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itudes　for　the　whole　house　before　his　logical　faculties　had　even　reached　the　hallway。
　Once　again；　his　body　was　the　measure　of　all　things：　the　cellar；　his　bowels；　the　roof；　his　scalp；　the　stairs；　his　spine。　Their　proofs　delivered；　his　thoughts　flew　out　of　the　house；　rising　up　over　the　slates　and　spreading　through　the　streets。　He　gave　passing　consideration　to　Sartori　as　he　went；　knowing　his　other　was　out　here　in　the　night　somewhere；　skulking。
　But　his　mind　was　quicksilver；　and　too　exhilarated　by　its　speed　and　capacity　to　go　searching　in　the　shadows　for　an　enemy　already　defeated。
　With　speed　came　ease。　The　streets　were　no　more　difficult　to　claim　than　the　house　he'd　already　devoured。　His　body　had　its　conduits　and　its　intersections；　had　its　places　of　excrement　and　its　fine；　dandified　facades；　had　its　rivers；　moving　from　a　springing　place；　and　its　parliament；　and　its　holy　seat；　The　whole　city；　he　began　to　see；　could　be　analogized　to　his　flesh；　bone；　and　blood。　And　why　should　that　be　so　surprising？　When　an　architect　turned　his　mind　to　the　building　of　a　city；　where　would　he　look　for　inspiration？　To　the　flesh　where　he'd　lived　since　birth。　It　was　the　first　model　for　any　creator。　It　was　a　school　and　an　eating　house　and　an　abattoir　and　a　church；　it　could　be　a　prison　and　a　brothel　and　Bedlam。　There　wasn't　an　edifice　in　any　street　in　London　that　hadn't　begun　somewhere　in　the　private　city　of　an　architect's　anatomy；　and　all　Gentle　had　to　do　was　open　his　mind　to　that　fact　and　the　districts　were　his；　running　back　to　swell　the　assembly　in　his　head。
　He　flew　north；　through　Highbury　and　Finsbury　Park；　to　Palmer's　Green　and　Cockfosters。　He　went　east　with　the　river；　past　Greenwich；　where　the　clock　that　marked　the　ing　of　midnight　stood；　and　on　towards　Tilbury。　West　took　him　through　Marylebone　and　Hammersmith；　south　through　Lambeth　and　Streatham；　where　he'd　first　met　Pie　'oh'　pah；　long　ago。
　But　the　names　soon　became　irrelevant。　Like　the　ground　seen　from　a　rising　plane；　the　particulars　of　a　street　or　a　district　became　part　of　another　pattern；　even　more　appetizing　to　his　ambitious　spirit。　He　saw　the　Wash　glittering　to　the　east；　and　the　Channel　to　the　south；　becalmed　on　this　humid　night。　Here　was　a　fine　new　challenge。　Was　his　body；　which　had　proved　the　equal　of　a　city；　also　the　measure　of　this　vaster　geography？　Why　not？　Water　flowed　by　the　same　laws　everywhere；　whether　the　conduit　was　a　groove　in　his　brow　or　a　rift　between　the　continents。　And　were　his　hands　not　like　two　countries；　laid　side　by　side　in　his　lap；　their　peninsulas　almost　touching；　their　landscapes　scarred　and　grooved？
　There　was　nothing　outside　his　substance　that　was　not　mirrored　within：　no　sea；　no　city；　no　street；　no　roof；　no　room。　He　was　in　the　Fifth；　and　the　Fifth　in　him；　gathering　to　be　carried　into　the　Ana　as　a　proof　and　a　map　and　a　poem；　written　in　praise　of　all　things　being　One。。
　In　the　other　Dominions　the　same　pursuit　of　similitude　was　under　way。
　From　his　circle　on　the　Mount　of　Lipper　Bayak；　Tick　Raw　had　already　drawn　into　his　net　of　dissolution　both　the　city　of　Patashoqua　and　the　highway　that　ran　from　its　gates　towards　the　mountains。　In　the　Third；　Scopique…his　fears　that　the　absence　of　the　Pivot　would　invalidate　his　working　allayed…　was　spreading　his　grasp　across　the　Kwem　towards　the　dust　bowls　around　Maike〃。　In　L'Himby；　where　he　was　soon　to　arrive；　there　were　celebrants　gathering　at　the　temples；　their　hopes　raised　by　prophetics　who'd　appeared　from　hiding　the　night　before　to　spread　the　word　that　the　Reconciliation　was　imminent。
