"I want to consult Mr. Garrett privately."

He is about to exercise his curiosity.

I caught the edge of his message to Dean cautioning him that brothers Bondurant and Kamow would be leaving the room and ought not to be allowed to exercise their own curiosity about our domicile.

The door closed behind the last young priest. I told Carnifan, "They're all real. Every last one of them, from the least sprite to the biggest thunderbasher, no matter how ridiculous we've imagined them. But they sure aren't what you priests have been telling the rest of us."

The Bishop's jaw sagged again. He glared at the Dead Man. "Of course." He considered Morley, who leaned against a bookcase and said nothing, just looked like a stylish mannequin. I had, quite intentionally, not introduced him, nor had I explained his presence.

The Dead Man nudged me.

I said, "You want to know what happened last night, eh? You want to hedge some bets by getting the straight skinny from a guy who really has talked to gods? You want to know if there's an angle for you or the Church anywhere in this? I don't blame you. If I was a priest I'd be feeling real uncomfortable about now."

The Dead Man decided to have fun with the situation, too. Suddenly I was reliving the the highs and lows of recent days as His Nibs sucked them out of me and pounded them right into the Bishop's brain.

He didn't leave out one damned thing. He rooted through my head for every glimpse and nuance, exactly as I had suffered it all, and he put good buddy Bishop Melton Carnifan through it exactly as though he was living it all himself. This time around it lasted only half an hour—and didn't hurt near so bad because I knew I would get through it—but that old boy came out exactly familiar with what it was like to deal direct with TunFaire's swarms of gods.

What a cruel thing to do, even to a man who had been an atheist on the inside.

Morley stood with fingers pinching chin, puzzled, as Carnifan displayed a catalog of changes. The Dead Man had given him nothing.

Give the Bishop time to get his bearings, Garrett.

I did so.

Carnifan recovered quickly. His eyes focused. He demanded, "That's really true?"

"Would I make up something that absurd? That's exactly the way it happened."

"I can't go back with that."

"Make something up." He didn't get it. He just looked at me strangely. I asked, "Who's going to believe you?"

Carnifan actually smiled. "Point taken. Nobody is going to want to."

"What did you really want here?"

"Not what you've given me. I didn't believe all that was anything but extremely weird weather. I thought we were just jumping on it to market our product. But now you've convinced me that the gods do exist. All of them, probably including a lot I've never heard of. But you've also convinced me that that is worse than having no gods at all."

I agreed, privately. "But the belief in what they could be... That's a comfort to a lot of people."

"And just the opposite to me. This has been a cruel day, Mr. Garrett." His eyes glazed momentarily. He asked, "It's not over yet, is it? This shakeout. There are loose ends. There are traces of several conspiracies, some of which may not have run their course."

I rubbed my forehead. I had enjoyed life much more back when my worst worry was how unhappy I had made some crime kingpin. The Bohdan Zhibak returned to mind. Ten thousand shadows had infested those hills. Every single one of those absurdities had to know my name now. I never liked catching the eyes of the lords on the Hill. How much more dangerous would catching the interest of the gods be?

And I had, for certain. Else this sleazeball bishop would not have come visiting. Saint Strait, eh? Spokesman for the Board. Probably as straight as his servant Brother Carnifan. I wondered if every church and temple in the Dream Quarter was bulging with priests experiencing bizarre visions featuring me in some role.

Worse, were they all going to turn up here to hear words of wisdom, like I was some kind of prophet?

"Damn! What an opportunity," I mused aloud. "I could... "

Morley and Bishop Carnifan eyed me curiously. The Dead Man sent a mental chuckle. A pity you do not have an appropriate mind-set. It might be amusing to play the prophet game—particularly if we could arrange continued contacts with these deities.

I said, "Weider's difficulties are starting to look attractive." I turned to the bishop. "Brother. Father. Bishop. Whatever. I don't want to be rude, but I've had a real rough couple of days and you're not helping anything."

The Dead Man continued to speculate. Perhaps Mr. Playmate could join us as front man. He has wanted to assume the religious mantle for some time. My partner was as cynical as I about some things. It seemed that even concrete proof of the existence of gods didn't soften his religious skepticism.

I told Carnifan, "Unless there is something specific I can still do, I really wish you would go away." I softened that with a conspiratorial smile. "And please spread the word in the Dream Quarter. I can't do anything for anybody else, either. Far as I'm concerned, my part in this insanity is over."

Nog is inescapable.

I jumped a yard. But the Dead Man couldn't keep a mental straight face.

60

Carnifan departed. His gang looked like a small, dark army slithering up Macunado Street. Using the peephole, I watched the redhead watch them go.

"Hey, Old Bones. What was that really all about?"

The Bishop—and, presumably, many other shakers in the Dream Quarter—erroneously assumed a greater and more favored role, for you than was the case. If you examine their position and way of thinking, it should be no surprise that many priests will set new records for conclusion jumping.

"What?"

You have been driven into an untenable position. You are dealing with men who, in most institutions, have taken their gods entirely on faith for dozens of generations. Now they are learning that one man's genuine contacts have proven the whole process trivial. The gods, of all stripes, turned out to be small-minded, petty creatures with no more vision or aspiration than most mortals.

"I never did worry much about being popular."

Life could get difficult.

"Hey, I'm a famous cynic. Remember? I can talk, but I can't produce concrete proof. Even if I got some great god like Hano to step up and confess, most true believers wouldn't buy it. You ask me, the great wonder that makes religion work is the fact that otherwise rational beings actually accept the irrational and implausible dogmas underlying them."

Believers are not a problem. However, those who live off the believers could be—particularly if their continued existence and prosperity depend upon the good will of their believers.

Morley asked, "What's going on, Garrett?"

We ignored him.

I entered one of my more intellectual remarks. "Huh?"

The man in the street will be no problem. He has other troubles. Economics and riots are more threatening today. Priests, feeling their livelihoods imperiled, might represent short-term threats, till they understand that we are indifferent...

"Speak for yourself, Chuckles." I'd as soon put them all out of business. The sanctimonious emotional gangsters. I reminded, "Adeth is back across the street."

Indeed. And the one great tool we need has not yet been invented.

"Huh?" That was fast becoming my favorite word.

A godtrap!

"Ha ha. What did Cat have hidden inside?"

He avoided a direct answer. That child can be very opaque.