This whole lesson took place with you, God, and Ianthe sitting at the dining table, which still smelled like breakfast, and you did not like the lack of ceremony. Augustine was leaning over the table drawing a careful diagram on a piece of flimsy with a pencil he had borrowed from God. The resulting sketch was almost impossible to follow.

“You keep saying creatures,” you said. “That is a little—”

“Nondescript?” said Augustine. “I can’t describe them, sis. The first time we ran into the tools of a Resurrection Beast—and this was just looking at them, I mean, they hadn’t even engaged us—I watched a Lyctor, one I had never hitherto seen so much as cry out, scream like a colicky child. Another two, RIP since, simply vomited.”

God added, “The Heralds and corpus sometimes vary between Beasts. They are the dead parts their centre has mashed together. Some Lyctors have seen them as insectoid. They’re monstrous, and deadly, and there are often hundreds of them—thousands.”

Once upon a time you might have asked questions: good, interesting, thorny questions, the difficult ones that showed you knew something and could be relied upon to run where you were directed, blindfolded. This time, you kept blessedly quiet.

“And they only halfway matter,” said the Emperor, vindicating your choice. “Certainly they’re dangerous. If you are devoured by the Heralds I cannot bring you back. But you can destroy them easily enough, if you’ve a blade and the facility to use it … or necromancy. But as a Lyctor, of course, your necromancy is needed elsewhere.”

“Would you like to teach this one, John,” said Augustine, patiently.

“No—sorry—keep going.”

“I mean, I love the tack you’re taking. I hadn’t thought to scare the living wee out of them with, They’ll eat you alive, starting with your feet.”

“Sorry! Sorry. Go on.”

Briefly smiling at God, Augustine pointed at the diagram. “The part of the Resurrection Beast that we can destroy squats in the River, ladies,” he said. “Just as the most important part of the revenant is where the soul is, the most important part of the Resurrection Beast is sitting over here. You’ll leave your bodies, which protect you nonetheless—your good old cav’s right there in your neurons and amygdala, ready to come out for exactly such a happenstance—and they’ll fight it much better than you can because they’re immune to Herald fear. I have lived for a very long time, and when I see a Herald, I still get the most appalling whim-whams. My cavalier doesn’t care. I removed the part of him that did when I became a Lyctor … That’s his main advantage. Your body can’t, and won’t, use necromancy without you. The power doesn’t flow both ways.”

Ianthe said, “But if we’re in the River, then the ghosts—”