The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

"The theological implications are - troubling."

"It's only a thaumaturgical simulation, a symbol, if you will," Cholmondeley assure him. "We don't pretend otherwise. The test of a symbol is its utility, and we have found this one to be of enormous value. On that basis, will you bear with us?"

"On that basis, yes," the abbot said, but if he was happy about it, he concealed the fact very well.

"Good. Without the willing consent of the participants, the simulation is all too likely to break down, which would precipitate us back into the mundane world where, sadly, virtue is less manifest," Cholmondeley said. "And, as I said, virtuous reality can be valuable - as you see." He pointed.

Coming through the trees was Erasmus. In the strange space of virtuous reality, the scriptorium spirit seemed as real and solid as any of the rest of us - more real and solid than I seemed to myself. Brother Vahan made a choked noise and ran toward the spirit. Erasmus ran toward the abbot, too; they embraced.

"I can feel him!" Brother Vahan exclaimed. Finding his old friend palpable seemed to wipe away his reservations about virtuous reality at a stroke.

While Brother Vahan greeted Erasmus, I took a longer look at the trees from which the scriptorium spirit had emerged. I recognized some of them; orange and lemon, pomegranate and date palm. But others were strange to me, both in appearance and in the scents that wafted from their fruits and flowers to my nose.

I wondered if the Tree of Knowledge grew in this version of the Garden, and what would happen if I tasted of it. Haw to ask that serpent, I thought but when I looked around for if it was gone. Just as well, I suppose.

"I grieve that you were wounded," Brother Vahan was saying. We all gathered around him and Erasmus. The abbot went on, "Never in my worst nightmare did I imagine evil being so bold as to assail our peaceful monastery."

"Nor I," Erasmus answered mournfully. I'd never heard him speak till that moment on This Side, he'd manifested himself only with written words on the ground glass. His apparent voice perfectly fit his studious appearance and the spectacles he affected: it was dry, serious, on the pedantic side. If you imagine Michael Manstein as a scriptorium spirit you're dose.

"Are you in pain now?" Brother Vahan asked anxiously.

"No. Pain, I think, is impermissible in this remarkable place." Erasmus peered from one of us to the next. "I recognize here Inspector Fisher of the Environmental Perfection Agency, and this other gentleman's semblance is also somehow familiar to me, although I do not know his name."

"I am Legate Shiro Kawaguchi of the Angels City Constabulary Department," Kawaguchi said when Erasmus looked his way. "Perhaps you sensed my aura during the Bre; officers under my command helped rescue you."

"That must account for it," Erasmus agreed. "I fear I have not yet made the acquaintance of the other two individuals here." \ "Madame Ruth and Mr. Cholmondeley have made it possible for us to use what they term virtuous reality as a meeting ground with you," Brother Vahan explained.

"Yes, I have encountered the concept in recent journal issues" - Erasmus' voice suddenly grew sad again - "now without doubt lost to the flames. Intriguing to observe an application of it"

"Speaking of the flames," Legate Kawaguchi broke in, "I would be grateful for your account of what took place during the evening on which the Thomas Brothers monastery fire took place."

"Must I recount it?" Even in virtuous reality, Erasmus looked scared. "So dose came I to being eKtinguished forever."

"If you want the perpetrators apprehended, we must have your statement," Kawaguchi answered. "Yours, I think, is the only reliable testimony as to what occurred on the Other Side during the commission of the felony."

Brother Vahan added, "You should also know, old friend, that eleven of the brethren lost their lives in the fire, and many others were badly burned." His face twisted. I thought about the stiff-necked Cardinal of Angels City and his doubts about cosmetic sorcery.

"I did not know," Erasmus whispered. His pale, thin visage twisted, too. Remembered pain? Fear? I couldn't tell.

"They warned me it would be folly of the purest ray serene to speak of what they did to me, evenassuming I was thereafter able to manifest myself, which they found unlikely. But eleven of the holy brethren - Very well, abbot. Legate: I shall speak in praise ottofly."

Legate Kawaguchi held a stylus and note tablet in his hands. I don't know where they came from; they hadn't been there an instant before. Maybe it was just the nature of virtuous reality to accommodate itself to the wills and desires of those who occupied it. Being a constable, Kawaguchi felt he needed written documentation when he questioned a witness. Since he needed it, he got it. Or maybe I'm altogether off base; I don't pretend to be a thaumaturge.

At any rate, note tablet poised, the legate asked, "What do you mean by 'they,' Erasmus?"