　No　less　inspired；　Athanasius　was　presently　traveling　back　along　the　Lenten　Way　to　the　borders　of　the　Third　and　skimming　the　ocean　to　the　islands；　while　a　self　more　tender　trod　the　changed　streets　of　Yzordderrex。　He　found　challenges　there　unknown　to　Scopique；　Tick　Raw；　or　even　Gentle。　There　were　slippery　wonders　loose　on　the　streets　that　defied　easy　analogy。　But　in　inviting　Athanasius　to　join　the　Synod；　Scopique　had　chosen　better　than　he　knew。　The　man's　obsession　with　Christos；　the　bleeding　God；　gave　him　a　grasp　of　what　the　Goddesses　had　wrought　that　a　man　less　preoccupied　by　death　and　resurrection　would　never　have　owned。　In　Yzordderrex's　ravaged　streets　he　saw　a　reflection　of　his　own　physical　ravagement。　And　in　the　music　of　the　iconoclastic　waters　an　echo　of　the　blood　that　ran　from　his　wounds；　transformed…by　love　of　the　Holy　Mother　he　had　worshiped…into　a　sublime　and　healing　liquor。
　Only　Chicka　Jackeen；　at　the　borders　of　the　First　Dominion；　had　to　work　with　abstractions；　for　there　was　nothing　of　a　physical　nature　he　could　win　similitudes　from。　All　he　had　was　the　blank　wall　of　the　Erasure　to　set　his　mind　on。　Of　the　Dominion　that　lay　beyond…which　it　fell　to　him　to　encapsulate　and　carry　into　the　Ana…he　had　no　knowledge。
　He　hadn't　spent　so　many　years　studying　the　mystery　without　finding　some　means　to　tussle　with　it；　however。　Although　his　body　offered　no　analogy　for　the　enigma　that　lay　on　the　other　side　of　the　divide；　there　was　a　place　in　him　just　as　sealed　from　sight；　and　just　as　open　to　the　inquiries　made　by　dreaming　explorers　like　himself。　He　let　mind…the　unbeheld　process　that　empowered　every　meaningful　action；　that　made　the　very　devotion　that　kept　him　in　his　circle…be　his　similitude。　The　blank　wall　of　the　Erasure　was　the　white　bone　of　his　skull；　scoured　of　every　scrap　of　meat　and　hair。　The　force　inside；　incapable　of　impartial　self…study；　was　both　the　God　of　the　First　and　the　thoughts　of　Chicka　Jackeen；　bonded　by　mutual　scrutiny。
　After　tonight；　both　would　be　free　of　the　curse　of　invisibility。　The　Erasure　would　drop　and　the　Godhead　e　back　into　view　to　walk　the　Imajica。　When　that　happened；　when　the　same　Godhead　who'd　taken　the　Nullianacs　into　His　furnace　and　burned　their　malice　away；　was　no　longer　divided　from　His　Dominions；　there　would　be　a　revelation　such　as　had　never　been　known　before。　The　dead；　trapped　in　their　condition　and　unable　to　find　the　door；　would　have　a　light　to　lead　the　way。　And　the　living；　no　longer　afraid　to　show　their　minds；　would　step　from　their　houses　like　divinities；；　carrying　their　private　heavens　upon　their　heads　for　all　to　see。
　About　his　own　work；　Gentle　had　little　grasp　of　what　his　fellow　Maestros　were　achieving；　but　the　absence　of　alarm　from　the　other　Dominions　reassured　him　that　all　was　well。　All　the　pains　and　humiliations　he'd　endured　to　reach　this　place　had　been　repaid　in　the　little　hours　since　he'd　stepped　into　the　circle。　An　ecstasy　he'd　only　known　for　the　duration　of　a　heartbeat　suffused　him；　confounding　the　conviction　he'd　had　that　such　feelings　only　came　in　glimpses　because　to　know　them　for　longer　would　burst　the　heart。　It　wasn't　so。　The　ecstasy　went　on　and　on；　and　he　was　surviving　it：　more　than　surviving；　burgeoning；　his　authority　over　the　working　stronger　with　every　city　and　sea　he　retrieved　into　the　circle　where　he　sat。
