Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

192 :: JOHN R. MABRY
concerned educational requirements, the exceptions to those
requirements, and who got to say who would be accepted
and why. Tom was powerfully tempted to remove his socks
and, using them as puppets, perform parodies of the seemingly
endless and inane discussions.
Eventually, Bishop Mellert threw in the towel and rose,
offering a prayer for their meal, and the bishops scattered as
if fleeing a sinking vessel.
Very quickly after eating, Tom felt the inevitable tug of
afternoon gravity, measurably two or three times as strong as
other times of the day. He glanced at his watch and estimated
he could get in a thirty-minute power nap before the afternoon
session commenced.
He set out immediately for his room, taking the stairs in
great, loping strides, two at a time.
He was halfway up when a voice called to him from
below. “Oh, Tom!”
Tom groaned inwardly. He could tell by the voice that it
was Bishop Demitrio, an oily, Greek suffragan bishop from
Idaho, currently unemployed and living in his mother’s basement.
He was at Synod sitting in for Bishop Maggie Tills,
who was, God willing, giving birth to healthy twins any
moment.
The problem with Bishop Demitrio wasn’t the viscosity of
his hair, however, but the glacial pace with which his conversations
inevitably unfolded. “Demi, hey, can this wait?”
Bishop Demitrio seemed flustered, and he glanced at the
top of the stairs nervously. “Not really, no,” he said.
Tom groaned and resentfully descended the stairs, one at a
time. “What’s so important it can’t wait a half hour?”
“Well, as you know—as I’m sure you do, most of us do,
although it is interesting, I was talking to Van Patten and she
didn’t know, which surprised me, because you know, she
always seems so...on top of everything, you know what I