Declan waited. Waited, and contemplated, hoping to everything he knew that the answer might fall out of the sky. Far from the dark security of his meditation room, he sat at a table covered with a white cloth, covered with a different sort of gloom.

“And these are Indian Porcelain,” the obscenely posh salesman said, laying another off-white plate on the tablecloth.

“I see,” Declan said, not seeing any difference at all.

Declan picked up the plate for a closer ...