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entirely comfortable with. Nothing about the search results appeared to be altered, however, and Fell's footprint was both wide and deep. Could be he was a political assassin as well as a jungle-bound monk, but other than simple paranoia, Rada had no reason to doubt him. Identity confirmed, he smiled and led them down the road toward his monastery.
    "I know people within the city I can convince to sponsor your entry," Fell said. "And all I require is that Mr. Benez provide me with a book."
    "Good news," Webber said. "He's rich enough he can probably afford to send you three books."
    "He might find that more challenging than you think. To the best of my knowledge, the book I'm after hasn't existed in a thousand years. But if anyone has a surviving copy, it would be your employer."
    Rada glanced over. "What's the book?"
    "Are you familiar with Mauser's Three Treatises on Chaos ?"
    "Do I look like I'm wearing a swishy green robe?"
    Fell chuckled. "Mauser was a political figure who came to prominence after the Swimmer invasion. In the Treatises , he argues about the inescapable nature of chaos, highlighted by his experiences during the end of civilization, and provides a framework for how we might deal with this inevitable instability. His texts provide a significant basis for one of the major branches of the Way. However, they make heavy reference to another text—one that appears to have been lost in the Plague Years. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race . If we had this book, it could greatly deepen our understanding of Mauser's work."
    "No deal," Rada said.
    Fell's head swiveled. "It's simply a book. There's no trickery afoot."
    "Do you take photos of every traveler who comes to Absolution?"
    "We don't watch the road every second. But between me and the others of my order, I believe we see most visitors."
    "Then I need pictures of everyone who's come here in the last twelve months."
    The monk's eyebrows collided as slowly as two icebergs. "Getting you into the city is quite a favor by itself."
    "And you're asking for a holy book that's been lost for a thousand years," Rada said. "You're lucky I don't make you throw in your monastery, too."
    He muttered something in what sounded like a foreign language, then sighed, smiling wryly. "If your boss bargains as hard as you do, it's no wonder he's so wealthy. You have a deal."
    The relevant info was already on Fell's device, so Rada packaged it up and fired it to Toman, along with a quick summary of the afternoon and a note explaining the change of device address. While she waited for a response, they arrived at the monastery. The main body was built from blocks of light stone, two stories high and capped by a series of heavy blocks. A sharply pointed arch bore through its middle, showing a garden of flowers and fruits.
    It looked pre-modern at the least, but the building it was attached to looked positively ancient: a ziggurat of graying stone, steep steps climbing to three layers of housing. Every inch was carved with faces, animals, and sigils. The stone was so weather-worn it had to be pre-plague at the least, but the simple, blocky elegance of the design made Rada think it was much older than that.
    Fell led them to the second floor of the newer structure. The room was an odd mix of ancient, physical books and sleek, modern electronics. The stone floor was relatively cool and the open doorways coaxed a breeze through. While Fell went off to fetch food and water, his device pinged.
    Rada called up the message. It was from Toman. He didn't have the book.
    Fell returned with a bowl of mashed plantains and chilies. When he heard the news, his face grew as weathered as the older structure.
    "Thank you for making the effort." He sat on the floor, resting his elbows on the low table. "You are welcome to rest here tonight, but that's as much as I can offer."
    "New deal," Rada said. "I'm sure Toman would pay you for your assistance getting us into the city."
    "We have no need of money.