It's almost noon, so the light pouring in the windows is almost more of a glow -- the sun is close to directly overhead, after all. The small stone chapel off the north wing of Southdown Abbey has wooden pews with faded blue cushions; the altar is close to bare. Somebody -- maybe Constance Frye, maybe Inara, maybe even Zoe (but surely not Crowley) -- found summer's end wildflowers, and made a small arrangement for the altar. A simple one. Matching bunches are attached to either side of the altar rail -- and to the empty chair just behind Prior Fell.

If the chapel has an official name, Simon doesn't know it. What he does know: he's standing in front of a (very small) crowd of people with nothing in particular to do other than stand there with River and Wash -- and Prior Fell -- and try not to look nervous.

He's almost sure he's failing.