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He put the flashlight on a display case and took hold of the wide map by both sides of its frame. He lifted it free of its hook, lowered it to the floor, leaned its glassed face against his knee, and took up the flashlight again. The frame was old, but its gray-paper backing looked relatively new. The letters EV were stamped at the bottom of it. He carried the map by its wire across the hall, down the escalator, across the second-floor hall, and into the storeroom. Tapping on the light, he brought the map to the table and laid it carefully face-down.

With the corner of a fingernail he tore the taut paper backing along the bottom and sides of the frame, pulled it out from under the wire, and pressed it back so that it stayed. White cardboard lay in the frame, pinned down by ranks of short brads.

He searched in the cartons of smaller relics until he found a rusted pair of pincers with a yellow sticker around one handle. He used the pincers to pull the brads from the frame, then lifted out the cardboard and another piece of cardboard that lay beneath it.

The back of the map was brown-blotched but untorn, with no holes that would have justified the patching. A line of brown writing was faintly visible: Wyndham, MU 7-2161—some kind of early nameber.

He picked at the map's edges and lifted it from the glass, turned it over and raised it sagging above his head against the white light of the ceiling. Islands showed through all the patches: here a large one, "Madagascar"; here a cluster of small ones, "Azores." The patch in Stability Bay showed a line of four small ones, "Andaman Islands." He remembered none of the patch-covered islands from the maps at the MFA.

He put the map back down in the frame, face-up, and leaned his hands on the table and looked at it, grinned at its pre-U oddity, its eight blue almost-invisible rectangles. Lilac! he thought. Wait till I tell you!

With the head of the frame propped on piles of books and his flashlight standing under the glass, he traced on a sheet of paper the four small "Andaman Islands" and the shoreline of "Bay of Bengal." He copied down the names and locations of the other islands and traced the map's scale, which was in "miles" rather than kilometers. One pair of medium-size islands, "Falkland Islands," was off the coast of Arg ("Argentina") opposite "Santa Cruz," which seemed to be ARG20400. Something teased his memory in that, but he couldn't think what. He measured the Andaman Islands; the three that were closest together were about a hundred and twenty "miles" in overall length—somewhere around two hundred kilometers, if he remembered correctly; big enough for several cities! The shortest approach to them would be from the other side of Stability Bay, SEA77122, if he and Lilac (and King? Snow-flake? Sparrow?) were to go there. If they were to go? Of course they would go, now that he had found the islands. They'd manage it somehow; they had to.

He turned the map face-down in the frame, put back the pieces of cardboard, and pushed the brads back into their holes with a handle-end of the pincers—wondering as he did so why ARG20400 and the "Falkland Islands" kept poking at his memory.

He slipped the frame's backing in under the wire—Sunday night he would bring tape and make a better job of it—and carried the map back up to the third floor. He hung it on its hook and made sure the loose backing didn't show from the sides.

ARG20400... A new zinc mine being cut underneath it had been shown recently on TV; was that why it seemed significant? He'd certainly never been there...

He went down to the basement and got three tobacco leaves from behind the hot-water tank. He brought them up to the storeroom, got his smoking things from the carton he kept them in, and sat down at the table and began cutting the leaves.

Could there possibly be another reason why the islands were covered and unmapped? And who did the covering? Enough. He was tired of thinking. He let his mind go—to the knife's shiny blade, to Hush and Sparrow cutting tobacco the first time he'd seen them. He had asked Hush where the seeds had come from, and she'd said that King had had them. And he remembered where he had seen ARG20400—the nameber, not the city itself.

A screaming woman in torn coveralls was being led into Medicenter Main by red-cross-coveralled members on either side of her. They held her arms and seemed to be talking to her, but she kept on screaming—short sharp screams, each the same as the others, that screamed again from building walls and screamed again from farther in the night. The woman kept on screaming and the walls and the night kept screaming with her.