Damnation! He had used up his last fragment last month!

Wasting no time, Faust picked up his wallet, put his emerald into it for unexpected emergencies, and went out into the street.

The corner pharmacy was closed for Easter Sunday, but by pounding on the shutters he managed to bring forth the pharmacist, who, grumbling, told him he had no True Cross in stock, and didn't know when the next shipment would arrive from Rome. He did, however, have a supply of blackened wormwood, which Faust purchased.

The bishop, lounging back in his great armchair in comfortable corpulence, shook his head uncertainly.

"I am so sorry, my dear Faust. The most recent Advice from Rome is that we are not to permit bits of the True Cross to be used for idolatrous purposes."

"Who's talking idolatry?" Faust demanded. "This is the science of alchemy we're talking about here."

"But to what end do you want to use it, my son? To gain great treasures, for example?"

"Not at all! I want it to right a great injustice!"

"Well, I guess that's all right," the bishop said. "But I warn you in advance, True Cross has gone up in price, which is only to be expected since it is a substance in limited supply."

"All I need is a fingernail-sized fragment. Charge it to my account."

The bishop took out a small japanned box containing True Cross fragments. "I was meaning to speak to you about your account."

Faust reached into his wallet and set down the emerald. "There's my down payment!" He wrapped the fragment of True Cross in birchbark and then rolled it into an old altar cloth while the bishop admired the shine of the emerald.

With the fragment wrapped securely, Faust hurried home. He started up a coal fire beneath his alchemist's furnace, and pumped the groaning leather bellows until the fire glowed red and white and gave off streams of tiny diamond sparks.