“Indeed,” Samson Honey-Eater said a moment later in his soft, calm voice. “I see it with the eyes of my soul. The mass production of paper, densely covered in letters. Each leaf in hundreds, and one day, however ridiculous it may sound, maybe even thousands of copies. All of it reproduced over and over and widely available. Lies, rubbish, libel, lampoons, denunciations, base propaganda and demagoguery pandering to the masses. Every wickedness ennobled, every villainy official, every lie the truth. Every stupidity crowned because it is all in print. It is on paper, thus it has power and is binding. It will be simple to begin it, Master Gutenberg, and to set it in motion. But to stop it?”

“I doubt it’ll be necessary,” Scharley interrupted, seemingly in earnest. “As a greater realist than you, Samson, I don’t predict such popularity for this invention. And even if events were to follow the course you have prophesied, one can arrest it using a method as easy as pie. An index of forbidden books will simply be created.”

Gutenberg, beaming a moment before, had become subdued. To such a degree that Reynevan felt sorry for him.

“So you don’t predict a future for my invention?” he asked in hushed tones a moment later. “After having exposed its adverse sides with truly Inquisitorial zeal and ignoring its positive ones, just like Inquisitors. For it will be possible to print—and in the process widely popularise—the word of God. How do you respond to that?”

“We respond,” Scharley’s mouth twisted into a mocking sneer, “like Inquisitors. Like the Pope. Like Council Fathers. Why, Master Gutenberg, don’t you know what the Council Fathers pronounced in this regard? Sacra pagina should be the privilege of men of the cloth, for only they are capable of understanding it. Keep away, secular dimwits.”

“You mock.”

Reynevan thought the same. For as Scharley went on, he didn’t even attempt to hide either his sneering smile or his derisive tone.

“The secular, even those displaying vestigial understanding, can make do with sermons, lessons, the Gospels on Sunday and morality plays. And the most spiritually impoverished can make the acquaintance of the Bible at nativity and miracle plays, passion scenes and stations of the cross, by singing canticles and staring at sculptures and paintings in churches. And you want to print and give those simpletons the Bible? And maybe translated from Latin into the common tongue to boot? So that anyone can read it and interpret it in their own way? You want it to come to that?”

“I needn’t want it at all,” Gutenberg replied calmly, “because it’s already happened. Quite near here. In Bohemia. And however history continues to develop, nothing can change that fact or its consequences. Whether we like it or not, we are facing reforms.”