The godmaker smiled pleasantly and made his way home quickly as he could. He shut the doors of his shop and lay in his bed, telling himself again and again about the power of coincidence. Belief did strange things to the mind, made patterns appear where there were none, made three incidents seem a certainty. He was a craftsman, nothing more. He sold icons and idols, nothing more. “I cannot make gods,” he said, though there was nobody to hear him.