He carefully sat the golden compass beside the simple wooden grail and the dark rod. He stared into the darkness. How long had it hung here, before He came upon it? The old words rested at the back of His head, but they sat heavy on the tongue and their use brought fresh obligations.

Whole meaningless eons passed before He stirred himself. ‘Nothing will come of nothing,’ He chided Himself.

And lo, He spoke. Light spilled from his lips and bubbled off his tongue. It shone from his eyes and out of his nostrils. Those four words lifted darkness from the face of the deep.

‘Sorry,’ said the temp in a tone that said she wasn’t. ‘I didn’t quite catch that. “Let there be what?”’

He gritted His teeth. This book was going to take a while to dictate.