But all of a sudden, something very strange happened.

The door behind the desk cracked open of its own accord.

“Ah,” said the young man, confusion written so clearly on his face that even Yehuda Leib could read it.

The large room into which Bluma and Mammon had gone lurked palpably on the other side of the doorway.

Leaning toward it, the young man behind the desk gave a soft whisper. “Are you sure?”

And, as if in answer, the door inched further open.

The young man turned back to Yehuda Leib.

“Very well,” he said. “Lord Dantalion will see you now.”

Chapter Fourteen: Dantalion

When, periodically, each identical page of the thick ledger that sits beside the final door guard of the Dantalion has been filled, having been inscribed with a question by a pilgrim, the volume is retired and replaced with a fresh copy. The completed ledgers are shelved deep in the stacks, and in this way Dantalion himself is fed, grown by the questions people bring to him.

As of this writing, it is still possible to consult these ledgers, and the volume in use when Mammon, Bluma, and Yehuda Leib made their visit is still on the shelf. Mammon’s florid writing is there, and his question can easily be read:

Is it possible for the living to overthrow Death?

On the next page, Bluma’s tidy, quiet script can be found:

What is my name?

Even the following page, the record for Yehuda Leib’s entry into the Dantalion, contains a transcription in neat bureaucratic capitals of the only question he managed to ask while in conference with the Dantalion:

Father? Hey! Hello?

But in order to understand what happened next, one must flip backward three pages to the page immediately preceding Mammon’s.

On this page, a tight, toothy hand has inscribed the question Is it the boy or the girl?

Beneath the inquiry, Dantalion’s response, in the form of a call number, is recorded:

O 32 J 12 F 166.

This call number would’ve led the questioner to a book shelved deep in the stacks, the title page of which bears the legend On the Evolution of Flatware.

This might seem like an incongruous response at first blush, but once one flips forward to page 166—the page upon which Dantalion indicated the answer was to be found—things become much clearer.

Page 166 is dominated by a large engraving:

An illustration of a fine—though eminently common—teaspoon.

—

The door swung gently shut behind Mammon, sending an echo into the massive hall like the memory of a drumbeat.

He was alone.

The cream-colored card in his hand read QB 94 K 7 H 391, all in his very own handwriting.

He particularly liked the way his Qs looped around—he had paid an Italian scribe quite a hefty sum for that Q, and it had almost been worth it.