Some Quester pics

 

Purity

Poltronis

Lucius

Herakles all dressed up, but should have a moustache

Elene

Poltronis's island palace. 

Some fashion pics:

campus of academy

the sump

The Electric Zarr

Quester

Quester amongst the flowers 1

 the good news is that I have been a bit more active, and a noticeable amount less pain. The bad news is I have been taking advantage of this to do stuff about the house rather than writing for you all. I should say sorry, but I'm not really that sorry. anyway, here it is, the third Quester story, I'm still writing it, but I have a good few chapters in hand.

Chapter 1

 

Quester regarded the Jurisprudentor with displeasure.

“You have eight girls from patrician families who are dead, or missing, and you can’t find a single fact which connects them?”

The gangling young man who was on the receiving end of his displeasure had a prominent adam’s apple which bobbed nervously as he swallowed.

“Well, apart from them all being between about fourteen and twenty-one, no,” he said. “Sex criminals usually have a type... I beg your pardon?”

“They are all the victims of sex crimes?” asked Quester.

“Well, yes; the ones we have found have all been violated and strangled,” said the Jurisprudentor.

“Mr. Villnew,” said Quester, reading off the label on the paper-pusher, “You tell me there are no points of similarity, yet you have given me three already. All nubile, violated, and killed by strangulation.  And would that be manual strangulation, or using some form of ligature?”

Villnew goggled and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if it wanted to escape the confining throat.

“I... I don’t know,” said Villnew. “...My lord,” he added belatedly as Burdock glared and Quester raised an eyebrow.

“And they got an idiot with delusions of moronity to brief me why?” demanded Quester. “Which  Lictor is in charge of this? Why did he not report to me?”

The adam’s apple bobbed widely.

“Uh... Lictor Cayban did not have time....” he tailed off nervously and twisted his fingers together.

“I won’t shoot the messenger if he was less than courteous, you know,” said Quester.

Villnew shuffled.

“He said that he didn’t need some poncy Justiciar doing his job for him and that if he couldn’t solve it, you hadn’t a chance, and he was damned if he gave you any consideration or time, and advised us to be unhelpful. I was given the job of briefing you this morning and I haven’t been able to go through it all yet, my lord,” he said.

“That puts a different complexion on things, lad,” said Quester.  “I take back the remark about your intellect. I won’t apologise for it, though, because you parroted what you were told to say, instead of doing your duty and telling me how it is.  Do you have all the records?  Is all the evidence recorded?”

“Uh....” said Villnew.

“Hunter,” said Quester, to his new junior, “Go with Burdock into the evidence locker and pull everything on these girls... you have a list, Mr. Villnew?”

“Oh, yes, here,” said Villnew.

Quester read it through as the two assistants headed deep into the local Judiciary building.

“Hortensia Wilburga Sagittaria; Jacintha Willema Farfaxa; Rosa Jema Basvilla; Selandina Riketa Warrena; Erica Peytona Randoffa; Zenobia Willema Avia;  Yolanda Thossa Jeffra; and Iolantha Ankakia Lea. I can see another link just by looking at the list.”

“Some of them are flowers,” said Kiliana, leaning over his arm.

“All of them are flowers,” said Quester. “Hydrangea, Hyacinth, Rose, Buttercup, Heather, Honeycup – a native of the Jinnya Isles – Violet, and Violet. Now tell me there’s no connection.”

Villnew gulped convulsively, and Killiana shuddered, worried that his voice box was going to break free and burst out of his neck.

“I... I don’t want to be fired,” he said. “I... I failed the Justiciar training, and... and went in for Jurisprudence instead. But you have to do a lot of politicking to stay still, never mind rise, and... well, Lictor Cayban was appointed to the case by the Judiciary, and I’m a very small cog and he’s a very big wheel.”

“If you do well by me, Villnew, you will find I am so much bigger a wheel than he can possibly imagine.  His actions are close to heresy, and I am tempted to have him arrested in order to find out whether he’s blocking me because he, or a friend of his, has been plucking these flowers. Copy your file once each for my assistant and me, oh, and a third time for Sub-Justiciar Hunter. Killiana, you can let Purity look over your notes.”

