The cabinet could enter the last workshop by either of two routes.
One required dismantling the stair rail and taking the landing out of use. The other required removing a painted wooden screen that the people in the building did not consider a disposable obstruction.
Neri stood beneath the screen on the morning of day seven hundred and twenty-one and looked up at its faded birds.
They were not good birds. Their wings had too many feathers, and one appeared to have acquired a third foot. The older caretaker beside her watched her looking at them.
“My daughter painted those,” he said.
Neri turned.
“She was twelve. She’s thirty now. Still thinks that one is a crane.”
“Does she work here?”
