Still soft, Jehovah’s words. “This demonstrates that My many offices do indeed conflict with My Tribunary duty.” I was not quite sure to whom He addressed this. Possibly Himself. “My apologies, colleague Natekari. I believe My uncle is correct. I should go ad patrem.”

She nodded. “Okay, people, get Jagmohan to somewhere safe and private. Now.”

The prospect of a task woke the attendant Masons from shock’s stupor. “We wi—”

“No, let them act now.” Jehovah’s pointing finger chose a Delian, shrouded in a cityscape of brass and moths’ wings. “Masons should follow us, and mourn.” To His colleague. “Acceptable?”

Natekari smiled at His perfect courtesy. “Go, and good luck.”

A flash sea of flare-bright floating spirits stunned the crowd as Utopia snatched the Visitor to the safety of away. They snatched me, too, hands which, even without Griffincloth, were invisible through the tear blur which turned the newsfeed in my lenses to prismatic glitter. They slung me over something dark and furred and warm that vibrated with life or electricity. Griffincloth fell across me, a coat shared by a Delian, whose tender darkness me kept me still, like a horse’s blinders, as we rushed down paths of patchy brightness and loud footsteps.

They set me down in Camelot. Or something very like it, a semicircular courtyard of stone, ancient in style but new and clean, hung with pennants of azure, gold, and scarlet. In the distance to one side I saw the thatched-roof denseness of a city, rich in market stalls and horses. On the other side, a road led out of the still-closing castle gates, lined with other edifices. What did I glimpse along that street? First a waterfall of mirrored mercury, then a palace of ancient Egypt, cliffs of amber, a misty graveyard, Mars—a city block of worlds pressed side by side as books stand side by side on shelves. But the gates sealed quickly, and once the cockatrice finished its scan, they let me climb down. My steed turned out to be a black lion, which sat down behind me so I could slump against its soft side rather than falling upon the stone. Or rather, upon the Griffincloth, for there was no stone here, nor mercury, nor thatch, nor amber, not really. It felt like a kind dream, and it was kindness, kind Delians and kind Fate, which let me enter Hobbestown’s Utopian district. It is one of the largest Utopian districts on Earth, block on block of Griffincloth edifices crowding their otherworlds tight side by side, for Utopia—the tiniest Leviathan, a dolphin half forgotten by the great whales—is happy to show its trust by schooling with the even smaller race of Blacklaws.