"The answer won't make you happy, but I think it's better to know than otherwise, particularly given that something similar will probably happen again." With this rather ominous statement, offered fairly cheerfully, Palamedes beckons Darlington in. Despite the chaos of the notebooks, it's probably easy to see that someone with a well-developed sense of order lives here: the bed is precisely made, shoes have been lined up by the wardrobe in an orderly manner, and a stack of unused notebooks sits in a neat pile on a side table.

"Some sort of apocalyptic event happens every three months, by my count," he explains. "Three have happened thus far, the most recent just a couple of days ago." Pal goes to the bookshelf and takes down a slightly battered looking notebook with a cactus on the cover. "I've been recording each one, noting the differences and similarities among the particular catastrophes. Thus far, it has always entailed some sort of storm, and often--" a grimace-- "a flood or burial, but the exact nature has varied."