He had crossed the crunchy yard to the Cathedral many times, and he proceeded as usual without thinking too much about the crossing. He didn't really hear the crunch of his boots on the blue metal surface. He didn't really see the wattle beginning to bloom. He didn't really smell the sweet air of spring. Bishop Smith was worried: someone was stealing the sacred host from the ciborium.
It puzzled him. Would anyone in the 21st century really steal the consecrated host for black magic? No one could possibly want the bread to satisfy hunger: the wafers were thin and lacked substance.
At this moment Sister Mary, the only member of the Order who continued to wear veil and black dress, stumbled out of the west door of the Cathedral.
She saw the bishop, and bowed reverently but furtively. "Father," she breathed, and made as if to run.
"What is the matter, Sister?" the Bishop asked. Sister Mary was silent. She shuffled her feet, but was unwilling to move while the Bishop gazed kindly at her.
His senses were alert now. "Is there a spiritual problem, Sister. Do you want to discuss it with me?"
"I... I ... " she hesitated. "Bred for this," she bluerted out.