Killiana nodded; that was an instruction to brief Purity, who had admitted to being poor at reading, being more interested in the physical side of her training. Quester suspected that many Highbred had questionable literary skills; most of them had good to eidetic memories, which obviated the need to look up what they could memorise. Chaplains and Psions kept records so presumably had higher attainments of literacy, but as their records were secret, he could not ascertain the truth of this. He strongly suspected his friend, Chaplain Eusebius, of speaking his records into his datatab. Many people did.  And Purity had hoped to be a Sister Nightingale, one of the female Highbred units who were battlefield medics. She had failed her tests by the narrowest of margins, but had received some training, as well as a second heart, from Eusebius and his Winged Hussars. At something over seven feet tall, she was short next to the Highbred, but a nice size for Burdock, the Ogroid, whose girlfriend she was. Ogroids had grown out of the original experiments in breeding Highbred, and were usually dim-witted and slow of thought. Burdock was an exceptional character with an offbeat sense of humour, and as he also now had a second heart, he had every chance of living to a reasonable age, as well as being healthier. It was a gift which Quester had appreciated.

He scanned through the information which had been given to Villnew, which was remarkably thin.

“I hope the others find something more than this in the evidence lockers,” he growled. “This is my office from now on; requisition me two more for working in. The inhabitants can double up with others.”

“Er... I don’t think they’ll be happy,” said Villnew.

“They don’t have to be happy; they only have to comply,” said Quester. “Well, jump to it, man! I want the offices today, not when your drool has had a chance to dry. And then you can see about finding me a house to rent nearby.”

“Y... yes, my lord,” said Villnew, who had almost forgotten in his office job how much power a Justiciar had.

Almost limitless.

Villnew straightened.

If he did right by this Justiciar, he would be distributing close to the word of the Blessed Abe himself. And that would settle a few old scores.

He smiled beatifically.

Hickenbak had the best office, with the morning sun and a panorama of the city; the justiciar would doubtless like that. It had a helipad too. Hickenbak could go in with that miserable old sod, Parkson, and may each of them hate it. There was good reason, too, the Justiciar needed helo access at all times. Yes, that would work nicely; it was a shame to upset Miz Lewis in the office between, but  it would be sensible for the space to be contiguous.  And she’d love to see the up-to-the-minute fashions the Justiciar’s assistant was wearing, and might keep a corner of her office if she made herself useful. She had the kitchen right opposite, after all....

Villnew went to talk Miz Lewis into supporting him in evicting Hickenbak.

He saw the Sub-Justiciar and the Ogroid coming back with a truck full of boxes.

Hickenbak first, then.

“In here, if you please, Your Honour, and Mister Burdock,” said Villnew. “I have not yet removed the current incumbent, but it’s a larger office for the Lord Justiciar; and the Jurisprudentor in the office between able to be useful, I am sure, as his lordship does not object to women.”

“Him in de big room a problem, huh?” said Burdock.

“He thinks he’s Abe’s gift to everyone,” said Villnew.

“Leave it to me,” said Burdock. “What’s his name?”

“Hiram Hickenbak,” said Villnew.

Burdock considered for a moment, then a smile came over his face, showing his snaggletoothed grin.

He kicked the door open.

“Which of you is I-ram Stick-in-back?” he demanded.

“I’m Hiram Hickenbak, and you can get out of my office, you dirty stupid Ogroid,” said the haughty tones of the senior Jurisprudentor.

“Ho, well, it ain’t your office no more, Stick-in-back, it’s been requisitioned for his lordship, Lord Justiciar Quester,” said Burdock. “You may have half an hour to gather your personal effects and what you are working on, and move elsewhere. Where should he go, Mr. Villnew?”

“If you knew how tempted I was to answer a straight line like that,” muttered Villnew; and almost fell over when the Ogroid winked at him.

Villnew came into the office.

“I think you’d better move in with Parkson,” said Villnew.

“What about your office, or Lewis’s?” said Hickenbak.

“Requisitioned,” said Villnew. “We’ll be acting as gophers for the Justiciar, and Abe help you if you irritate him, he has a nasty tongue.”

“’S’ all right, you got twenty-two minutes to get out,” said Burdock, clearing Hickenbak’s desk with a casual swipe of his arm.  “This will do, I suppose,” he said. “Where do you make coffee?”

“Opposite Lewis’s office,” said Villnew. “I’ll go and apprise her of the rearrangements.”

Hunter went to collect Quester who looked round the larger office with approval.

“Well, this beats some of the places I’ve had to work,” he said. “Well done, Villnew, and I’m sure Burdock had a hand here too.”

