Sitting in the cab, apparently unperturbed by its jolts as it lurched forward through the traffic, Rosa was elegant, cool, and her narrow face with its strong nose seemed kind, though Lucia could not make out her eyes. She was tall, taller than Lucia, certainly taller and more slender than most Order members, who tended to be short and somewhat squat. But then, as everybody knew, Rosa was one of the few at the heart of the Order who hadn’t been born in the Crypt. Though she had come to the Order as a child, her fluent Italian still bore traces of England, short vowels and harsh consonants.

“At school we come up here every week,” Lucia said. “To the city, I mean. Even so I can never get used to it.”

“What, exactly? The crowds, the noise—the light?”

“Not that,” Lucia said, thinking. “The chaos. Everybody going every which way, all the time.”

Rosa nodded. “Yes. You know that I’m something of an outsider. Well, I always will be, and it’s not to be helped. But it does give me a certain perspective. There are some things about the Crypt that we all take for granted, and we notice only when they are taken away. In the Crypt everything is orderly, calm, and everybody knows what she is doing, where she is going. Even the temperature is controlled, the air clean and fresh. But out here it’s quite the opposite. Out here is anarchy, everything out of control. And now you, Lucia, feel that even your own body is out of your control. And you fear—”

“I fear I don’t belong anymore,” Lucia blurted.

The driver had a broad head, all but hairless, with a band of greasy pores above his collar. He looked about fifty. At her slightly raised voice, he turned, glancing in his mirror. His speculative gaze was heavy on her; she looked away.

Rosa said, “You won’t be turned out—out into this messy chaos—if that’s what you fear. In fact, quite the opposite. You’re more likely to be drawn into the center.”

“The center?”

“You’ll see. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Lucia. The Order needs you.” Rosa smiled. “It’s just that you may be needed for something other than record keeping or calligraphy . . . Ah. Here we are.”

Lucia was, of course, full of questions. But the cab was drawing to a halt, and there was no time to ask.