My ascent from the underworld complete, I emerge from the shaft into daylight and rejoin the path to Mountain City. The trail is no more than a series of cairns marking a route among the boulders through which I pick my way. With the sun at its zenith, a fortress town comes into view, and I continue in the shadows of its ramparts before crossing the drawbridge at the eastern gate.
Dear Martin nearly chokes on his milk and honey shake when he sees none other than St. Peter strolling across Paradise Square toward Angel Burger.
“St. Peter, aren’t you meant to be at the Pearly Gate?”
“Greetings, Dear Martin. No, no. I’ve made myself redundant. I must say, I’m enjoying the leisure time. Running immigration control for eternity isn’t as easy as it looks.”