A couple more people took to the stage to say a few words, then the undertaker returned, closed the coffin, and with the help of an assistant turned it 90 degrees, so Weston’s feet now pointed toward the furnace door at the back of the hall. Then the xylophonist at the side of the stage started to play a ceremonial tune that echoed through the hall as the furnace door slid open, revealing the flames beyond.

(The sight of the furnace never failed to raise a flinch from some of those watching.)

The undertaker and her assistant pushed the coffin onto the conveyor that led to the furnace, then they both stood back and let the slow turn of its rollers draw the coffin along. This was always a moment of contemplation, this final journey to the flames. For some the reality of the loss of their friend would just be hitting home, while others would be anticipating a moment of catharsis, the circle of a life completed. The amount of energy gained by burning the body was minimal, of course—a fraction of what the city required to run for even an hour—but the symbolic value of the gesture was powerful.

However, someone seated at the back of the parlor had something else on his mind. Iona didn’t hear him at first—rather, she heard other people turning to look at him and she turned too. The man was standing up and making his way along the pew toward the aisle. He wasn’t anyone Iona recognized, he certainly wasn’t from the school. When he reached the aisle he started to walk toward the front, then he started to run. Disquiet spread through the parlor but nobody tried to stop him or even spoke up. Nobody had the slightest idea what he was doing so nobody knew what to do about it.

The man reached the front, leaped up onto the stage, and headed straight for the conveyor. The xylophonist dropped his beaters in surprise. The undertaker and her assistant moved to intercept the interloper but they were unprepared and he was stronger than them. He nudged them aside easily and climbed onto the conveyor. The coffin had still not quite entered the furnace. The man dashed along the rollers, leaped onto the coffin—

And the man and the coffin disappeared into the furnace together. The door closed behind them.

The mourners stared at the stage. There was silence. The undertaker and her assistant stared at each other.

Haltingly the xylophonist started to play again.

* * *

The crowds leaving the Point of Return filled the streets, mingling with other citizens, and Iona could hear whispers about what had happened in there. Nobody could explain it. Had the man been suicidal? If so, why choose that time and place and that manner? Did he have some connection with Weston and was unable to accept life without him? Or had he been trying to open the coffin in those final moments, release the body? Some colleagues asked Iona what she’d seen, but she told them from where she’d been sitting she couldn’t tell what he’d been trying to do. It had all happened too quickly.