When Teresa's family entered the Enenbach Bros. Roller-Plaza, as the local roller-skating rink was known, they saw at once what had taken so much of her after-school time during the last week. (Ostensibly, that is. In fact, the workers involved had mostly been Hork-Bajir-Controllers – which, while it had given Malcar and the other Sharing members an ideal cover for their pool visits, had also led to several tense moments for the Visserarchy over the course of the week.) The hardwood floor of the rink had been covered with AstroTurf; the usual lighting had been replaced by a much more elaborate system, which at the moment was bathing everything in a neutral yellow glow; an elevated podium, large enough for four or five people to stand on it at a comfortable distance from each other, had been erected in the center of the rink; various seasonal symbols, forged from what a non-metallurgist might easily have taken to be silver and gold, were suspended from the ceiling at irregular intervals; and, most conspicuous of all, two rows of LED screens lined the walls on either side of the visitors. The total effect did indeed give the impression of having been orchestrated by someone of substance and audacity; whether that someone could also have been said to have good taste was, perhaps, more debatable. Mrs. Chiodini, for one, thought not; she remarked, not without some justice, that it made her feel as though she were on "Let's Make a Deal" or some such program.
No sooner had she said this than up strode Monty Hall himself – otherwise Iniss Two-Two-Six of the Sulp Niar pool, or (as non-Controllers knew him) Vice-Principal Hedrick Chapman of Campo Parvo Public School. With a smile as broad as the Hork-Bajir Equatorial Chasm (and as artificial as the former fauna thereof), he grasped and shook the hands of each of Teresa's ancestors in turn, remarking as he did so that it did his heart good to see such a lovely family all together at Christmastime, and that it was to nurture just such fundamental human bonds that the Sharing ultimately existed, and that he hoped they were all having the happiest holiday season imaginable.
"The same to you, Mr. Chapman," said Mr. Sickles, before his mother-in-law could recover from being thus accosted by a grown man in a tasseled hat and bright green knickerbockers. "How are Cindy and Melissa doing?"
"Fine, fine," said Iniss, as one who, a century before, might have said that his host's wife and daughter were just bully. "And I don't have to ask about your own daughter, of course, since I saw her with my own eyes being such a vigorous help to us yesterday. That didn't take too much out of you, I hope, Teresa?" he said, turning to what he thought was his loyal subordinate. "You're all rested up now and ready for the big event itself?"
"Sure," said Toloth coolly. (He figured that polite coolness was the best approach, since the Sickleses knew that Teresa shared their lack of enthusiasm for the assistant principal, and Iniss knew that Malcar despised the whole institution of the fêtes. Moreover, it meant that he didn't have to say very much, which, in a multi-level deception such as this one, was always desirable.)
"Excellent," said Iniss. "Then after you've had a few minutes to help your family find their spots, we'll be expecting you in the back room. Kati, in particular, ought to be glad to have your help." He said this last bit in a particularly meaningful tone; Toloth was mystified, but nodded politely, and Iniss appeared satisfied. After exchanging a few more ingratiating words with the Sickleses, he headed back into the back room where the final preparations for the fête were being made.
Mrs. Chiodini gazed after him for a long moment, her face all the more richly expressive for being kept carefully neutral. "So," she said. "That was your principal, was it, Teresa?"
"Assistant principal," Toloth corrected her.
"Though he might as well be the real principal," Mr. Sickles added. "He does just about all the actual work; the woman who has the title isn't much more than an affirmative-action figurehead. Which is a shame, since she's by far the more human of the two of them." (Toloth bit down on Teresa's lip to keep from laughing aloud.)
"Ah," said Mrs. Chiodini, nodding sagely. "Yes, that's always the way of it, isn't it?"
"Well, not always, I hope," said a new voice from behind them. It was a deep, resonant voice, yet somehow easy and unassuming – the sort of voice that might have earned its possessor a place on the evening news, had it not so clearly belonged to someone who had no intention of reading from TelePrompTers all his life.
Teresa gave a mental start as she recognized it, and Toloth, though disconcerted in quite a different way than she was, did his best to interpret her feelings physically as he turned, widened her eyes, and exclaimed, "Bishop Perlmutter!"
"Well, now," said the tall, stately Bishop of San Diego, "here's a face I remember anointing. Scholastica, wasn't it?"
Teresa's memory obligingly provided Toloth with the necessary data to understand that remark: that young humans preparing for the rite of confirmation traditionally adopted a secondary name derived from some great Christian hero; that Teresa had rather childishly selected hers on the basis of being delighted that the founder of Western monasticism had had a twin sister; and that she had subsequently cornered the Bishop at the post-ceremonial luncheon and bombarded him with questions for nearly half an hour, thereby lodging herself more firmly in his memory than the average pre-teen catechumen was wont to do. Had he chosen, he might have made something out of all this. Instead, he said only, "Your Excellency, what… what are you doing here?"
