‘Rich, you said?’ The Trell struggled to drag the conversation away from what he knew to be a looming precipice. ‘More like mired in minutiae. Probably explains why it’s dust and ashes. Arguing over seeds in the wind while barbarians batter down the gates. Indolence takes many forms, but it comes to every civilization that has outlived its will. You know that as well as I. In this case it was an indolence characterized by a pursuit of knowledge, a frenzied search for answers to everything, no matter the value of such answers. A civilization can as easily drown in what it knows as in what it doesn’t know. Consider,’ he continued, ‘Gothos’s Folly. Gothos’s curse was in being too aware – of everything. Every permutation, every potential. Enough to poison every scan he cast on the world. It availed him naught, and worse, he was aware of even that.’

‘You must be feeling better,’ Icarium said wryly. ‘Your pessimism has revived. In any case, these works support my belief that the many ruins in Raraku and the Pan’potsun Odhan are evidence that a thriving civilization once existed here. Indeed, perhaps the first true human civilization, from which all others were born.’

Leave this path of thought, Icarium. Leave it now. ‘And how does this knowledge avail us in our present situation?’

Icarium’s expression soured slightly. ‘My obsession with time, of course. Writing replaces memory, you see, and the language itself changes because of it. Think of my mechanisms, in which I seek to measure the passage of hours, days, years. Such measurings are by nature cyclic, repetitive. Words and sentences once possessed the same rhythms, and could thus be locked into one’s mind and later recalled with absolute precision. Perhaps,’ he mused after a moment, ‘if I was illiterate I would not be so forgetful.’ He sighed, forced a smile. ‘Besides, I was but passing time, Mappo.’

The Trell tapped one blunt, wrinkled finger on the open book. ‘I imagine the authors of this would have defended their efforts with the same words, friend. I have a more pressing concern.’

The Jhag’s expression was cool, not completely masking amusement. ‘And that is?’

Mappo gestured. ‘This place. Shadow does not list among my favourite cults. Nest of assassins and worse. Illusion and deceit and betrayal. Iskaral Pust affects a harmless façade, but I am not fooled. He was clearly expecting us, and anticipates our involvement in whatever schemes he plans. We risk much in lingering here.’

‘But Mappo,’ Icarium said slowly, ‘it is precisely here, in this place, that my goal shall be achieved.’

The Trell winced. ‘I feared you would say that. Now you shall have to explain it to me.’

‘I cannot, friend. Not yet. What I hold are suspicions, nothing more. When I am certain, I shall feel confident enough to explain. Can you be patient with me?’