A day passed, then two or maybe three. Time had a way of slipping away from Will here. The cool autumn gave way to chilly mornings, with the first hints of frost clinging weakly to the leaves of the trees surrounding the estate.

Will liked winter, on earth, where he was allowed to wear shirts, and also lived in a desert. He had been hoping to escape the cold on the train ride back south, but it seemed to have followed him.

He ended up spending a lot of time in the warmest parts of the villa; the forge, whenever Rex was working in there, or by the edge of the hot spring, where the cold air mixing with the warm water created plumes of mist Will found relaxing to watch.

While clinging to warmth, Will spent a lot of time poring over histories. The inkling of an idea was beginning to form in his head, and he had an odd feeling that it was connected to the Scribes, and so had been focusing on them.

To call the differences between pre-Scribe history and post-Scribe history like night and day was an understatement. The entirety of pre-Scribe history was a thousand years longer and yet so devoid of actual history it was like reading a bulleted list.

Kingdoms rose once, never fell, warred over nothing and then stopped, with no borders changed and no diplomacy ever conducted. Dynasties lasted for generations, with the number of internal power struggles countable on one hand.

Gifts from the gods constituted the majority of technological or magical innovation, and only ever trickled in. Agriculture, metalworking, power sources, and language only ever advanced at a snail's pace.

The bare minimum for a civilization, starved and stunted so that it could never think to ask for more.

In contrast, the history of the post-Scribe world was bursting with innovation, chaos, war, love, tragedy, and scientific advancement. A Cambrian explosion of culture, making up for a thousand years of lost time in two centuries.

It was... remarkably similar reading to earth's history, in composition if not in exact details, was Will's takeaway. Interesting, if you liked that sort of thing, but not what Will was after.

“Are there any books on the Scribes themselves?” Will asked Virgil one evening. The estate had a decent collection of books, not a library's worth but certainly enough to satisfy Will for a long time.

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“In general, or here specifically?” Virgil asked.

“Here specifically,” Will decided.

“I'd have to check,” Virgil said. “I'm sure I've read one when I was a kid, but who knows where it's ended up.”

“Can't you just get Glory to like, teleport it?” Will asked.

“Glory can only grab things he knows the exact location of,” Virgil said, in a tone of voice that suggested he had explained this a hundred times to a hundred different people and was trying not to be a bitch about it.

“Got it,” Will said, trying to sound reasonable. “Although, didn't Glory mention once that he knew the Scribes as a kid? Or like, whatever an immature angel is. An angel instar.”

“He did, yeah,” Virgil said. “His parents are two of them, so I'm pretty sure he's met all of them.”

“Okay, I did not know that,” said Will. “I feel like that would have been relevant information that would have come up before now.”

Virgil gave Will an embarrassed, pleading look. “Well, everyone knows that, so I guess it never occurred to me that you wouldn't. And Glory doesn't like talking about it, so I try not to bring it up.”

“Which ones?” Will asked. “They're like, an angel and a demon, yeah?”

“Reach Heaven Through Violence, Scribe of Wrath, and, uh, Fuck Like a Broken Train, Scribe of Lust.”

“Fuck Like a Broken Train,” Will repeated. “Do they *all* have names like that?”

“Pretty much,” Virgil said.

“What does that even mean, 'Fuck Like a Broken Train?'” Will asked. “Like I get that they're all sayings, very The Culture of them, but at least most of them make sense.”

“I'm just as clueless as you here,” Virgil said, shrugging. “There's a reason they tend to have nicknames.”

“We're getting off topic,” Will said, brushing off the point. “I think the person who hired Skullcrusher is connected to the Scribes somehow, but he's also keeping his identity extremely well-hidden.”

“Do you think it's one of the Scribes?” Virgil asked, in a tone similar to how someone might say 'Do you think the Pope committed arson?'

“Maybe, but I don't think so,” Will said. “If they're all as senile as Daphnis is, I don't think any of them would cover their tracks so well. And I don't know what motive any of them would even have.”

“Are you talking about my parents?” Glory asked, appearing from nowhere. He was holding a large knife and half of a potato.

“Yes,” said Will, because there was no point in lying.

“Will thinks they might have a lead to who-or-whatever is behind the Taint,” Virgil said.

“Fuck,” Glory said flatly.

“Like, the proper noun, or the verb, or the exclamation,” Will asked.

“Exclamation,” Glory clarified. “I don't think my dad is the culprit. I'd rather deal with Fuck than Reach, anyways.”