Free Temple Boys by Jamie Buxton

gave him a stricken look and let out a scream. A space around her cleared. She shouted, “Plague!” and a bigger space opened up. Flea added lolling forward to his coughing and took the opportunity to whisper into Jude’s ear, “Start coughing like you mean it and move quickly, before they start stoning us.”
    The crowd melted away in front of them as they walked to the gate. It was guarded by one of Yesh’s followers, a tough, no-nonsense-looking man with eyes like chips of stone, broad cheekbones, and a chest like a wrestler. “Brother Jude. Might have guessed it was you,” he said. “The idea is to get people to trust us, not scare them away.”
    â€œThey’ll be back, Tauma, they’ll be back,” Jude said, as Flea slipped from his shoulders.
    â€œDon’t doubt it, brother,” Tauma said. His eyes took in Flea, then looked away.
    â€œI hear that people are saying he’s the king now, come in all his glory. Brother.” Jude sounded contemptuous.
    â€œPeople will talk,” Tauma answered with a chilly smile.
    â€œIf they’ve been fed stories.”
    Tauma stopped smiling and gave Jude a long and level stare. “Funnily enough, he was asking for you earlier. It was embarrassing when no one knew where you were.”
    â€œOh, you know me. Always busy with this and that.”
    â€œBut on whose business?” Tauma said.
    â€œMy Master’s, of course.” A look passed between them. Profound suspicion from Tauma, satisfaction from Jude. “Come on, Tauma, you know I always have Yesh’s best interest at heart.”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Tauma said, but he stepped aside to let Flea and Jude pass through the gate.
    Behind the walls, the atmosphere was hushed. People were crushed under the portico and some were even standing in the shallow water, staring at the far end of the pool. Flea spotted Red and Little Big on the far side, eyes fixed in the same direction as everyone else’s, so he pushed through the crowd until he could see what had attracted their attention.
    Yesh was standing on a raised stone platform at one end of the pool, to the right of the entrance. The platform was kept clear by his followers, who were holding the whole crowd back, except for a merchant with an expensively curled beard, wearing long, heavy robes.
    Yesh’s voice just carried across the murky water of the pool to Flea.
    â€œAll right. What is a sacrifice?” he was saying. “When we buy a lamb to be slaughtered we’re sacrificing a life, but—”
    â€œIf you buy a lamb, you own it,” the merchant interrupted. “You can do what you want with it.”
    â€œBut I’m asking who makes the real sacrifice,” Yesh answered. “You or the lamb? You’ve spent a few coins, but the lamb’s lost everything it has: its life.”
    â€œBut the priests say, and the Rules say, that if you do something wrong you make up for it by making a sacrifice at the Temple. Your sins are washed away in its blood. It’s simple. It’s our custom. It’s right,” the merchant replied.
    â€œAnd by your clothes I see you can afford a lot more sinning than my friend here,” Yesh said. He pointed to a beggar in the front row of the crowd, gray rags wrapped around his skinny body. “To buy a lamb for sacrifice, he would have to starve himself for a year. You could buy ten lambs and not even notice. By your reckoning, that would mean you are allowed to be ten times worse than him. Is that right?”
    â€œThat’s dangerous talk,” the merchant said. “Damn it, it’s blasphemous.”
    Yesh shrugged. “You’re most welcome to carry on believing you can sin more than your neighbors just because you’re richer than they are. You’re welcome to carry on stuffing your money into the Temple coffers. You’re welcome to make the priests even fatter, if that’s