that I was working every bit as hard as he was, well, so be it. I settled behind my desk and took the cover off my typewriter, leaning back in the chair to compose my thoughts.

When I woke up three hours later, Palgrave was sitting opposite me in the folding chair. It took a few moments for it to sink in. I can’t say I was startled—somehow his presence struck me as familiar and almost reassuring—but I knew at once that we had turned a strange corner. For one thing, he was smiling.

He waited a few moments while I came around. “You sleep here?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “No, I just came in to do a little work. I didn’t mean—”

He waved it off. “I sleep here. Most of the time. I have an apartment, but it’s just for show.”

“What?”

He was rubbing his chin, staring at me appraisingly as if trying to guess my age and weight. “You’re very persistent, Mr. Clarke,” he said.

“It’s the job.”

“The job, yes, but more than that. You’re curious. Always asking people about their hobbies, their interests.”

“Look, I never meant to be nosy, I just—”

“No, it’s good. I should do more of that sort of thing. I forget to do it. There’s so little point, in the circumstances. The time is so short, it scarcely seems worth the trouble. People like you are gone in the blink of an eye.”

I bristled. “No, you’re wrong. I’m committed to this job. I’m going to stay at least five years. If you drive me off this series, I’ll do my time on Imagination Station and work my way back. I’m in for the long haul.”

“The long haul!” he cried. “Five years!” He clapped his hands. I had never seen him so animated. “Five whole years! As long as that? Do you know how long I’ve been here?”

“Thirteen years.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. Thirteen years in this particular building. But do you know how long I’ve been . . . here? In the larger sense?”

“I’m not quite sure I—”

“Twelve hundred and sixty-seven years. But my relationship to time isn’t quite linear.”

“Pardon me?”

“So you’ll forgive me if your five- year commitment fails to impress. You must excuse me if I haven’t troubled to get to know you, to stand at the water cooler and make inquiries about your life and your interests and your football team. Would you take the trouble to get to know a fruit fly? Would you pause to exchange pleasantries with a falling leaf or a raindrop running down a windowpane?”

I struggled for a foothold. “I have no idea—”

“Shall I tell you my source for that troublesome information in my latest chapter? Worm castles? Mr. Clarke, I was there. At Chancellorsville. In 1863. I heard it firsthand. I tried to tell you: I’m the source.” He reached past me to a bookshelf and pulled down one of the early volumes of the series. Mustering the Troops. He flipped it open to a section of regimental photographs, showing rows and rows of grim- faced young men posing with their units before they mobilized. “There I am in the third row, Second Connecticut Light Artillery. No one could understand why I insisted on using this particular photo in the book. Just my idea of a little joke. And they say I have no sense of humor.”

I peered down at the face he had indicated. It was grainy and nondescript. “Mr. Palgrave . . . Thaddeus . . . I don’t understand any of this. You’re telling me that you’re some sort of supernatural creature? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I thought about Kate and her Mexican bare skulls and strigoi. “You’re a vampire of some kind?”

He shook his head, even pursing his lips as if disappointed by my pedestrian line of thinking. “Not a vampire, not a werewolf, not a zombie. We’re not at all like those people, though we have no objection to them. In fact, they can be quite useful. But we don’t drink blood or howl at the moon. Nothing so colorful. We simply observe. We are researchers, like yourself. When all this is gone, there must be some record.”

Even now, I still clung to the notion—or perhaps the hope—that this was all an elaborate joke. “You—you’re a researcher,” I said. My voice had gone flat. “A researcher who’s lived for hundreds of years. And of all the places in the world where you might go—of all the fascinating, important places where you might