Dragon Business, The Read Online Free PDF Page B

worthy priest, in one pious town.”
    The priest frowned; clearly, he had expected something more extravagant to warrant all the fuss. “A piece of wood?”
    “ Sacred wood, if you please,” said Reeger.
    Brother Dalbry said in a voice pregnant with awe, “This piece of wood is a splinter of the True Cross . It possesses miraculous properties that are yet to be discovered.”
    The priest remained skeptical. “If the properties have yet to be discovered, then how do you know they’re miraculous?”
    “Because it’s a miracle we survived this long,” Brother Reeger interjected. “After all we’ve been through, we could not have survived without the grace projected by that splinter.”
    “We must have it!” said the town’s self-proclaimed mayor. “The splinter will put Folly on the map.”
    The priest was unable to tear his eyes from the bit of weathered wood on the faded silk. “We would be happy to relieve you of your burden, Brothers. Rest assured that this sacred object will be prominently displayed in our church.”
    “Excellent,” said Brother Dalbry with a smile. “But we must be assured of your church’s commitment. Your townspeople must prove themselves worthy—nothing this precious comes without a sacrifice.”
    “What kind of sacrifice?” asked one of the local farmers.
    Brother Dalbry lowered his voice and said with great import, “A financial one. It is impossible to place a value on a relic such as this, but if your people dig deep into their pockets and come up with as many gold coins as possible, we’ll deem the sacrifice worthy.”
    “How will we know?” asked the priest.
    “The splinter will know,” said Brother Dalbry.
    So the two friars remained by the town well, sipping water, while Brother Reeger kept asking for samples of the famous honey. Someone finally brought a small clay pot filled with honey, as well as half a loaf of leftover bread.
    The townspeople were atwitter with the possibility that their very own Folly could become the home to a splinter of the True Cross. The people would consider it a great vindication, and a boost to their self-esteem, after having suffered a disappointment several years earlier:
    Two men had come to town selling the actual skull of Saint Bartimund, a beloved local saint who was a hero to the people because he had cured sick sheep of a hoof blight. When the two strangers had offered to sell the skull of Saint Bartimund, the townspeople jumped at the chance. Such a relic could attract tourist trade and improve the local economy. The deal had been consummated, the two men were paid, and the town put the precious skull on display.
    Just as the skull-sellers prepared to leave Folly, though, someone came riding in from the adjacent village with the proud claim that they owned the genuine skull of Saint Bartimund.
    The townspeople of Folly grew ugly, believing they had been cheated. But the skull-sellers simply explained that there was no deception, no trick. They were aware of the relic in the adjacent village, but this was the skull of Saint Bartimund as a younger man, and therefore purer and more valuable.
    Relieved and reassured, the people of Folly sent the men off.
    And that had begun a “relics race” in the area, because each town wanted their own genuine skull of Saint Bartimund at varying ages. For miles around, every local church had a skull of the man at age sixteen, or seventeen, or eighteen. Before long, the relics covered most of the saint’s lifespan, and some towns even split the hairs down to the months of Bartimund’s life. . .  .
    Now, standing around the well, the supposed mayor of Folly said, “If we get a splinter of the True Cross, we’ll have something even better than a skull of Saint Bartimund.”
    The excited townspeople scrounged up their savings, and by nightfall they presented Brother Dalbry and Brother Reeger with a sack of coins and gems. Even though the church had gold-plated and bejeweled candlesticks,