Johannes Vermeer The Procuress

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Brutha looked into the black-on-black eyes. Vorbis looked into a round pink face. There was a special face that people wore when they spoke to an exquisitor. It was flat and expressionless and glistened slightly, and even a half­-trained exquisitor could read the barely concealed guilt like a book. Brutha just looked out of breath but then, he always did. It was fascinating.
"No, lord," he said.
"Why not?"in Brutha's mind.
Brutha had never been any good at lying. The truth itself had always seemed so incomprehensible that complicating things even further had always been beyond him.
"So the Septateuch teaches us," he said.
"Where there is punishment, there is always a crime," said Vorbis. "Sometimes "The Quisition protects us, lord. It is written in Ossory, chapter VII, verse-”Vorbis put his head on one side."Of course it is. But have you ever thought that the Quisition could be wrong?""No, lord," said Brutha."But why not?""I do not know why, Lord Vorbis. I just never have."Vorbis sat down at a little writing table, no more than a board that folded down from the hull."And you are right, Brutha," he said. "Because the Quisition cannot be wrong. Things can only be as the God wishes them. It is impossible to think that the world could run in any other way, is this not so?"A vision of a one-eyed tortoise flickered momentarily