'Almost too late,' said Victor.
'Oook,' said the Librarian. His fingernail raced back and forth as he read the ancient pictograms - right to left, right to left.
'I knew there was something not right,' Victor had said. 'That sleeping statue . . . the guard. The old priests sang songs and did ceremonies to keep him awake. They remembered Holy Wood as best they could.'
'But I don't know anything about a guard!'
'Yes, you do. Like, deep down inside.'
'Gook,' said the Librarian, tapping a page. 'Oook!'
'He says you're probably descended from the original High Priestess. He thinks everyone in Holy Wood is descended from . . . you see . . . I mean, the first time the Things broke through the entire city was destroyed and the survivors fled everywhere, you see, but everyone has this way of remembering even things that happened to their ancestors, I mean, it's like there's this great big pool of memory and we're linked, up to it and when it all started happening again we were all called to the place, and you tried to put it right, only it was weak so it couldn't get through to you unless you were asleep-'
He trailed off helplessly.
' “Oook”?' said Ginger suspiciously. 'You got all this from “oook”?'
'Well, not just one,' Victor admitted.
'I've never heard such a lot of-' Ginger began, and stopped. A hand softer than the softest leather was pushed into hers. She looked around into a fare that compared badly to a deflated football.
'Oook,' said the Librarian.
Ginger locked eyes with him for a moment.
Then she said, 'But I've never felt the least bit like a high priestess . . . '
'That dream you told me about,' said Victor. 'It sounded pretty high priestessy to me. Very . . . very-'
'Gook.'
'Sacerdotal. Yeah,' Victor translated.
'It's just a dream,' said Ginger nervously. 'I've, dreamed it occasionally as far back as I can remember.'
'Oook oook.'
'What'd he say?' said Ginger.
'He says that's probably a lot further back than you think.'
Ahead of them Holy Wood glittered like frost, like a city made of congealed starlight.
'Victor?' said Ginger.
'Yes?'
'Where is everybody?'
Victor looked down the road. Where there should have been people, refugees, desperately fleeing . . . was nothing.
Just silence, and the light.
'Where are they?' she repeated.
He looked at her expression.
'But the tunnel fell down!' he said, saying it loudly in the hope that this would make it true. 'It was all sealed off!'