Short nights usually brought small rains and quick bright dawns.

Diamond put on yesterday’s play trousers and shirt, and then he sat beside the monkey, thinking about nothing, about everything, his mind following no particular direction while the first trace of the sun began to emerge.

Good woke and grunted at him.

The boy put two of his fingers inside the monkey’s mouth, on top of the very wet tongue.

“No,” Good said, spitting him out.

Nobody liked to be teased.

The ruddy glow was strongest near the trees, while out in the distance, where the water was thickest, the storm pushed like hot fingers high into the forest.

Diamond slid off the bed again.

“Stay,” said Good.

“You stay,” he said.

“No.”

One led the other to the locked house door, and Diamond threw the steel bolt and pushed against the pressurized air. The storm slipped through the gaps and around their feet, and then the bright keening sound fell away, leaving the home quiet again.

Good went as far as the curtain, where he planted his feet, saying, “I tell. I tell I am good, you are bad.”

“All right,” the boy said, pushing through the heavy curtain.

The first touch of rain always felt chilled, which was peculiar because it was warm enough to be bathwater. His clothes were drenched in an instant. Bare feet slid across the face of the landing, and noticing him, the sitting guards yelled at each other. The man inside the gate fought his way to his feet, but he plainly didn’t want to bother with this craziness.

Diamond broke into a slow run.

The original landing had been small, old, and in poor repair, and on her own authority, the Archon decided to have it torn away, replacing the structure with more wood and a fine eye on security. In principle, there was no way for Diamond to be hurt. The worst storm might throw him around, but the net and high railing wouldn’t let him fall. Freak winds sometimes broke necks, but his neck would heal, and this happened to be a weak dawn already past its most dangerous prime.

The one guard shuffled after him, shouting with all of his authority, words scrubbed by the wind until nothing remained except anger mixed with a great heap of outrage: his slight comfort had been disturbed by a boy’s impulse.

The third guard was still standing at the rail. Hearing the shouts, the broad back straightened, and leaving one hand holding tight, he turned and knelt down, putting his face even with the boy’s. But it wasn’t any face that Diamond expected. He knew every guard, and this was somebody else. Pulling up short, he gave a little jump, and the man shouted, “Your mother is going to be angry with you.”

“With both of us,” Diamond said.

“Probably so,” Father said.

“Where’s the other guard?”

“He went home sick. I volunteered to take over.”

The unexpected always made the boy laugh.

Then Father swung his free hand, as if clearing a space beside him. “You can’t get any wetter, I suppose. So come here and have a good look, before we pay your mother’s price.”

But Mother was in an agreeable mood. She had to give both of them her cutting gaze, shaking her head in supreme disappointment, but there wasn’t a word about her son being drenched or her husband pretending to be a dangerous young man. She reminded them where to find clean towels. She promised a rack of heart-melons if her boys would pull them from the oven in ten, no, nine recitations. Then she opened the house line and began calling women-friends, organizing her day.

Diamond and his father ate the roasted melons and dipped yesterday’s baby loafs in sweet oil, and Good consumed his share before hurrying outdoors, ready to defend his territory and perhaps have fun with his girlfriends. There was still time for a second meal before school. School occupied only the long middle of each day, save for holidays and vacations and illness. Except Diamond never became sick. A stomach virus once made half of his class throw up, but not him. Germs were no more dangerous than the air to him. Yet people talked about feeling better after vomiting, and on the principle that he might feel better than he was, he sometimes used a finger, vainly trying to take part in this ritual of purging and renewal.

Diamond’s class was built on its busy formalities. There were friends and the friendly-enough others, plus Master Nissim loomed at the front of the room, and the boy liked much of it. But the great joy of his spectacular new life was wearing the school’s deep brown uniform and a pair of leather boots designed specifically for his odd feet.

After the last baby loaf, Diamond cleaned his white teeth and washed the most important pieces of his body, and then he went to his room to dress.

New guards were on station. A tall man stood beside the window, dressed as any office worker, golden trousers pressed and the black dress shirt tied around the waist with two purple cords. His name was Tar`ro, and he looked rather sleepy, which was normal enough. But he spotted the boy immediately, and after offering a little nod, he pointed his half-open gaze forwards again, studying the mists and falling waters as they were polished by the day’s new sunshine.

Tar`ro was perhaps Diamond’s favorite. He had a strong, memorable voice, and he seemed to notice everything, and unlike most of his colleagues, the man would bend rules, chatting amiably with his client.

Diamond tapped at the heavy glass.

Without turning around, Tar`ro said, “Bits and Sophia.”

Bits was a stocky little man, and Sophia was one of the few women guards. They were on morning duty too.

Yesterday’s school uniform was dirty, but three others hung in the cupboard, waiting their turn. They were cut for his body; nobody else in the world could happily wear these clothes. Diamond put on the trousers and shirt and then tied both belts with the official knots, and then he set his boots by the door before propping the stepladder next to a wall covered with shelves. Soldiers stood at attention, waiting for orders. “Do nothing,” he said, reaching past them. A big book begged to be read, and he brought it down and sat on the edge of his bed, smelling the slow rot of ancient bindings and tired paper as he pulled open the plain gray cover.

The papio book sat the wrong way in his lap, no letter or little mark resembling anything found in a schoolbook.

Diamond read carefully, and every word was remembered. There were drawings in the book, and every drawing lived inside his head afterwards. Remembering where he stopped was easy. Understanding the familiar words was usually easy, although meanings could shift in odd, misleading ways. There was an entry about what humans called “woeful-vines”—poisonous plants that grew only at the edges of the creation. Their sap blistered skin, and their black leaves were full of acidic chemicals, and despite living only in deep shadow, they grew quickly, spreading by runners and sometimes producing toxic orange fruits that had never once displayed any interest in sprouting. Diamond was looking at a colored picture of the fruits when Father came into the room, and without looking up, the boy asked about a strange word.

“It means, ‘Liar.’ ”

Diamond looked up. His father was dressed for his work. “I’m reading about woeful vines.”

“ ‘Lying mock-snakes’ is the rough translation.”

The book was an encyclopedia meant for papio children. Diamond could remember quite a lot, but he struggled making his voice match what was written down. Several more words had tested him, and Father asked to see. Pages were turned and two of those odd words made sense, but the other three remained mysteries to both of them.

Father was wearing a green suit, still new and very elegant.

“Are you teaching?” his son asked.

“No, my day is nothing but meetings.”