The audience went badly. As they walked to the Papal Palace, Blacktooth, his back sore and his guilt making him sick, said nothing to his master and his master said nothing to him. There was an alienation between them that he had never felt before. Brownpony obviously knew he had disobeyed and seen Ædrea, but he could not know, or perhaps only suspected, that she had told Blacktooth about the smuggling of guns. If they had spoken as they walked, mutual accusation might arise, and Nimmy was grateful for the strained silence.
The Pope, still looking uncomfortable in his white cassock, greeted them warmly and without formality. As Blacktooth knelt to kiss his ring, Amen nodded to the cardinal, who then disappeared, leaving the surprised monk alone with the Supreme Pontiff.
“Please get up, Nimmy. Come let us sit over here.”
Blacktooth moved as if in a dream. As he sat down, he felt as if he were resuming his role as a penitent in Specklebird’s home cavern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Specklebird become a cougar.
“There seems to be a divine being among us,” said the cougar, smiling a thin smile.
“The divine being should shut up,” Nimmy heard himself say, and heard with pleasure the cougar’s laugh. The being was playful.
“You are going to continue in Cardinal Brownpony’s employ for some time, unless you object,” said the cougar, dissolving into an old black man with a cloud of white hair and white skullcap.
“I am surprised he still wants me.” (Nimmy again hearing himself.)
“Why do you think he chose you among his translators as a personal secretary?”
“I have wondered that myself, Holy Father. I can only think that he has become attached to the people of his unknown mother, through his frequent contacts with them. I am of the same blood.”
“It’s just ethnic nepotism? Do you really think so?”
“The alternative is to suppose that he thinks I have some particular quality or talent that he appraises rationally, and so chooses me, in spite of my disobedience, but I cannot, Holy Father, imagine what that could be. Whatever it is, it must be imaginary on his part.”
“In other words, you’re just a poor sinner who deeply loves God, but hasn’t got much to offer in the way of talent.”
Sarcasm? Blacktooth withered. He had unconsciously spoken through a mask of humility, and the cougar as Specklebird-Peter ruthlessly held up a mirror to the mask he was looking through.
Recovering after a moment, he said, reflecting the sarcasm, “All right, let’s admit that I’m a genius in Nomadic languages, having invented the new alphabet myself, which even Saint Ston’s uses, I’m told. Not only that, I’ve learned to defend myself, understand most of my master’s affairs with the Nomads, and that’s where we’re going. So perhaps his choosing me is rational. Also, I’ve been taught how to kill a man.”
“You are to abstain from deadly violence, my son,” said the old mountain cat.
“Neither am I to covet my neighbor’s ox, Holy Father.”
The Pope laughed heartily. “You’re awake sometimes, Nimmy. I do believe it: you are called to contemplation.”
Blacktooth sighed and lowered his head. “I could be laicized and still work for the cardinal, Holy Father. And I don’t have to be a monk to contemplate.”
Specklebird returned to his subject: “In your case, I think you do. Cardinal Brownpony chose you because you are a monk, Nimmy, a real monk, and a contemplative. Why do you think he, a rich and powerful man, formed a friendship with me, a hermit and beggar, a bedraggled and much-reprimanded priest with no parish, denied access for several years to the altars of Valanan Churches? Your master wants to learn more about people like us, Nimmy. There is hope for him, just because he perceives we are different, and the perception leads him to curiosity rather than contempt. If you were not truly a man of religion, why would he choose you?—who know less about the Secretariat’s business than at least three of the others. I know him. He wonders what it is like to know God.”
“If you are being infallible, I surrender. If not, I say he made a mistake, because I am, or was, a very bad monk.”
“You bring in a load of donkey shit. That’s yours to confess if you think so, but it’s not yours to judge on the last day.”
“I’m in love with a spook, a genny girl, Holy Father.”
“Is that why you want to be laicized?”
“Not at first.” He sighed. “Maybe that’s part of it now.”
“Maybe?”
“Because she too says I’m a monk. Everybody says I’m a monk but me.”
“Smart girl. When you feel love for her, see God in her. Do not let this love lessen your love of the Lord. Passion is the other side of compassion, not its negation. You should be able to see and love God through any of His works, including a forbidden girl. But remember that you are a monk of Saint Leibowitz. Love is not a sin.”
“But consummation is.”
“For you. You yourself chose it to be so.”
“As a runaway at age fifteen.”
“Your solemn vows were taken much later, Brother St. George!”
“But I was still ignorant of the world I was undertaking to shun by my vows, from which only you can absolve me, Holy Father.”
“You have learned so much about the world lately?”
“I am in love.”
Pope Amen laughed. “Loving God through His creatures is admirable, if you know what you are doing. Now let me remind you of something. I have spoken to Abbot Jarad, and he reminded me. The Order of Saint Leibowitz was originally an order of hermits. It is possible for you to remain in the Order, but live apart from the monastery. You would live by the ancient rules of Saint Leibowitz, as he originally established them. This would be after your present employer releases you, of course. I ask you to consider the possibility, and postpone your request to be laicized until you decide.”
Blacktooth sighed deeply. He looked at the old black man; the cougar was gone. He lowered his head in submission, but a question remained: What if she is really pregnant? he thought, walking away empty from the audience. Well, not quite empty: a poor monk had talked back to a Pope. Riches, riches.
Other employees of SEEC briefed him on events during his five-day absence. Valana was still in turmoil. The external violence and internal cowardice that tainted the Conclave of 3244 were acknowledged even by the new Pope, who had astonished everyone by placing the sickened city of Valana under a sentence of interdict. The security guard Elkin recited for Blacktooth the names of the leaders of the violence, who were brought forth to undertake to repair damages to the palace. “These seventeen thugs knelt there before Pope Amen, their hero. He got from them a promise to repair all damage. Then he imposed a penance of prayer and fasting, and then absolved them.”
“But this did nothing to satisfy the Benefez people,” Nimmy guessed. Elkin nodded.
It was immediately apparent that the election of an eccentric religious ascetic of dubious orthodoxy and religious impulsiveness caused a nervous shuddering to pass through the hierarchy and the institutions of power from coast to coast. It was either an unexpected attack by the Holy Ghost upon the conclave, or the work of the Devil and the Red Deacon.
The Archbishop of Texark interviewed nearly 170 cardinals who had participated in the election before he found enough electors who willing to affirm that their votes for Amen Specklebird had been given under duress. He stayed only three days in the city, and, claiming illness, failed to come to pay homage to the elected Pope. He departed with his troops and quite a few Eastern cardinals who were healthy enough and eager to escape the sickened city. Some members of his faction announced that the Holy See was still vacant because the election was forced. They called upon the old man to admit the election was invalid, to announce another conclave to be held in New Rome, and then to step down from the throne he illegally occupied. Brownpony and others made the case for a valid election, and proposed that the faction recognize His Holiness or face ecclesiastical sanctions. Only one of the group changed his mind at this point, and the others left Valana for home. It seemed obvious that the old wound of schism had again burst its stitches.