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certain Christian notables spent a great deal of time in correspondence with others; how they found time to be martyred, I can scarce imagine. The result being stacks of letters to Ephesians, and Thessalonians, and every Hebrew wandering about the Dead Sea. I have not read such letters—inasmuch as none were addressed to me personally—but I am sure they are edifying, if not diverting. Doubtless these Cetaceans of which you speak are similar recipients of such missives, full of good advice and moral nagging. Perhaps the original Cetaceans were of some distinct national character, so that their collective name became a metaphor, a general spiritual descriptor, as did Pharisee and Samaritan .” The fellow’s cheerful impertinence had roused me to unusual eloquence. “If you can find Cetaceans in London, or Hull, or Birmingham, all in need of your Mission’s care, then please, do so. However, I am confident that I am not one of these Cetacean fellows, so I could be safely left alone by you and your brethren, without your feeling that you had failed somehow.”
    “Spoken well, Mr. Dower.” A single clap came from Stonebrake’s dark-gloved hands. “You do your slender faith proud. If ever nonbelievers required a preacher, I would nominate you to ascend their pulpit. Your logic, however, exceeds your knowledge.”
    “I have never been accused of possessing a surfeit of either.”
    “As that might be,” said Stonebrake. “But let me assure you that Cetaceans are not to be found in London, or any other city—at least not in living form, though sometimes their bones are put on display.”
    “How barbaric.” I had no idea what the man was going on about.
    “It could hardly be otherwise. For Cetaceans are not found there, but here.” He pointed to the room’s one crooked window.
    “I was not aware that Paul or the other Church fathers wrote to anyone in Cornwall. This puts a new light on early Christian history.”
    “Droll, Mr. Dower. But I meant you to look farther.”
    “Very well.” Perhaps if I indulged the fellow, he would go away and leave me to the final task to which I had appointed myself. I obediently glanced once more at the night-filled window, then back to him. “There is nothing farther, Mr. Stonebrake, but the sea.”
    “Exactly. That is where you would find a Cetacean, if you were seeking one. For a Cetacean is but a whale, sir. That aquatic wonderment, of immense size and appetite—that is, if you are speaking of the suborder Odontoceti, or the toothed whales. Their kin the Mysticeti, the baleen whales, are content to feed upon the tiny creatures that swill about in the ocean currents. Fascinating creatures, all of them, once you make their acquaintance.”
    “Which I take it you have.”
    “On many occasions, Mr. Dower.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “And on these ‘occasions,’ sir, you somehow minister to these whales? Discharging your pastoral duties toward them, I mean. By, say, preaching sermons to them?”
    “Not quite.” Stonebrake gave a shake of his head. “I am but a vicar in our organization. The head of our Mission is quite a fiery orator, though, and a godly man. He preaches to them.”
    “Where?” A sudden, unbidden vision came to me, of some church vaster than York Minster, its magnified size necessary to accommodate the pews for such creatures, their fins awkwardly turning over the pages of the hymnals.
    “As I told you.” My visitor was all patience as he pointed again to the window. “At sea. Our Mission is an ocean-going one, with a ship that serves as its headquarters and pulpit. I’m sure that you’d agree that a general rule of operation for all Christian missionary work, in Africa or the Atlantic, is to go where there are ears to listen to one’s teachings, rather than drag the heathens back to the home country for instruction.”
    “Ah. Yes. Of course.” This was not the first time I had noted that when one conversed with the insane, their responses often