"I'm sorry I can't give you more help, Chief Elder," said the speaker of the third reminder, leaning back in his chair in the Chief Elder's office. He was a senior Speaker named Abner, whose transfer to the House of the Old was only a few years off – a large, genial man, much admired by his family and colleagues alike. He was also, as the Chief Elder had discovered with a feeling of relief, the first victim of the reminder incursion who seemed to fully sympathize with the Committee's desire to see it cease.

"Not that it wasn't a pleasant feeling, proclaiming that bit of nonsense," he went on. "Invigorating, that's the word. But there's no sense in valuing personal pleasure more than the Community's proper working, is there?"

"No, of course not," said the Chief Elder gratefully. "But, Abner, are you absolutely sure that there's nothing else you can tell us? You had no sense of where the reminder came from, or whether there was a person transmitting it to you?"

Abner shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, Chief Elder," he said. "It wasn't the kind of feeling a person can analyze that way – not like when you feel a tug at the collar of your tunic, and you think, oh, yes, that means someone behind me wants to get my attention. It was more like being suddenly snatched up by a giant, invisible hand: the sort of thing that you've never even imagined meeting before, so you don't even know where to look to figure out what sort of thing it is."

His simile startled the Chief Elder, and for a moment she couldn't think of what to reply. Tomas, however, was under no such handicap. "That doesn't make sense, though, Abner," he broke in impatiently. "Even if all you knew was that it was a hand, that by itself could still tell you where it came from. Every hand has an arm, doesn't it? Wherever the arm is, that's where the hand comes from."

Abner seemed much struck by this logic. "Now, that's a point, Elder Tomas, certainly," he said. "Let me see…" He fell into a prolonged reverie, stroking his chin from time to time as he stared fixedly at the ceiling, and Tomas and the Chief Elder at him.

"I can tell you this much," he said at length. "Whatever it was that put the reminder in me, it must have been very old. I do seem to remember feeling, as I Spoke it, that the words had existed as long as anything had that I knew about – that it might have been proclaimed by the first Speaker the Community ever had, just the same way as I was proclaiming it then. And that's a strange thing, you know," he added thoughtfully. "I'd never thought before of the Community ever having a first Speaker; in fact, I don't think it had ever occurred to me that the Community ever had a beginning at all. But the reminder was the sort of thing that makes you think of things like that – not that it knew about them itself, I don't mean that, but it was so much the thing it was that it made other things look more like what they were, and so you could see things about them that you never had before. You see what I mean?"

The Chief Elder rather doubted that she did. She understood about the reminder being old; both Raymond and Charlotte had hinted at the same thing – and, anyway, if she was right about the reminders being memory-dreams, she didn't suppose they could be much newer than the memories themselves. But this other idea, that seeing one thing for what it was could help a person to see what other things were, wasn't one that her mind could get any purchase on – nor Tomas's, either, to judge by the expression on his face. Anyway, it certainly didn't help either of them know what to do next.

Still, even in her disappointment, the Chief Elder remained as gracious as ever. "Well, thank you, Abner," she said. "It was very good of you to tell us all this; if you can think of anything else that might help us, I trust you won't hesitate to…"

A crackle from the comm overhead interrupted her. "Chief Elder, I have a message for you from the Receiver of Memory," came Charlotte's voice. "He wants to see you as soon as possible; he has an insight into the new reminder that he thinks you ought to hear."

The Chief Elder brightened. "Does he, now?" she said. "Excellent. All right, Charlotte; tell him that I'll be there in –" she paused to estimate the distance from her office to the Annex "– about fifteen minutes."

"I will do that, Chief Elder," said Charlotte briskly. "Thank you for your instructions." And the comm switched off again.

Good girl, Charlotte, the Chief Elder thought proudly. It was a source of perpetual satisfaction to her that Charlotte's experience the week before hadn't in the least interfered with her performance of her duties; she was still the same efficient, impassive Speaker she had been throughout her professional years. (If only Tomas would take the same consolation – but the Chief Elder thought she understood his point of view. It was like what the Protocols had taught her about time: to Tomas, the mere existence in the past of such an outrage upon Charlotte was a disruption of right order in the present, and required proper action in order to make his own stream of time smooth again.)

With a little sigh, the Chief Elder rose from her seat; Tomas and Abner rose as well, and she thanked the latter again for his help, and begged him to excuse her. Abner, naturally, dismissed the need for any such presumption on his part, and respectfully opened her door for her as she left the office. It was a satisfying enough end to her most satisfying interview so far with a reminder's Speaker – except that, as the two of them went their separate ways in the corridor outside, she thought she heard Abner murmuring absent-mindedly to himself, as though for mere pleasure, "…had journeyed long, singing a song…" But perhaps it was her imagination.

When she arrived at the Annex, she found the Receiver bent over a large book (not, she thought, the one he had been studying when she called on him after the first reminder), with a pencil in his hand and a sheet of paper by his side. Just as she entered, he placed his finger on a particular spot on the book's page, and scrawled a few words on the paper; then he turned the page, and cast his eyes down first one side of the new text, then the other.

The Chief Elder coughed decorously. "You wanted to speak with me, Receiver of Memory?" she said.

"Just a moment, Marilee," said the Receiver. He slowly flipped through a few more pages, murmuring and grunting to himself from time to time; then, abruptly, he shut the book and straightened himself in his seat. "Yes, that should do to begin with," he said, and turned to the Chief Elder. "I apologize, Marilee. It seems I'm not as fast a reader anymore as I used to be."

The Chief Elder omitted the usual reply, as it seemed to her almost impudent to tell the Receiver of Memory that she accepted his apology. Instead, she nodded understandingly and asked, "Does what you were reading have to do with your insight, then?"