“What’s the worst office you ever had?” asked Kiliana.

Quester gave a rueful smile.

“The  senior officers’ toilet on a war Zeppelin,” he said. “It locked, and there was someone on board out to disrupt my investigations.” He smiled whimsically. “It had lovely shiny surfaces to set up infra red sensors for when the miscreant tried to ambush me by coming through the skylight.”

“You lead an exciting life, my lord,” said Purity. “I’ll be ready to run errands, shall I move in with Miz Lewis and see what the gossip tree says?”

“Why not,” said Quester. “Burdock in charge of the kitchen, I need you helping me, Kiliana, and Hunter, who can retire with the aid of Mr. Villnew on side projects. Set me up a white board, and a map of where those girls came from, Hunter. Did you have any trouble?”

“Not for long,” said Hunter, dryly.

“There was a fellow called Hopping-Weener but we persuaded him to leave us alone,” said Burdock.

“Otherwise, one Vigilior Oppenheimer,” said Hunter. “Burdock asked him if he was a heretic to try to oppose the will of a Justiciar, and he just about wet his pants and fled.”

“Wise of him,” said Quester.

The evidence, which Hunter had signed for, held film pictures of those girls who had been found, since film could not be corrupted, or duplicated by AI. Digital pictures could be made to show almost anything. The girls had been bound with a most unusual twine.

“What do you make of this?” he asked Kiliana, passing her a sample.  Any DNA had been removed by now.

Kiliana regarded it thoughtfully.

“You know we had a kitchen garden on the Pinch Eddard Isles?” she said. “This is like the twine we used for growing beans on, threaded back and forth on a fence.”

Quester nodded. “I can’t find any suggestion that this twine has been identified; the report says, bound with heavy duty green twine, perhaps for tying parcels. Ask Purity to go round any garden or hardware malls, with her pass as my assistant, and ask if she can match it to any brand, and see how common it is. We are probably out of luck, and it’s probably as common as muck itself, but it’s worth a try. Give her enough out of petty cash to buy samples, and to pick up a meal on the way back.”

Kiliana ran off with a sample, bagged and signed for by Quester. Purity must sign it too, and then chain of evidence was maintained.

 

oOoOo

 

Quester recognised Lictor Cayban when he burst into the office.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing, stealing all my evidence?” he howled.

Quester looked up at him, briefly, and continued making notes, and looking at the photographs, to all appearances ignoring Cayban. Cayban strode forward and planted two meaty fists on the well-polished desk of the former occupant of the office. Quester looked up again from where he was examining a photo with a jeweller’s loop. He took the loop from his eye.

“Ah, Cayban, this saves me the bother of sending for you. Do sit down, and let us discuss how long you have been facilitating paedophiles with a liking for aristocratic debutants,” he said.

“I came to... what?” Cayban was rocked back.

“Well, either you are some kind of heretic to interfere with the duties of a Justiciar, or you are hiding the evidence for personal reasons,” said Quester, in his reasonable tone of voice. “You have failed to identify the linking factor between the girls, and a very pertinent link that has to the twine used to bind them.”

“There is no link between them save of social class and age,” said Cayban. “You are making it up to rattle me!”

“I hardly need to do that,” said Quester. “I find it astonishing that a supposedly capable and experienced Lictor like yourself should miss such obvious clues, without considering that you must be covering up for someone you know.  I was wondering whether I should put you to the question over it.”

Cayban fell back into the chair Hunter had set for him, and if he did not actually faint, his grey pallor and sweating brow showed how close he had come to it.

“I... I am a lictor, you cannot....”

“If I suspect heresy I can put anyone to the question,” said Quester. “Now, answer my question, if you please; confession is good for the soul and can save you much unpleasantness.” He steepled his fingers, and sat back, quizzically.

“But... but I am not a heretic!” cried Cayban. “I observe all the offices scrupulously! And... and I am not a deviant, nor do I know any!”

“Then why did you ignore the link between the girls and the link with the twine used?” demanded Quester. 

“I... there is no link! I cannot see one!” sweated Cayban.

“You do not think it significant that every one of those girls is given the name of a flower?” said Quester, in apparent astonishment. Cayban stared.

“But... they aren’t, are they?” he asked.

