He continued his sermon for another half hour, ignoring the dead body, bringing forth every reference he thought mildly appropriate to the subject at hand, from the concept of an eye for an eye to the Day of Judgment, which he promised was a lot closer at hand than most people suspected.

Finally, when he finished, explaining that he was cutting his preaching short out of respect for the dead—and also because the Democracy’s post office would be closing soon—he had a young boy from the Tradertown take his platinum poorbox up and down the aisles, and he didn’t dismiss the congregation until everyone had made a contribution.

“I’ll be seeing you all here bright and early tomorrow morning,” said Father William, signaling them that it was now permissable to rise and depart, “when the topic will be ‘Sex and Sin,’ for which I suggest you leave the children at home. Donations will be appreciated, and if anyone would like to bring along a couple of chocolate layer cakes with thick fudge frosting, I promise to put them to good use.” Suddenly he pointed to Virtue. “You stick around, young lady. We’ve got some serious talking to do.”

The young boy brought him the poorbox and whispered something in his ear.

“Hold it!” he hollered, and those people who hadn’t yet made it to the exit froze in their tracks.

“I don’t know who goes by the name of the Spike, or even what sex you are, but I’ve been told on very good authority that you tried passing off some Royal Yen in the poorbox. Now, as you know, the Royal Yen isn’t acceptable currency anywhere but out on the Rim, and I’ve got a gut feeling that the good Lord is going to take it as a personal affront. So what I’m going to do is ask this handsome young man to move among you again, and see if you can’t find it in your heart to come up with some coin of the realm that’ll buy food and vaccines for the poor unfortunates on Kellatra Four, which is my next port of call. As for this,” he added, holding up the unacceptable currency, “I’ll just hang on to it in case I should run into some God-fearing missionary whose call is leading him out to where he can use it.”

The boy walked into the midst of the crowd and emerged a moment later with two crisp fifty-dollar Maria Theresa notes. Father William nodded his head in approval, and a moment later Virtue found herself alone in the tent with him.

“I want to thank you,” she said, approaching him and extending her hand. “I’d have been dead meat if you hadn’t spotted him.”