I apologize for interrupting my successor, reader, but I should tell you: I am not actually dead. This universe is not so unjust as to grant Mycroft Canner rest. When I read this eulogy, I did not have the heart to erase words of such kindness, but neither am I so cruel as to leave you, my good master, deceived. I was missing for some months, and surely should have died amid such dangers, but our Maker is a good Host, and cares for the needs of His Guest. He took me from Jehovah as the war began, I think in order to talk to Him about loss, but then He restored me, lest His Guest’s Grief become too great. I entrust you, therefore, for these next months, to my successor, a worthier guide than I, but I assure you that I shall return to serve again at your command, good reader, when my Maker wills.

NOTE: The paragraph above was inserted into this chronicle several weeks after I wrote this chapter, but several weeks before we discovered Mycroft was alive. I have no explanation as of yet.—9A.

* * *

Now I am to continue Mycroft’s chronicle. To start with, I shall do precisely what Mycroft didn’t. The weird period customs Mycroft introduced in their first history require that I, in their words, “introduce myself, my background and qualifications, and tell you by what chance or Providence it is that the answers you seek are in my hands.” After setting up this expectation, Mycroft flagrantly did none of it except to give their name. I shall do the opposite, and tell you everything about myself, except my name.