“If Vadesh doesn’t kill him,” said Olivenko. “He chose to walk into danger.”

Loaf sat looking at the sand in front of him.

“Loaf,” said Umbo, “don’t forget who and what we are. If Rigg doesn’t join us at the end of the world, then no matter which way it goes with the Destroyers, we can always go back and find him.”

“And stop him from getting himself destroyed by this?” asked Loaf, gesturing toward his own face.

“Why do you assume that it destroys him?” asked Umbo.

“Because I know how close it came to destroying me.”

“And you think that Rigg is weaker?” asked Param.

“Rigg is a child,” said Loaf.

Umbo laughed. “And so is Param, and so am I.”

“You’re not going up against a facemask,” said Loaf stubbornly.

“We’re going up against Destroyers,” said Umbo.

“We’re going to see if they come,” said Loaf, “and then run away if they do.”

“Rigg is stronger than you think,” said Umbo.

“Stronger than I am?” asked Loaf.

“Strong enough,” said Umbo. “It wasn’t physical stamina that prevailed over the facemask, was it?”

“No,” said Loaf. “It was strength of will.”

“And you think Rigg lacks that?” asked Umbo.

“He’s always been so eager to please,” said Loaf.

“He’s eager to do right,” said Umbo. “That’s not the same thing at all.”

Knosso came to them when the sun was high enough to warm the beach to a tolerable temperature. When they proposed the jaunt into the future, he agreed at once. “I thought my passage through the Wall was the only adventure of my life. Now you’ve brought another to me here at the end of the world.”

“Did you already know it was the end?” asked Umbo.

“Oh yes,” said Knosso. “The Landsman told us—told the people of the sea. Many generations ago. From what you’ve said of the Odinfolders, he told us as soon as the Book of the Future appeared in Odinfold.”

“So Larfold was informed,” said Olivenko, “but not the people of Ramfold.”

“In Ramfold,” said Param, “they made us. And who would have believed such a prophecy, anyway? Here they know what their expendable is. In Ramfold, he’s a legend. A myth. A miracle man.”

“Worldwalker,” said Umbo.

“The Golden Man,” said Olivenko.

“The Undying One,” said Loaf.

“The Gardener,” said Param. “And even Rigg, who called him Father—what would he have done with the information, if Ramex had told him? It would have deformed the history of Ramfold. Whereas Larfold—does it really have a history?”

“Didn’t you hear Auntie Wind’s account?” asked Knosso.

“They have tales and memories,” said Param. “But nothing changes. Life under the sea is—”

“Is filled with infinite variety,” said Knosso.

“But no events,” said Param.

“You don’t even have weather down there,” said Umbo. “Or seasons.”

“Well, that’s not quite true,” said Knosso, “but it’s close enough. I’m happy there. But no, we have no wars, apart from the constant struggle against the great predators of the open sea, which forces us to remain a single tribe, united to defend against them. After eleven thousand years, the monsters have learned to avoid our shore. But the Larfolders have been wise enough never to hunt the great killers of the sea to extinction. They could have done it—the barrier of the Wall keeps the sharks and orcas trapped inside, where they could never have escaped from our harpoons, if we had wanted to kill them all.”

“So you keep your nemesis alive,” said Param.

Umbo noticed that Knosso had switched from “they” to “we.” He’s no longer a man of Ramfold. He might be glad of our adventure, of a chance to slice time with us, but he’s happy with the Larfold life. This is the world he wants to save. He dreams of no triumphant return to Ramfold.

And if we ever went to Ramfold, it might be triumphant for Param and Rigg, as royals; they might be able to rally an army to defeat General Citizen and Hagia Sessamin and take their place in the Tent of Light. But there’d be no place for me.

Then, because he had thought of Rigg and Param as King- or Queen-in-the-Tent, it occurred to Umbo that, Ramfold history being what it was, Rigg and Param might easily become rivals there, and fight a bitter civil war between those who wanted a king and those who still believed that Aptica Sessamin had been right to kill the men of the royal line, allowing only queens to rule in the Tent of Light. And there would be others who wanted to restore the People’s Republic, and probably the loyal followers of General Citizen would make yet another faction, and it would be a thrilling history, and they would all be desperately unhappy and lead exciting, terrible, tragic lives.

Who was to say that Knosso hadn’t made the better choice?

Not that any of it mattered. For Umbo didn’t really think that anything they did would make a difference. Nine times already the Destroyers had come. The only difference this time would be that instead of sending letters or books into the past, they would return themselves, as eyewitnesses. Though with the Destroyers remaining out in space until all life on Garden was extinct, it would be hard to say just what they might witness from a beach in Larfold.

“There’s nothing to wait for,” said Loaf. “We might as well go right now. No need to pack a picnic for the trip. We’ll go forward far enough to see what happens, and then come back.”

“Even if the Destroyers don’t come?” asked Umbo. “How long will we wait to know that things have changed?”

“We can decide once we get there,” said Param.

So they joined hands and Param took them into the future, slicing time in great swaths, leaping forward faster than she had before. Not two times around the seasons, but three, slowing only when they got near the expected time of year, and stopping when they could see a great gathering of Larfolders on the beach.

Larex was there. And Vadesh.

“I didn’t want to watch for this alone,” said Vadesh.

But, as always, Umbo thought that there was more to his presence there than Vadesh was willing to say.

How could Vadesh seem furtive and Larex open and honest? They had the same face, the same voice. They were machines. They were no different in any way from Rigg’s father, Ramex. Or from Odinex, for that matter. Yet when Umbo confided these thoughts to Loaf, the man with facemask perceptions agreed with him. “There are microdifferences,” he said. “Your eye has picked them out, and your ear, even though without a mask of your own, you can’t bring those details into the forefront of your consciousness. In eleven thousand years, even identical, self-repairing machines acquire differences in experience, in wear, in habits. Vadesh has an aversion to solitude. He’s always been so eager for human company, far more than the others.”

“Maybe they’re all eager for it,” said Umbo, “but only Vadesh has been deprived of it long enough for the loneliness to show.”

“Or it’s a deliberate attempt to deceive us into thinking there’s a difference among them,” said Loaf. “But even that would be a real difference, so it amounts to the same thing.”

The people of the sea all gathered around Knosso and celebrated his return—to them, he had disappeared three years ago, and though the Landsman had informed them that Knosso was time-slicing with the Ramfolders, they had missed him and been sad that he had left without bidding them good-bye.

“But I’m coming back, if the Destroyers come,” said Knosso. “I mean to come back anyway.” Then, confused, he turned to the Ramfold party and said, “Should I already have come back? Shouldn’t they already know what happened because I came back and told them?”

“If you go back,” said Umbo patiently, “then you change the causal chain, and this meeting will never happen—not this way—because they will have lived a different life these past three years, a life with you in it, a life in which you were gone barely a day.”