Just as Taleswapper had expected. The preacher retreated to authority as soon as he feared his ideas could not stand on their own merit. Reasonable argument was impossible when authority became the arbiter; Taleswapper returned to the immediate matter. “The devil laid his fingers on this altar,” said Taleswapper. “It burned my finger to touch the place.”

“It never burned mine,” said the preacher.

“I expect not,” said Taleswapper. “You were ordained.”

Taleswapper made no effort to hide the scorn in his voice, and it plainly irked the preacher, who lashed back. It did not bother Taleswapper when people got angry at him. It meant they were listening, and at least half believing him. “Tell me, then, if you have such keen eyes,” said the preacher. “Tell me if a messenger from God has ever touched the altar.”

Plainly the preacher regarded this question as a test. Taleswapper had no idea which answer the preacher thought was correct. It hardly mattered; Taleswapper would answer truthfully, no matter what. “No,” he said.

It was the wrong answer. The preacher smirked. “Just like that? You can say that he has not?”

Taleswapper thought for a moment that the preacher might believe his own ordained hands had left the marks of God’s will. He would lay that notion to rest at once. “Most preachers don’t leave tracks of light on things they touch. Only a few are ever holy enough.”

But it wasn’t himself the preacher had in mind. “You’ve said enough now,” said the preacher. “I know that you’re a fraud. Get out of my church.”

“I’m no fraud,” said Taleswapper. “I may be mistaken, but I never lie.”

“And I never believe a man who says he never lies.”

“A man always assumes that others are as virtuous as himself,” said Taleswapper.

The preacher’s face flushed with anger. “Get out of here, or I’ll throw you out.”

“I’ll go gladly,” said Taleswapper. He walked briskly to the door. “I never hope to return to a church whose preacher is not surprised to learn that Satan has touched his altar.”

“I wasn’t surprised because I don’t believe you.”

“You believed me,” said Taleswapper. “You also believe an angel has touched it. That’s the story you think is true. But I tell you that no angel could touch it without leaving a trace that I could see. And I see but one trace there.”

“Liar! You yourself are sent by the devil, trying to do your necromancy here in the house of God! Begone! Out! I conjure you to leave!”

“I thought churchmen like you didn’t practice conjurings.”