Whit

'I know, Grandfather,' I told him, and put on my most wi

He took a deep breath, smiling and shaking his head. 'Well, just never forget that you're allowed to enjoy yourself.' He patted my hand. 'Never forget that.  We believe in happiness, here; we believe in joy and love.  You are entitled to your share of those.' He let go of my hand and made a show of looking me up and down. 'You're looking well, young lady,' he told me. 'You're looking healthy.' His grey, abundant eyebrows flexed. 'Looking forward to the Festival, are we?' he asked, his eyes twinkling.

I brought up my chin, self-conscious beneath the Blessed Salvador's gaze.

I suppose I must describe myself at some point and now seems as good a time as any to get it over with.  I am a little above average height and neither ski

I was dressed in a white shirt - reverse-buttoned, of course - narrow black trousers and a long black travelling jacket which matches my broad-brimmed hat.  My brother Allan calls this my preacher look.

'I'm sure we're all looking forward to the Festival, Grandfather,' I told him.

'Good, glad to hear it,' he said. 'So, you're off to Dunblane, are you?'

'Yes, Grandfather.'

'You'll come round this afternoon?' he asked. 'I've been having more thoughts about the re-draft.'

'Of course,' I said.  I had been helping Grandfather with what we all suspected would be the final version of our Good Book, The Luskentyrian Orthography, which has been undergoing a kind of divinely sanctioned rolling revision ever since Grandfather began the work, in 1948.

'Fine,' he said. 'Well, have a good… whatever it is you have playing an organ,' he said, and smiled. 'Go with God, Isis.  Don't talk to too many strangers.'

Thank you, Grandfather.  I'll do my best.'

'I'm serious,' he said, frowning suddenly. 'I've had this… feeling about reporters recently.' He smiled uncertainly.

'Was it a vision, Grandfather?' I asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

Visions have been important to our Faith from the begi

He looked a

'I understand,' I said, trying to sound soothing. 'I'll be careful, I promise.'

He smiled. 'Good girl.'

I took my hat and left the Cogitarium.  The Sisters had left the bathroom looking dry and smelling clean.  I ascended into the up-thrust landscape of the bedroom and crossed to the far side through the gloom.  I picked my boots up from the floor of the sitting room.

'How is he this morning?' Erin asked from her desk near the double doors as I did up my laces.  Sister Erin looked at my boots with an expression consistent with having seen something unpleasant on the soles.

'In a jolly good mood, I'd say,' I told her, to be favoured with a wintry smile.

'Hey, Is,' Allan said as we exited doors on either side of the landing at the same time.

My elder brother is tall and fit, and fair both in hair and skin; we share eye-colour, though his are apparently more piercing.  He has a broad face and an easy, confident grin.  His gaze is prone to darting about, shifting all the time as he talks to you with that wi

'Good morning,' I said. 'Bernie said you wanted a word?'

Allan shrugged, smiling. 'Oh, it was nothing,' he said, walking downstairs with me. 'It was just we heard Aunt Brigit wouldn't be coming back for the Festival, that's all; thought you could have mentioned it.'

'Oh.  Well, that's a pity.  But you'll see Grandad today; you tell him.'

'Well, yes, but it's just that he takes these things better from you, doesn't he?  I mean, you're the apple of his eye, aren't you?  Eh, sis?' He nudged me and favoured me with a sly grin as we reached the bottom of the steps.  The smell of polish lingered and the floor looked like an ice rink, but Elias and Herb had departed.

'If you say so,' I told him.  He held open the front door for me and I preceded him into the courtyard.  He pulled on his tweed jacket. 'You off to Dunblane?'

'I am.'

'Right.' He nodded, gazing up at the gauzy mist as we walked across the damp cobbles. 'Just thought I'd take a saunter out to the road-end,' he told me. 'Give whoever's on the post-run a hand.' He adjusted one shirt cuff. 'Expecting some fairly heavy parcels,' he explained. 'Hamper, perhaps.' (We do all our food shopping by post, for somewhat ridiculous reasons I shall probably have to explain later.  There are hidden intricacies and interpretative choices associated with the post-run itself, too.) We stopped, facing each other in the centre of the courtyard.

'How's, ah… how's the revision going?' he asked.

'Fine,' I told him.

'He changing much?' Allan asked, dropping his voice so slightly he probably didn't realise he was doing it, and unable to resist a furtive-looking glance at the mansion house.

'Not really,' I said.

Allan looked at me for a moment.  I suspected he was debating with himself whether to be sarcastic.  Apparently the decision went my way. 'It's just, you know,' he said, looking pained, 'some of… some of the others are a bit worried about what the old guy might be changing.'

'You make it sound like a will,' I smiled.

'Well,' Allan nodded. 'It is his legacy, isn't it?  To us, I mean.'

'Yes,' I said. 'But as I said, he isn't changing much; just tidyings up, mostly.  So far we've spent most time explaining false signals; the early self-heresies; he's been trying to explain the circumstances behind them.'

Allan crossed his arms then put one hand to his mouth. 'I see, I see,' he said, looking thoughtful. 'Still think all this will be ready come the Festival?'