Chapter 482 — The Newspaper Comes First

Not long after the first ray of sunlight climbed above the horizon, the new mechanical clock two streets away sounded its chime. With the first time-telling bell of the day, the mana-crystal lamps along both sides of the road went out one after another, and the doors of the Press Bureau opened with them.

Before long, Benny had received the newspapers he was to deliver and sell that day. He had prepared two large satchels: one held the papers people had subscribed to, the other held the papers meant for retail sale.

Wealthier folk—merchants and scholars, for instance—wanted to see the new issue at the first moment. They would usually spend a few extra coppers for a month's "delivery service," with someone bringing the paper straight to their homes. It was said that in the big cities to the south this work was done by professional postmen, but Caroll did not yet have enough postmen locally, so the task of delivering papers fell to the newsboys as well.

Benny, satchel heavy on his shoulder, walked briskly toward the street. He first swiftly completed his task of delivering papers in that block, then found a quiet place and pulled out a copy for himself, reading it earnestly.

This counted as slacking off—but in an unnoticed street corner, no one would come to make trouble for him over it.

Benny was not worried that reading the paper would keep him from finishing the day's sales quota, because the number of people reading the paper was growing all the time. This thing was always in short supply.

At least for now.

Benny read earnestly. He finished the first page's news and current events, then began reading a new section that had recently caught his attention.

The section was called Faith and the Church.

It was a newly appeared section, first showing up in the Cecil Weekly in a special edition three issues ago.

In the first two or three issues, the content of this section had been nothing unusual—mainly classic religious allusions and easy-to-understand fables, along with some basic content about religious rites and knowledge of the gods. Whatever it discussed, it was all very interesting to Benny; he read these as entertaining stories.

But this time the content seemed a little unusual. Benny saw no short little stories and fables—instead he saw a full-page article, and above it a striking headline in large type:

How the Northern Daylight Church Operates — Where the Wealth of the Clergy Comes From

Benny was curious, but just before he could read on, a curse from beside him interrupted: "Damn it!"

Benny started and turned to look. It was Old Tom, who lived in the same block. The aged cobbler had a newspaper clutched in his hand and looked furious, and he cursed again: "I don't believe it!"

Benny shrank back a little. He was somewhat afraid of this old man: Old Tom was a believer in the Holy Light, devout and stubborn. It was said that after his wife died he had donated half his fortune to the Church, and in daily life he kept to a frugal, solitary existence. As a cobbler, Old Tom's craftsmanship was beyond question, but as a stubborn and solitary old man, he was very hard to get along with.

The children were all afraid of him.

Old Tom was still muttering curses under his breath. He seemed profoundly dissatisfied with what the newspaper said—yet even as he cursed, he could not help lifting the paper and reading on, cursing at nearly every sentence.

The more Benny watched, the more frightened he became. He thought this solitary old man had probably truly lost his mind, and so he quietly edged backward, preparing to slip away without a fuss. But before he could shift his feet, the eccentric old cobbler called out to him: "Boy! Tell me—this stuff in the paper is all nonsense, isn't it?!"

Benny shrank back again. He summoned his courage and raised his head, ready to give a casual reply and be on his way—but in the instant he looked up, the half-grown boy froze in astonishment.

He saw that the eccentric, reclusive old widower's eyes were glaring wide, his eye sockets frighteningly red, and that cold, ever-stern face was wholly twisted with pain.

"It's all nonsense! It must be nonsense!" Old Tom clutched the paper, which was nearly crumpled into a ball in his hands, yet his voice began to tremble. "They told me... told me... the moment the gold coins jingle, my name goes up into the Kingdom of God, and Martha will be waiting for me there..."

Benny blinked. He did not know what this old cobbler was talking about, but his gaze swept across the newspaper in his own hands. There, the words written by the "theological commentator" signing himself "the White Knight" were plain and clear:

"...They are skilled at using all manner of unverifiable empty promises to swindle believers out of their money. The most common claims are of several kinds... the moment the gold coins jingle, one can reserve a place for oneself in the Kingdom of God, or send the soul of a recently deceased loved one into the Kingdom of God. But in truth this has no connection whatsoever with the teachings of the Holy Light...

"In the original scriptures of the Holy Light, there is in fact a clear statement regarding the redemption of souls. Yet the clergy never let ordinary people see this portion, or never interpret it in detail..."

Old Tom's emotions seemed to finally calm a little. His eyes were still red, but he no longer cursed. Instead he lifted the newspaper and swiftly read through its contents once more.

"Bah."

He spat to one side, then seemed to hesitate over whether to throw the newspaper away; in the end, however, he stuffed it inside his clothes, hunched over, and shuffled slowly off.

Benny watched this scene in bewilderment, then noticed that more people around him were holding newspapers too.

People had gathered in twos and threes, discussing what was in the papers; some looked anxious, some wore angry faces, and some simply looked confused.

No one seemed to react as violently as old Tom, yet they were all unquestionably absorbed in the newspaper's contents, and many who had no paper in hand appeared to be asking those beside them what was going on.

Benny thought it over, and suddenly he knew what he ought to do.

He held the newspaper in his hand high aloft, strained his throat, and began shouting at the top of his voice: "Papers! Papers! The new Cecil Weekly! Come and have a look! The inside story of how the Church runs! First-hand news!"