The Bishop shrugged. "I thought I'd better get out of my rector's hair for a little while," he said. "He gets rather tense this time of year, getting the cathedral ready for all the major feasts coming up – and it's especially bad for him this year, with our brave new calendar putting Epiphany the day after the Holy Maternity. And I know how proud this city is of having given birth to the Sharing, so I decided to swing up and pay my respects during their annual non-denominational Saturnalia."
"Oh," said Toloth. "Well, that's nice." But his true feelings were quite otherwise. Fate, it seemed to him, was going out of its way to ensure that he would not be able to forget Christianity for a moment during his time as a human-Controller; at any rate, he couldn't think of any other reason for it to make the highest local Christian authority cross his path in this improbable setting. (Which just went to show, he reflected later, how much less imaginative he was than fate – or its Master.)
"I hope so," said the Bishop. "Seeing as how it's part of my job description to be nice – or given to hospitality, anyway. I suppose that doesn't translate to nice in every case, but it certainly seems to apply here."
"Just so long as you're not too nice to do the rest of it," Mrs. Chiodini said darkly.
The Bishop's eyes flickered toward her, and Toloth had the impression of a runan player judging his toss. "Yes, that is the danger, isn't it?" he said. "Being so gentle that you forget to be just, so sober that you lose sight of holiness, and so given to hospitality that you relax your embrace of the faithful word that's according to doctrine. Or vice versa, for that matter."
"I haven't seen much danger of vice versa, lately," said Mrs. Chiodini. But there was an unwonted mildness in her tone, as though she didn't want to be too tart or imperious toward this particular man – not simply because of his office, Toloth thought, but because he had subtly claimed the privileges of that office in a way she understood. As the human Kempis might have said (though Toloth cursed himself for thinking of it), he had reminded her that Christ was amongst them, in his own person as well as otherwise, and that it was therefore well to yield up her own opinion for the sake of peace.
"No, I suppose not," said the Bishop. "Certainly, we could tell more stories about the other – if charity permitted, that is." With which words, and a gesture of rueful irony, he dismissed the whole subject as merely one more manifestation of human fallenness, not worthy to preoccupy the saints of San Diego. "But never mind. What about this noble festivity we've come to? Aren't there supposed to be a few more succulent odors in the air than this?"
Toloth sniffed, and realized the justice of this remark. Usually, by this stage in the setup of a Sharing fête, the food was quite distinctly olfactible, even if it hadn't yet been brought out; now, though, there was nothing that a human nose could tell from the way the Roller-Plaza always smelled. Perhaps that was connected with Elskir Five-Nought-Seven's need for assistance.
"Dunno," she said. "I should probably get back there, though, so… Mom, Dad, Nana? Where do you guys want to sit?"
"Wherever His Excellency wants, of course," said Mrs. Sickles immediately. "If he'll join us, that is."
"Delighted to," said the Bishop. "Let's see, we probably don't want to be too close to that platform there; the last time I was at one of these, I could barely hear for half an hour after the testimonials were over. How about over there somewhere?" He gestured to the southwestern end of the rink.
"Fine," said Toloth. "Mom, do you want help setting up your chairs? I could…"
"Oh, no, darling, you go ahead," said Mrs. Sickles. "I'm sure your father can manage on his own. He's a sturdy, virile specimen, aren't you, Clarence?" And she smiled saucily at her husband, who reddened slightly and muttered something about "not in front of His Excellency, Trina".
"Oh, now, don't let this collar fool you, my boy," said the Bishop. "After thirty-five years in the marriage-and-confession business, I've heard much worse than wives calling their husbands manly in Latin. In fact, I'm a bit perturbed that she implied you were the only one; I'll admit I have a few more gray hairs than I used to, but I can still carry two chairs, thank you very much."
"Okay, great," said Toloth, aware that Teresa should have been giggling just then, but unwilling to put the effort into it. "I guess I'll see you later, then."
"Break a leg, sweetheart," said Mrs. Sickles, and blew her a kiss.
And Toloth turned and headed for the back of the rink, wondering what other little surprises the day had in store for him.
Author's note: Before you ask, no, there is not, and never has been, a Bishop Perlmutter of San Diego in our world (any more than, in our world, California ever had a female governor). At the time this story is set, the real-life see was held by one Robert Brom; at the moment, it's held by no-one, Cirilo Flores having recently become only its second bishop to successfully die in harness.