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to do?”
    “To show you the fragment, that’s all. They say things are still falling into place; they’re waiting before they tell you anything more. Everything’s a secret with them, no one knows more than they need to—they’re afraid of the
cars.
The cars are on to you already, they suspect you, you’ll have to be careful. I’m sorry if I’m talking a lot! I don’t want to waste your time!”
    Ollimer stands up.
    “I feel such a strong desire to confide in you!” He says in an embarrassed, half-laughing gasp. “I suppose I’m a bit in awe of you. We’d better go into my room,” Ollimer glances at his nodding aunt.
    The Divinity Student follows him down a tiny hallway to a boxy bedroom. Ollimer kneels on the floor and produces, from under his bed, a small tin chest with a padlock; he opens it and moves over to his desk. The light from the lamp shines up on his face, making it strange.
    “Here.”
    He opens a leather wallet and gingerly draws out a scrap of paper. The Divinity Student accepts it from him and sits down to read it. It is half of a sheet of notebook paper, with one corner torn off, taking with it most of the first word. All that is left are the last three letters,—
nia,
and the definition:
    In the middle of the night, a beautiful young woman was wakened from a deep sleep, in an empty house, by a sharp pounding on her bedroom door. Upon opening the door, she saw only the empty hallway, no one anywhere along its length, or anywhere in the house. She went back to her room and shut the door behind her, but she had not taken her hand from the doorknob when the pounding sounded again even louder, nearly knocking her over. She immediately flung the door open, and again saw no one—except for a black and white spider hanging from a thread directly in front of the door.
    The Divinity Student looks at Ollimer.
    Ollimer had watched him reading.
    “You see? I-it’s a word that can only be defined by a story. The word doesn’t represent that sequence of events—but rather it names what that sequence
suggests.
”
    “Is that what you were told to say?”
    Ollimer doesn’t answer.
    “The page is torn, what was the word?”
    “I don’t know. I’m sorry, that’s all there is.”
    The Divinity Student gives the fragment back and stands up, pacing over to the other side of the room while Ollimer replaces everything as it had been.
    “Have you told me everything?”
    “Yes—they just want you to think about it. Are you interested?”
    The Divinity Student is thinking.

five: the priest
    The next day, a gray little clerk shuffles into the office and beckons to the Divinity Student. The others give him peculiar looks as he leaves the room, wending his way out back to the library, where Mr Woodwind crouches over an ancient book with a miniature knife, scraping ink samples from illuminated characters. He gathers the flakes of dried ink on the edge of the blade and deposits them in glass dishes filled with different solitions, watching them react and change color. The rest he heats on a small metal pan until they glow in the flame and combust.
    Eventually, Woodwind notices him. “You, you’re from the Seminary? I need you to take these to the high priest of San Veneficio. His office is in the Orpheum.” Woodwind withdraws a black satchel from under the table and thrusts it at him. The Divinity Student has no more than touched the handle before Woodwind turns his back and goes back to his scrapings.
    Outside, the air is warm and close and still, rich with orchard smells, and, looking down, he can see the heat boil all around him, rising in curling threads, shimmering around his shadow on the pavement. Above, the sky is empty: a fathomless, midnight blue color, some dark birds circling. The streets are unusually empty, and no cars watch him go, making his way down to Calavera Street in the center of town. He can see the Orpheum approaching over the rooftops, coruscating in the hot air. It’s a palace