The remarkable thing arrives not from the front, but from above. A harbour gull — broad-winged, self-assured, trailing the scent of the fjord and someone else's chips — sails through the open church door with the authority of a creature that has never once questioned its right to be anywhere. It banks left. It sights the Hat Lady's silk-rose-crowned brim. It lands. The hat holds. The Hat Lady does not flinch. She merely lowers her eyes half a degree and regards the new arrival with the same unblinking composure she has been directing at Flavio — as if this is simply the next item on her agenda. The gull shuffles its wings, tucks them neatly, and surveys the congregation with proprietary calm. Flavio's wand drops to his side. His mouth is open. Aurora has stopped distributing birdseed. Uncle Gianni freezes mid-rise, moustache briefly motionless. The organist plays on.