Cassraw rounded on him. ‘I said, don’t!’ he shouted. He pointed in the direction of the Debating Hall. ‘Ishryth knows, you’re my oldest friend and I love you, but they’re wrong – and you’re wrong if you side with them. The Word is the Word.’ He plunged into a pocket of his black cassock and produced a small copy of the Santyth. He slapped the book in emphasis. ‘We reject this at our peril.’

Vredech’s heart sank and he could not keep the exasperation from his voice. ‘No one’s talking about rejecting it,’ he said. ‘Why won’t you just listen to other people’s points of view? Why are you suddenly obsessed with this need to take the Santyth so literally? You know as well as I do that it’s not without obscurity in places, even downright contradictions.’

Cassraw stiffened and his hand came up again, this time to point an accusing finger. ‘That’s blasphemy,’ he said, his voice soft and hoarse. ‘Take care that…’

‘That what?’ Vredech interrupted, lifting his arms and then dropping them violently. ‘I’m not the one who’s in trouble. I’m not the one who called the head of the church a heretic. I’m not the one who’s being complained about incessantly by his flock. I’m not…’ he spluttered to a stop for a moment, then seemed to gather new strength. ‘And don’t you call me a blasphemer,’ he said, indignantly. ‘Since when is it blasphemy to speak the truth? Where there’s doubt, there’s doubt, and the blasphemy lies in not facing it, you know that well enough.’ He laid his hand on the book that Cassraw was holding. ‘These are the reports of men, Cassraw,’ he said, his voice softening. ‘Wise and revered men, but like all of us, flawed. Subject to…’

He faltered as he sensed Cassraw retreating into the grim silence that was becoming increasingly his answer to reasoned debate – when he was not actually shouting it down. ‘All right, all right,’ he said quickly. ‘Let’s not travel over that ground again. But do let’s be practical. You’ll be lucky if Mueran doesn’t have you dismissed from your post if you carry on like this.’