this time of assent.
    —How can a little overheating, and I’ll grant you, it is rather warm in here—
    There was some appreciative chuckling. Theophilus wore a smile that Jarvis could see even in the dimness of the sanctuary. He tried hard not to also read malevolence there.
    —I was only thinking of the extremity of the discomfort,Deacon Velingtham. Surely, the Collingham was not meant as an exercise in suffering.
    —Surely what better situation could there be for the transgressor to reflect upon the gracious penitence of the Sacraments than to receive those Sacraments in a session of extreme discomfort?
    There were calls of ‘hear, hear’ and ‘amen’ from the crowd now.
    —It must be forty degrees in here, Deacon, maybe forty-five. I’m thinking of the safety issues—
    —I, for one, am willing to risk it for the precious absolution that the Collingham offers.
    Now there were outright calls of agreement.
    —Continue on!
    —The entire Collingham!
    —Praise be to the Sacraments!
    Theophilus’ voice again, splitting the room like a cleaver.
    —I think of Sarah the Downhearted in the desert, walking mile after mile to gather the cactus leaves necessary for her—
    —Yes, Deacon, we are all familiar with the parable.
    —I was merely—
    —Do you all really wish to proceed?
    If he was going to have to do all eleven canticles then he might as well get on with them without having to listen to Theophilus blabber about a parable taught to children. The veritable shouts of ‘yes’ from the congregation sealed the matter.
    —Well, I must say I am heartened and delighted and much humbled by your reverence for the Sacraments. It strengthens not only my faith in the text, but my faith in you, my good people. Blessed are you, and faithful. You are truly children of the Sacraments.
    Zealots, Jarvis thought, and cautioned himself again on hislack of charity. He caught a glance of Theophilus sitting down again in the gloom, a look of sour triumph on his face. Jarvis stifled another unkind thought and looked back to his text.
    —Then if you’ll all turn with me to the beginning of canticle five …

13. Maggerty Eats.
    The circumstance wasn’t noteworthy, but the sensation was.
    Maggerty was hungry.
    He had, more or less, ceased noticing hunger years before. The constant swirly, inky fog in his brain helped to push the subject away, and he had also managed to achieve a certain self-sufficiency that kept the deepest pangs in abeyance. He knew where to get fruit in the Arboretum, where to get vegetables from the larger local gardens, and where easiest to steal prepared goods from those shopkeepers who turned a blind eye when Maggerty ambled in. No one wished the Rhinoherd any ill and all did their distant best to see that he was provided for. Even in these conditions, if Maggerty got hungry enough, he would just eat grass with The Crash. It tasted unspeakable, but he had also learned the habit of ignoring his tongue.
    So, in fact Maggerty was often hungry, but rarely noticed because there was always something in the way of provision, making it more accurate and more disturbing, then, to say now that Maggerty was aware that he was hungry. Acutely aware. The fruits on the trees were smaller than usual; the vegetables in the gardens also. The prepared goods were still theftworthy, but Maggerty had caught the eyes of more than one