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got something out, reached across the desk to Dylan. A piece of stationery. His father’s script.
    “Your father reports that you and he have quarreled. Quarreled seriously.”
    Quesnel looked at Dylan for confirmation. Dylan nodded.
    “He’s concerned about you. You’re without a job, he says. Without money. Without clothes, even. He says all your belongings are there.”
    Father Quesnel looked hard at Dylan. Dylan kept his face unreadable.
    “Are you and your father estranged, Dylan?”
    Dylan hesitated, then nodded.
    “I’m sorry to hear it. From your point of view, what’s the problem?”
    “He doesn’t give a damn about me.” Dylan meant his language to be harsh.
    Father Quesnel cocked his head, looked quizzically at Dylan, arranged his wide, fluid mouth into a smile.
    “He only cares about what I can do for him. Live respectably, unlike him. Get good connections for the family. Increase the family fortunes.”
    “Dylan.” Said softly, sympathetically.
    “He despises me.”
    “Dylan, your father loves you. You know that.”
    “He hit me over the head with a table.”
    “I’m sure he gets frustrated and angry. And I’m sure he loves you.”
    “I’ll never go back to his house. Never.”
    “It’s understandable to feel that way. Clinging to that resolution would only hurt both of you.”
    Dylan shrugged his shoulders.
    Father Quesnel waited.
    Dylan screwed the words together. He felt like he was prostrating himself. “Father, I want to become a priest. My ambition, my heart’s desire, is to become a missionary. Will the order accept me as a seminarian?”
    The words seemed to Dylan to ring in the air fatefully. He had a sense of abyss.
    “Dylan, as I said, you would make an excellent priest, and I would welcome you to our seminary. There would be some questions to be answered. But we have talked about your yearning for mission work in the past, and you know that a priest must accept the duties the Church gives him.”
    Dylan interrupted, “My calling to the missions is unmistakable, Father.” He touched his heart with a flat hand.
    Quesnel considered and inclined his head sympathetically. “Yes. I understand. Admirable. You would help return the Canadian Church to its historic mission.”
    The priest waited, looking at Dylan. “My son, I ask you to mend your relations with your father and come back with your request.”
    “Impossible,” Dylan burst out.
    “Dylan, Dylan. There can be no question of accepting you for the priesthood under circumstances like these. Our seminarians need, among other things, the full support of their families. We avoid young men who come to us in a moment of disruption.”
    Dylan moaned. “Father, this calling has been in me from boyhood.”
    “Yes.” Father Quesnel looked at Dylan thoughtfully. “I believe it has.”
    The priest rose. Dylan stood up as well. He repeated, “I believe it has. I believe you will be a missionary. And do good work for the Mother Church.”
    He offered Dylan his hand. “There will be questions to be answered, considerations, plans to be made. You can start upon this path as soon as you get right with your father.”
    Dylan felt hot tears well in his eyes as he shook Father Quesnel’s hand. The young man jerked his hand back quickly and turned his head away. He hurried toward the door.
    “Dylan,” Father Quesnel called after him, “I hope to see you back here tomorrow, and to present you to the abbot.”
    Dylan didn’t look back. Impossible , he screamed in his mind.
    He opened the door to the outside. The sun shafted into the dark room and hit him in the eyes. He felt weak in the knees. He staggered.
    The Druid was standing there, smiling. He closed the door behind Dylan with a final-sounding click.
    “Come now, laddo,” he said. “How about an adventure? A dalliance with life and death?”

Chapter Five
    They sang as they worked. Well, mostly Dru sang, and Dylan grunted. He told himself he didn’t feel like