“Plainly botany was not on your curriculum. Your bafflement is genuine enough. Each of the girls bore the name which has grown from that of a flower; and the twine used to tie them up is garden twine. A tenuous enough link, perhaps, but further than you have got.”

“I’ll find out who does their father’s gardens, and have them brought in for questioning,” said Cayban.

“You will not,” said Quester. “Do you think I have time to waste, breaking each and every little  perrin who cuts lawns and pulls weeds.  By all means, have your men find out who does the gardens of each, and then we can cross correlate any features between them. Also any gardeners at any school or college they may have been attending, any public gardens nearby, and see if the same name of the same firm comes up more than once. Preferably in all eight cases.  And remember, it may be a blind, by a botanically minded member of their own class. Or a teacher of botany. Once we are certain, then we can act. Are there any other young girls of similar age range who have not been molested? Find me a list of debutants. Bring that to me, too. This will stop, hopefully before another young girl has to suffer. Well what are you waiting for? I have given you a sufficiency of tasks to get on with; go!”

Cayban stumbled out of the office wondering where he had lost the plot of his complaint so badly.

 

The Absent Assassin 1

 another Quester story - I'm a good few chapters ahead which is just as well as I've not been doing too well.

I hope you will all enjoy exploring a bit more of Quester's rather watery world.

 

The Absent Assassin

 

Chapter 1

 

“So why does the Empire even need assassins?” asked Kiliana. “Isn’t there rule of law?”

Quester sighed.

“Yes... and no,” he said. “I... would prefer that there was no need for Assassins. Or the Purge. Or the Annihilation. I am sure that it pains the Blessed Abe. But there is a need to make sure that wrong thinking and Heresy are stamped out; it was wrong thinking which brought about the Cataclysm in the first place.  In the days in which the Blessed Abe, our God-Hero, walked on the earth, you might have walked dry-shod clear from Jinnya isles, which were a mountain range, to the Imperial mainland. And down south to the Chilbrasil archipeligo.”

“That seems incredible,” said Kiliana.

“The Cataclysm tore the earth apart as well as all the ice melting. The people of the time were caught between fire and water as many volcanoes erupted, and when the tattered remains of the first hussars got together and formed a government in the name of the Blessed Abe, they swore that they would not permit the false thinking to cause such trouble again, and they banned all religions which could not produce a photograph of their gods, and wiped out those who ignored the warnings, many of whom had been wealthy enough to retire to their own havens. Those havens became the seats of new growth. Then the Commutants set off terrible devices, some of which aided the volcanic dust in putting a stop to the heating of the earth; but most of them failed, for the Blessed Abe willed it so, and the only people they harmed were themselves; and still they believe themselves the chosen of Commin and his demons, Starl-in and Pyut-in, and they cause much trouble. But,” he sighed, “Though our own Hussars, not at first High Bred, took the rest of the world under the loving aegis of the God-Hero, at times they want independence and cause trouble. And it cannot be allowed, lest they start more cataclysm.”

“You make me understand it, Leo,” said Kiliana. “I’ve never had it explained so clearly before.  And I know so little!”

“You will learn, my child,” said Quester.  “There are four types of education, and a Justiciar covers all of them, the lowest the least.”

“And what are they?” asked Kiliana.

“The lowest is the vocational skill most people learn,” said Quester. “Even as you have learned to cook well, and make simple medicines from your time with the comfort-bringing auxillia. As I am sure you are aware, unless the Empire chooses to take a child or adolescent for training to higher position, everyone follows the trade of their father, unless they choose to join the militia instead. Yes, there are female militia units.  They tend to form whole units because it’s easier from the point of view of supplies.”

“People in the militia follow their fathers but the girls don’t all join the cooker-and-hooker units,” said Kiliana.

“There are other auxilia trades, as well as marrying other soldiers,” said Quester.  “And some offspring of the military return to their grandsire’s trades as it is learning by doing.  I’m trying to tell you about the three branches of academic learning that you need to know,” he added, testily.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” said Kiliana. “I like to know how and why things work.”

He nodded.

“I know; but the freighter will be here for us soon, and I want to get the basics out of the way before we go to Yurup.”

“Yurup?” she was startled.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m supposed to be an expert.”

“Aren’t they all barbarians there?”

“I was born in Yurup, you know, Kiliana. No, not barbarians, but less willing to embrace the ways of the God-Hero.  But they do not often rise up without a charismatic leader, and if such is removed, any revolt  is generally short-lived and not too harmful.”

