“The symbolic gathering of the ashes. But of course you know the origin of all that. There was a grave misinterpretation of Cave’s last wishes. His ashes were scattered over the United States when it was his wish to be embalmed and preserved. Iris, each year, traveled to the four cities over which the ashes had been distributed and she collected a bit of dust in each city to symbolize her obedience to Cavesword in all things. At Seattle, during this annual ceremony, a group of lutherists tried to assassinate her.” “I remember,” I said. I had had no hand in that dark episode but it provided the Establishment with the excuse they needed. My partisans were thrown in prison all over the country. The government, which by then was entirely Cavite, handed several thousand over to the Centers where they were indoctrinated, ending the heresy for good. Iris herself had secretly arranged for my escape ... but Jessup could know nothing of this. “Of course you know these things, perhaps even better than I since you were alive then. Forgive me. I have got into the bad Residential habit of explaining the obvious. An occupational disease.” He was disarming. “The point I’m trying to make is that my suspicions of you were unworthy and unfounded since there was no leader of the lutherists to escape; all involved responded nicely to indoctrination and that was the end of it. The story I heard in school was a popular one. The sort that often evolves ... like Lucifer and the old Christian God, for instance ... for white there must be black, that kind of thing. Except that Cave never had a major antagonist, other than in legend.” “I see. Tell me, then, if there was no real leader to the lutherists, how did they come by their name?” His answer was prompt. “Martin Luther. My friend in the H.O. told me this morning over the telephone. Someone tried to make an analogy, that’s all, and the name stuck though, as a rule, the use of any words or concepts derived from the dead religions is frowned upon. You know the story of Martin Luther? It seems that he....” “I know the story of Martin Luther,” I answered, more sharply than I intended. “Now I’ve tired you.” Jessup was sympathetic. He got to his feet. “I just wanted to tell you about my suspicions, that’s all; I thought it might amuse you and perhaps bring us closer together for I’d very much like to be your friend, not only for the help you can give me up here but also because of your memories of the old days when Cave and Iris, his mother, still lived.” “Iris was at least five years younger than Cave.” “Everyone knows that, my friend. She was his _spiritual_ mother, as she is ours. 'From the dark womb of unbeing we emerge in the awful light of consciousness from which the only virtuous escape is Cavesway.’ I quote from Iris’s last testament. It was found among her papers after her death.” “Did _she_ take Cavesway?”