The Cardinal nodded knowingly. “Ah, the Good St. Vanturok. Though it does say something about the church of his day that they were willing to trust a man who rowed into the ocean on a coracle and rowed back ten years later claiming he’d discovered a new continent.”

“What’s your favorite relic?” Abelard asked, realizing belatedly that he should have made some effort to find this out before launching into an oblique condemnation of half the contents of the case.

“Despite its rust,” the Cardinal said, “I’ve always been partial to St. Winnick’s Wrench. For similar reasons to your affection for St. Hilliard, in fact: it’s an old tool, not adjustable, iron-made rather than stainless steel, and so rusty despite Sister Reliquarian’s efforts that I doubt you could use it to adjust a bolt without flaking away half the thing’s substance. But it reminds me that we must do the best with what we have. If we are to believe those Ebon Sea philosophers who claim there is such a thing as an ideal wrench, a wrench of which all other wrenches are made in imitation, then the wrenches we hold are no more like that ideal wrench than we are like the ideal being in whose pattern we are formed. Yet such are the tools we must use, and such are the men we must be.” He touched three fingers to three points around his heart—a triangle pointing up. “My thoughts tend this way when I find myself mourning the state of the world and the weakness its inhabitants, ourselves included.”

“Your Grace,” Abelard said when he was relatively certain the Cardinal was not engaged in a drawn-out dramatic pause. “Earlier you said you go nowhere without a reason, preferably several. I don’t think you came here at this hour to contemplate relics.”

The Cardinal surged to his feet, robes billowing around his body like a red tide. “Abelard,” he said. “Walk with me.”

The Cardinal led him from the vestry past a row of chapels where priests and monks crouched praying, to a lift that ran the tower’s height. It opened on the sixty-first floor, the Evangelate Offices, and Abelard blinked. Walls of smooth dark stone were the norm in the Temple of Kos Everburning; they did not insulate well, but cheap heating bills were one of the many benefits of working for a God of Fire. The Evangelate, however, looked like a Craftsman’s office suite: tall windows of clear glass instead of stained, with blond wood everywhere, smoked glass office walls at the perimeter and low gray-walled cubicles within.

“I haven’t been up here in a long time,” Abelard said. “You remodeled.”