The Sideways Tower

When they sent me to serve in the Hospital of the Sideways Tower, they said I might hear some interesting stories. I don't think my brothers meant to deceive. They simply didn't realize that almost none of those concerned had any intention of talking about the problems that sent them there.
That was all referring to those who came for the peculiar feature, of course. The normal travelers and denizens of scattered villages came and went too. They made up most of our traffic. I was no more or less busy there than I would have been at any of our other hospitals. The stories I heard were no more or less common or interesting, either.
Indeed, the first sign of someone in need of the special service was usually a reluctance to talk at all. A typical supplicant, if I cast my mind back, picked his way past the usual crowd and the servants over to me, the obvious priest. "I, uh, heard . . . that is, I was given to understand . . ." That was what one particular man I remember mumbled, but most of them brought it up in a similar manner.
I inclined my head toward the side door and led the way. A few decided not to follow me, but the usual type didn't back down so easily. It might have saved a lot of trouble for them if their personalities had allowed them to. I walked over to the base, or rather the right, of the great non-tower and waited by the door with my keys out. When the supplicant caught up, I confirmed the situation.
"Do you desire to be comforted? The relief will be only for your heart. Nothing will change in your material circumstances." I don't recall a single person turning back there. I held up the tower ring and removed one of the two keys. "This is the external key. The other is the internal. Take that one and return it to me at the exit." I unlocked the door, prayed for the supplicant's success, and locked the door behind the entrant.
For me, the walk over to what should have been the top of the tower, would have been if the builders had realized their intentions, made for a pleasant evening stroll. What it meant for the supplicant, who knows? They didn't like to talk about it. I waited, took back the key, and led them back. They rarely seemed happy, but they usually stopped mumbling and looking at their feet. I suppose I could have felt superior to them because I had never failed a great enterprise, or inferior because I had never attempted one, but I had been called, and I was content.
Finis