Fiona Hackworth noticed a glow in the air, which resolved into a 
constellation when she blinked and focused. A pinprick of green light, an 
infinitesimal chip of emerald, touched the surface of her eye, expanding into a 
cloud of light. She blinked twice, and it was gone. Sooner or later it and many 
others would make their way to the corners of her eyes, giving her a grotesque 
appearance. She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. The 
presence of so many lidar-emitting mites prompted her to realize that they had 
been infiltrating a great expanse of fog for some minutes without really being 
aware of it; moisture from the river was condensing around the microscopic 
guardians of the border. Colored light flashed vaguely across the screen of fog 
before them, silhouetting a stone column planted in the center of
the road: wings of a gryphon, horn of a unicorn, crisp and black against a 
lurid cosmos. A constable stood beside the pediment, symbolically guarding the 
bar. He nodded to the Hackworths and mumbled something gruff but polite through 
his chinstrap as father and daughter rode out of New Atlantis and into a gaudy 
clave full of loutish thetes scrumming and chanting before the entrances of 
pubs. Fiona caught sight of an old Union Jack, then did a double-take and 
realized that the limbs of the St. Andrew's Cross had been enhanced with stars, 
like the Confederate Battle Flag. She gave her chevaline a nudge and pulled up 
nearly abreast with her father.