“Oh!” said Kiliana. “Sorry.”

He ruffled her effulgent locks.

“The aristocracy learn their own form of education,” he said. “This is about management, law, leadership, and that may be specialised into military education, since most militia units are officered by the aristocracy, or into politics, for those who will be the rulers of their islands or extents, and many also have the leisure to learn about the arts as well. Oh!” he said.

“An idea, Leo?” asked Kiliana.

“I suddenly realised why that preposterous popinjay I demoted was so disparaging of the art of Reef Teeg, the private soldier who painted that exquisite picture of the God-Hero , and the other paintings I was able to find,” said Quester.

“I can’t see why he didn’t realise what an amazing piece of work it was,” said Kiliana. “Why, the God-Hero seems almost about to speak!”

“Exactly,” said Quester. “And I am sure that... Strong, that was his name... studied art because an aristocrat is expected to be rounded as an individual, and he resented that the work of a private soldier should be praised. I suspect the other daubs hung on the walls were his.”

“Oh!” said Kiliana. “That would explain a lot. Why should he get education in things he doesn’t deserve?” she asked, resentfully.

“Because aristocrats are supposed to be in the position they are because their bloodlines are strong and suited for the role; but it doesn’t always pan out that way,” said Quester, cynically. “Which is why the cleverer proletariat women are supposed to be chosen to be made consorts to those in power, to bring hybrid vigour and an injection of new blood to the bloodlines as their children will be noble, and are educated further to that end.  And it was fortunate that Governor Lussus chose Astelliana, who is shrewd, for her conversation as well as her looks, because when nobles are allowed to choose their own consort, most of the fools pick a pretty girl with as much brain as any Augsheep, thereby instilling even more incipient moronity into an overbred line already tending to imbecility.”

“But don’t hold back, Leo, tell me what you really think,” said Kiliana.

He gave a bark of embarrassed laughter.

“Oh, I let my prejudices speak,” he said.

“It right, though,” Burdock, Quester’s huge manservant, spoke up. He was an Ogroid, a metatype of humanity who had come about from the early experiments in making the High Bred as perfect soldiers; the Ogroids had the strength and size required, but tended to be slow-witted, not having the extra heart the High Bred had, to pump blood more readily to the brain, and with large fangs of uneven size rather than the razor-sharp teeth of the High-Bred, who were human weapons even naked, before they put on their armour and picked up weapons. Burdock showed signs of exceptional intellect for one of his kind, and liked learning. Quester hoped to get him an augmented heart, to give him a better chance of living to more than about thirty five.

“We all agree,” said Kiliana. “So what are the other two branches of education?”

“Science and Philosophy,” said Quester. “Both consider the other holds a lot of fallacy, and both are wrong. As a Justiciar, I have had to cover all three major academic branches, to be able to understand all, specialising in law, and there are branches of both science and philosophy which overlap. You will learn the same, Kiliana; but I’ll get you started, so you are not too far behind. I started in the Justice academy when I was thirteen.”

“What happens if you fail?” asked Kiliana.

“Usually you would be sent to a noble family as their atty, which is a word meaning law specialist,” said Quester. “Or work in the halls of justice covering lesser crimes than heresy.”

“Is it hereditary to be a science priest or a lit priest?” asked Kiliana.

“No, and again, often those of the proletariat who show signs of higher intellect are removed from their environment and relocated into an appropriate family,” Quester explained. “Which is not to say that there are not families who have been in the same field of study time out of mind, for there are. But it’s more flexible than either the aristocracy or the proletariat.”

“What does philosophy do?” asked Kiliana.

“To be honest, it’s a form of science which studies people, but as it’s not always exact and fully reproducible, the science priests look down on it,” said Quester. “I use it to solve mysteries, and in questioning people, finding out what will make them speak up. It’s more subtle and more certain than the crudities of torture, even if it may not be as clear cut as some scientific subjects. And I pray in my heart to the Blessed Abe to guide me in reading individual hearts rather than chant formulaic prayers to Benfranklin to make a machine go.”

“I thought the prayers were just a memory aid for the steps in using technology,” said Kiliana.

“Personally, I agree, but never say so to anyone else; the Geek Priests would hang you by your heels,” said Quester. “The problem is that they can reproduce much lost-tech, but don’t know what makes it go, so they use the prayers and formulae to make sure it works, and there are few enough with the time and inclination to research.”