　The　Fifth　was　almost　there　with　him　now；　sharing　the　space；　teaching　him　with　its　ing　where　the　true　power　of　a　Reconciler　lay。　It　wasn't　a　skill　with　feits　and　sways；　nor　was　it　pneumas；　nor　resurrections；　nor　the　driving　out　of　demons。　It　was　the　strength　to　call　the　myriad　wonders　of　an　entire　Dominion　by　the　names　of　his　body　and　not　be　broken　by　the　simile；　to　allow　that　he　was　in　the　world　to　its　smallest　degree；　and　the　world　in　him；　and　not　be　driven　to　insanity　by　the　intricacies　he　contained　or　else　so　enamored　of　the　panoramas　he　was　spread　through　that　he　lost　all　memory　of　the　man　he'd　been。
　There　was　such　pleasure　in　this　process　that　laughter　began　to　shake　him　as　he　sat　in　the　circle。　His　good　humor　wasn't　a　distraction　from　his　purpose　but　instead　made　it　easier　still；　his　laugh…lightened　thoughts　running　from　the　circle　out　to　regions　both　bright　and　benighted　and　ing　back　with　their　prizes　like　runners　sent　with　poems　to　a　promised　land；　and　returning　with　it　on　their　backs；　flowering　as　it　came。
　
　In　the　room　above；　Little　Ease　heard　the　laughter　and　capered　in　sympathy　with　the　Liberatore's　joy。　What　else　could　such　a　sound　mean；　but　that　the　deed　was　close　to　being　done？　Even　if　it　didn't　see　the　consequences　of　this　triumph；　it　thought；　its　last　night　in　the　living　world　had　been　immeasurably　sweetened　by　all　it　had　been　a　party　to。　And　should　there　be　an　afterlife　for　such　creatures　as　itself　（although　of　this　it　was　by　no　means　certain）；　then　its　account　of　this　night　would　be　a　fine　tale　to　tell　when　it　went　into　the　pany　of　its　ancestors。
　Anxious　not　to　disturb　the　Reconciler；　it　gave　up　its　dance　of　celebration　and　was　about　to　return　to　the　window　and　its　duties　as　night　watchman　when　it　heard　a　sound　its　paddings　had　concealed。　Its　gaze　went　from　the　sill　to　the　ceiling。　The　wind　had　got　up　in　the　last　little　while　and　was　skittering　across　the　roof；　rattling　the　slates　as　it　went；　or　so　Ease　thought；　until　it　realized　the　tree　outside　was　as　still　as　the　Kwem　at　equinox。
　Little　Ease　didn't　e　from　a　tribe　of　heroes；　quite　the　reverse。　The　legends　of　its　people　concerned　famous　apologists；　humblers；　deserters；　and　cowards。　Its　instinct；　hearing　this　sound　from　above；　was　to　be　away　downstairs　as　fast　as　its　bandy　legs　knew　how。　But　it　fought　what　came　naturally；　for　the　Reconciler's　sake；　and　cautiously　approached　the　window　in　the　hope　of　gaining　a　glimpse　of　what　was　happening　above。
　It　climbed　up　onto　the　sill　and；　belly　up；　slid　itself　out　a　little　way；　peering　up　at　the　eaves。　A　mist　dirtied　the　starlight；　and　the　roof　was　dark。　It　leaned　a　little　farther　out；　the　sill　hard　beneath　its　bony　back。　From　the　window　below；　the　sound　of　the　Reconciler's　laughter　floated　up；　its　music　reassuring。　Little　Ease　had　time　to　smile；　hearing　it。　Then　something　as　dark　as　the　roof　and　as　dirty　as　the　fog　that　covered　the　stars　reached　down　and　stopped　its　mouth。　The　attack　came　so　suddenly　Little　Ease　lost　its　grip　on　the　window　frame　and　toppled　backwards；　but　its　smotherer　had　too　tight　a　hold　on　it　to　let　it　drop；　and　hauled　it　up　onto　the　roof。　Seeing　the　assembly　there；　Ease　knew　its　errors　in…　：　stantly。　One；　it　had　stopped　its　nostrils　and　so　failed　to　smell　this　congregation。　Two；　it　had　believed　too　much　in　a　theology　which　taught　that　evil　came　from　below。　Not　so；　not　so。　：　While　it　had　watched　the　street　for　Sartori　and　his　legion；　it　'；　had　n