Seldom took a cold breath and exhaled, vapor hanging before his thrilled face. Then with a rush of words, he repeated what he knew personally and what others had told him. A morning full of adventure was relived, and then he was left gasping for air, happy enough that his feet began to dance.

Nissim never stopped watching Diamond. “Your first time outside, he says. Is that the absolute truth, my boy?”

Diamond nodded.

“Amazing,” said the butcher.

“Can I tell it now?” Elata asked.

“Oh, please. I’ve been waiting for this.”

She began at the moment when she first saw Diamond standing on his landing, relating events in their approximate order. It was the same story, and it wasn’t. Seldom said that his brother dropped the boy, and it might have been an accident. In Elata’s telling, Karlan was bigger and meaner, flinging his victim into the open air and cackling as he tumbled out of sight. Seldom mentioned how the wounds healed quickly, but he was stubbornly unwilling to believe what he saw. Maybe Diamond wasn’t hurt that badly, he allowed. But Elata was convinced, and for emphasis, she said that she was sure that Diamond died in the fall but came back to life again as easily as normal people woke at dawn, and she didn’t know what to think about this odd wonderful boy who had spent his life in darkness, except that he seemed remarkably nice.

Diamond listened to every word, absorbing the drama, but it felt as if she was describing a stranger. Meanwhile he studied the cold room, the walls covered with white papery insulation, the work tables washed clean and the deep bins beside them, each filled with sorted bones and chunks of dark red meat, and in one sink, the intact head of some big animal with huge flat teeth and empty holes where the eyes should be. He went to look at the head, and then he spied a different sort of table and a small chair hiding in the back corner. Papers and books were stacked on shelves fixed to the white wall. Elata had finished her story. Diamond was approaching the desk when Nissim clucked his tongue and laughed quietly.

“You don’t believe me,” Elata complained.

“Believe you?” the butcher replied. “Oh, I believe everything I’m told. That’s the human curse. People are gullible animals. That’s why I’ve taught myself to step back and give a skeptical look at everything, particularly ordinary, commonsense thoughts. Which your story is most definitely not.”

Diamond stood beside the desk, reading what little he could. Familiar words and strange words were written on the bindings. The books set on the highest shelf caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but climb up on the desk, on his knees, grabbing the top volume from the stack.

Nissim was beside him and had been for a while.

A great cool hand touched the boy’s back, and a matching voice asked, “What are your parents’ names?”

“Haddi and Merit.”

“Merit,” the warm voice repeated.

Diamond opened the book. The binding was on the right, and every page was filled with swirling, senseless lines.

“Can you read this?” Nissim asked.

“No.”

Seldom laughed, saying, “Of course not. People don’t read papio.”

Diamond set the book down.

“Except you, Master,” Seldom added, deeply impressed.

“The papio are people too,” Nissim warned.

“I know that. They’re our cousins, I know.” But Seldom smiled in a stubbornly doubtful way.

“Why did you select this book?” Nissim asked.

“I have some of these in my room,” Diamond said.

“Really?” asked Nissim.

Diamond nodded.

The butcher’s hands were rough and steady. He tilted the boy’s face to let giant eyes hunt for wounds still healing. There was nothing to see. “Such a peculiar architecture,” he began. “Merit the Slayer is your father. Yes?”

“Do you know him?” Elata asked.

“Not well. But we’ve spoken.” Nissim paused. “Never for long, I’m afraid, and so I can’t claim to know him. But I think I would recognize the fellow, given the chance.”

Seldom cleared his throat. “Why would his father have papio books?”

“Well, I know his work takes him to the world’s edges,” Master Nissim pointed out. “But of course a lot of tree-walkers wander the reef country, and how many of those bring home these?” He set the book back where it belonged. “Merit had a child, I heard. But someone told me . . . I don’t remember who . . . long ago told me the boy was weak and soon to die.”

“That’s me,” Diamond allowed.

“Well, I was misinformed.” Nissim pulled his lower lip into his mouth, sucking hard while he thought.

“We need to find his parents,” Elata said.

“From what you’ve told me, Merit’s hunting in the wilderness . . . ”

His voice trailed away.

Diamond fidgeted.

Returning to the table, the butcher began to wipe clean his knives and cleavers. Smiling, a little embarrassed, he allowed, “I’ve got this awful urge, my boy. All these fine sharp implements, and I’m thinking about a little poke, a short slice. Something to test these rumors of healing.”

Diamond held out his hand, waiting.

“No,” the Master told him, folding his little fingers and pushed his hand back. “I am sure you’ve been cut enough for one day.”

The three of them went into the kitchen to wait while Master Nissim cleaned and changed clothes. He had told them to keep out of the way, which meant standing together between a pair of enormous grills. Diamond watched the fierce blue flames and the frying meat resting in the bubbling oils.

“Have you ever seen fire?” Seldom asked.

“On candles.”

Elata touched an arm. “Are you still hungry?”

He nodded.

She went to the woman who met them when they arrived. Three greasy cakes were found and wrapped in waxed paper and handed to them with little winks and warnings not to tell the other children. “Teacher cake,” Elata explained. “Extra good.”

She and Seldom ate half of theirs, giving the remnants to Diamond.

People stopped working, watching the sudden feast. By the time Diamond licked up every crumb, Nissim was emerging from the cold room. He wasn’t wearing any uniform. Somebody made noise about tutoring, and he nodded and smiled, remarking, “These kids are going tutor me today. The meat’s all cut. I’m sure you can survive without me.” Then noticing the stares, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That poor starving boy,” said the woman, describing what she just witnessed.

Nissim put a hand on Diamond’s forehead. “Are you always the big eater?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I usually eat alone.”

Nissim kneeled, placing his eyes directly before the boy’s eyes. “Do your parents ever talk about the world outside?”

He shook his head.

“Did they tell you about the trees and canopy and the sun?”

“Sometimes we talk about Marduk.”

“Have they shown you paintings of the world?”

“No. Just of the Creators.”

“Who nobody has ever seen.” Nissim smiled. “Do you know the world’s shape?”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . ”

The Master nodded, ready to say something else. Important words waited in his mouth, and he did everything but say them. But in the end he stood and shook his head, leading them out of the kitchen. Then with a stern, irresistible voice, he told the other two children, “I want you to be quiet. I want to talk Diamond, and you can’t make a sound. Please.

“And I mean you, Seldom.”

The boy rolled his eyes, trying to laugh.

They walked through the same doorway leading to the outdoors, back into the bright open air. Several little blimps were wandering past, and birds sang, and a pair of leatherwings fought in the air, snarling and spitting as they decided who was biggest and strongest.

Nissim said, “Stop.”

The school was below them. Teachers were talking with loud voices and students were making lots of little noises, competing to be noticed.