But if Katie went to him, she would be a burden. Strat would have to figure out what to do with her … when there was nothing to do with her.

Katie prayed. The Lord strengthened her.

Then she called out to a friendly-looking passerby. She spoke in Spanish, of course, having learned it easily. She was proud of her accent. “Will you deliver a cable to the telegram office, please? Here is plenty of money, and a good tip as well.”

The man pointed to the ground halfway between them. Katie set down her precious warning, piling coins on top so the wind would not blow the page away. She gave the man God's blessing and returned to the enclosure.

When she had shut the gate behind her, tears assaulted her: for herself and for all ruined lives. And while she prayed for calmness of heart, the man in the street walked on without pausing. Nothing would make him handle what a leper had touched.

A wagon passed by. The wheels sent the coins flying into the dust and tore the cable in half. Later a child found one of the coins and bought food.

ARCHIBALD LIGHTNER: 1899

Archibald Lightner was furious. He had enough to do without having to go into Cairo and rescue his foolish photographer. “I've half a mind to fire you,” he said when he finally stomped into the French embassy. “You can't even do a decent watercolor.”

“I'm the photographer,” the boy protested. “I never said I could paint.”

“Well, then, you should be more versatile,” snapped Archibald Lightner. His dig was full of stupid people. Of course, he was of the opinion that most people were stupid, but one always hoped to avoid them. Or at least not hire them.

“Actually,” said the boy, “you aren't paying me anything.”

Dr. Lightner remembered now. Something to do with a leper colony. The boy certainly looked healthy. In fact, he looked perfect. Archibald, who was beaky, gawky and gaunt, had always wanted to look like this young man. Bronze and strong, like a Greek statue. Archibald resembled a heron.

“What is your full name, anyway?” he said irritably. He had searched the boy's possessions, hoping to find a passport, but paperwork was not required at most borders, and it did not look as if the boy possessed any. In fact, other than love letters from a girl named Katie, the boy possessed virtually nothing.

I don't know a thing about him, thought Dr. Lightner. Perhaps I should request that he move on. If I give him money, he will be eager to do so. On the other hand, I pay him nothing, and in exchange he gives me fine photographs.

“I cannot lie to you, sir,” said the boy, his cheeks turning red. “I must tell you my full name, although I beg that you not use it. I am Hiram Stratton, Jr.”