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And now, on with the show. The The Oh, The The The The The sound of the ringing bell echoed through the alleyways of Carlisle as a solemn

procession walked along the cobblestone. Accepting the sound of triumph and

majesty ringing out from the cathedral, only the pitter-patter of rain and sad feet

stepping on wet rock and organic irregularity could be heard. No voices join the bell. No child could be heard laughing.

No old men talked at shop doors and market carts in the city centre. It was just gray, sad, and

silent. Carlisle, a town sad, and silent.

Carlisle, a town now old and ugly compared to some of the other bastions of Christendom

in Britain, had lost its heritage from heaven, and everyone got the sense that creation

groaned in sorrow with them at his passing.

The Bishop of Carlisle, a man named Richard Bell, had passed in the night.

...