“Am I wrong to think it is a little... counterproductive?” asked Kiliana.

“No, but again, be careful to whom you voice such opinions,” said Quester.

“Very well, Leo. Leo?”

“Yes, Killie?”

“What are you supposed to do about this rogue assassin? And in what way is he a rogue?”

Quester gave a wintry smile.

“I’m supposed to bring him in, dead or alive; his task was to put down the leader of an uprising. He’s been killing the aristocracy instead.”

“Sah, if they’re as much use as them ones on Attu, I sees his point,” said Burdock.

“Unfortunately, so do I,” said Quester. “We shall see what we find.”

“Are you supposed to find out what you find, or just to deal with the assassin?” asked Kiliana, shrewdly.

“Well, my orders are to deal with the mess made by an assassin going rogue,” said Quester. “I choose to interpret that... liberally.”

Kiliana brightened.

“I’m glad you don’t have to bend your orders too much,” she said. “Doing that makes you all dour and grumpy, and not like the Leo we all love.”

“Honestly, my child!  I’m not lovable,” said Quester, wondering why he felt heat come to his cheeks. “I fear, however, that you will not be able to pass as a boy; in the last few days you have suddenly become a woman.”

Kiliana pulled a face.

“It’s a nuisance; but Astelliana helped me a lot,” she said.  “She took the clothes allowance you gave me and purchased all I need to, ah, provide a foundation. And more... you know, for sanitation.”

“Er...” said Quester.

“Oh, Leo! Pads to absorb blood.  Because it was a bit heavier this time than it has been, and suddenly I get boobies as well.  Astelliana says it’s not uncommon. She reckons I wasn’t having proper ones or developing fully because I was malnourished before, and now I’m properly fed, I’m becoming a woman properly. I almost wish I hadn’t eaten more when you took me on, but it is nice to feel properly full.”

“My dear child, of course you must eat properly!  It proved useful that you could pass as a boy, but I don’t intend to rely on that. As a woman... and you will be a beauty when you have grown into your body... you can use that just as well for getting young – and not so young – men to blurt things out.”

“Oh, I am glad it will be useful,” said Kiliana. “And that you don’t mind.”

“I value you for yourself, Kiliana,” said Quester. “And your looks are of no moment to me.”

“Oh. Don’t you like me being pretty?” asked Kiliana, devastated.

“Of course I am glad that you are attractive; it will help your feelings of self-worth,” said Quester, kindly, patting her on the shoulder.

“So, do you prefer boys?” asked Kiliana.

“I beg your pardon?” Quester was taken aback.

“Well, if you only care about my looks for my own self-worth, does that mean that you only like boys and are unaware of me as a woman?” persisted Kiliana.

“Any man who is not aware of you who is not... er, of the other persuation, has to be blind, crazy, or living under a rock,” said Quester. “And,” he added, savagely, “I’ll make sure to protect you from those who try to force themselves on you, and teach you to take care of yourself.  But for me to notice your looks too much would be most inappropriate, since I am in the position of a mentor to you, and you are in my care.”

“Oh!” said Kiliana. “Oh” she added, “I see.  I will be glad to learn how to escape from anyone grabbing me.”

“Indeed, and we will start, if there is enough room, on the freighter. Which I can, I believe, see approaching the islands; it’s a dirigible. I expect they will be unloading and loading for several hours, but we can settle into our quarters, and I can get on with your education. And I am sure Burdock wants to learn more, too, as he seems to have been untrained in much,” he added, kindly.

“Yes, sah!” said Burdock. “I wants to learn how to subdue people wivout hurtin’ dem, an’ I wants to learn about new places, an’ as much techery an’ flossyfurry an’ military stuff wot you can teach me.”

“Well, if you are interested in science and philosophy, I will do what I can to teach you,” said Quester, amazed again at how unusual Burdock was.

“I wants to learn to paint, too,” said Burdock. “I wants to make pretty pictures of the God-Hero too.”

“I am sure that we can get you some art things,” said Quester.

Even  if his efforts were a childish scrawl, thought the Justiciar, it was still a way the big ogroid could worship the God-Hero in his own way. And who was to say but that the Blessed Abe did not appreciate such honest dedication more than a well-executed piece of religious art by an artist who sold icons as a job of work, without putting devotion into each.