The Receiver nodded. "Tell me, Marilee," he said, "in the three reminders that have occurred so far, do you notice a pattern being worked out?"

The Chief Elder frowned. "Well… no, not particularly," she said. "There isn't any pattern that I can see to the days or times when they happen, and the Speakers involved aren't becoming consistently older or younger, or…"

The Receiver shook his head. "No, not the circumstances of the reminders," he said. "I mean the reminders themselves – the things that they say."

"Oh." The Chief Elder colored slightly; in truth, she had tried not to think about the content of the reminders more than she could help. "Well… no. No, I can't say that I've noticed any particular pattern in that, either."

"Consider this, then." The Receiver leaned forward, rested his arms on his thighs, and lifted the index finger of his right hand. "The first reminder was about something seen: 'I saw a host of golden daffodils'." He raised a second finger alongside the first. "The second was about something desired: 'I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea'. And this third reminder today," and a third finger came up to accompany the other two, "was about something sought: 'ride, boldly ride, if ye seek for Eldorado'. Does that suggest anything to you?"

The Chief Elder's eyes widened as she grasped the idea. "Yes, I see," she said. "You think that someone – whoever it is who sends the reminders – has the idea in mind of a person who, having seen and wanted some possible good thing, seeks to bring it about? And the reminders are a kind of riddle to indicate that task?"

"Or the outlines of the path," said the Receiver. "Yes. And so we may expect the fourth reminder, when it comes, to somehow describe the attainment of the thing sought. It may speak, for instance –" here he consulted the paper "– of breathing the pure serene of some wide expanse, or of the birthday of one's life being come. But, whatever the words, that will be the meaning of it."

The Chief Elder considered. It seemed plausible enough, in itself, and the Receiver's quiet confidence (and the authentic strangeness of the phrases he proposed for the fourth reminder) made it easy to believe that his wisdom had led him aright. But, if so…

"And what then?" she said. "Would that be the end? Seeing, wanting, seeking, having: there doesn't seem to be any further to go from there. Would the reminders simply stop, then?"

"Possibly," said the Receiver.

"But then, why?" said the Chief Elder. "Why do all this just to make the Community hear these four things? It must take so much effort to send the reminders; it would be a senseless thing to do unless there were some benefit to be gained. And such a power can't very well be senseless, can it?" (There was a hint of unease in her voice as she said this; for some time, since the reminders had started, the fear that the greatest of powers was ultimately senseless had periodically haunted her.) "But, if there's nothing more to the reminders than this, where can the benefit be?"

The Receiver smiled. "Well, I do have a little idea about that," he said. "Tell me, Marilee: do you think that, when we heard the first reminder – the reminder of seeing, as we might say – there was anyone in the Community who truly saw something as a result? Or perceived, perhaps I should say," he added. "It needn't have been something that could literally be seen."

The Chief Elder stared. "I don't think I understand, Receiver," she said. "How could anyone see or perceive anything, just because a Speaker had said some nonsensical words?"

The Receiver shook his head, as though mildly disappointed in her. "Now, Marilee," he said gently, "surely, where the reminders are concerned, we are long past asking questions that begin how could…?"

The Chief Elder had to admit the justice of this. "But what would be the point of it?" she said. "If the purpose were only to make someone see something, why not just show him the thing instead of bothering with the reminders?"

"Perhaps the reminders are the only way the thing can be shown," said the Receiver. "It may be, Marilee, that Raymond and Charlotte and Abner were speaking the literal truth when they each said, 'This is a reminder.' It may be that there is a kind of knowledge hidden in the human mind, which nothing in our ordinary life can ever bring forth, and that it is of this that the reminders are meant to remind. And it may be that whatever is sending them to us is doing so in the hope that the Community, or at least one person in it, will really be reminded: to see, to desire, to seek – and, in due time, to attain."

The Chief Elder shifted uneasily. Something in the Receiver's tone unsettled her; he almost seemed to suggest that there was something about the reminders that ought to be respected – even admired, perhaps. How a key figure in the Community could talk that way about something so disruptive… but maybe she was being unfair. Maybe the Receiver was only trying to consider the matter objectively, and it was her own tension that had made her hear this as some sort of obeisance before the ineffable. That was likely enough, really, considering how upset the whole situation made her.

"And do you think that's happened?" she said. "I mean, obviously it hasn't happened to the whole Community, but do you suppose there's any one of us who has been… reminded?"

The Receiver hesitated. "That I couldn't say," he said carefully. "It seems unlikely, on the face of it, since the Elders might have been expected to hear by now of anyone who had. But, on the other hand, the fact that the reminders have continued suggests that they are, somehow, doing what they're meant to do; as you say, it would be foolish to squander all the effort it must take to send them, if they weren't having any effect."

"Could their continuance be automatic?" the Chief Elder suggested. "Maybe their sender doesn't have the ability to tell whether they've worked or not, and so has determined just to send them all and hope for the best."

"That is possible, of course," said the Receiver. "But I doubt it, somehow. I think the most likely solution is that there is, indeed, someone in the Community on whom the reminders are working as their sender wishes, but that this person doesn't have the liberty or inclination to act on her new knowledge. A child under Twelve, very likely; certainly a quiet, introverted personality."

The Chief Elder nodded. "I see," she said. "Yes, that could be. And what do you think will happen to this person when the fourth reminder comes – the one that signifies finding?"

"She will find," said the Receiver simply.

"Find what?"

But the Receiver shook his head. "Ah, Marilee," he said, "if I could tell you that, I would be the sender of the reminders myself. I don't suppose that even the Community member we're speaking of knows yet what daffodils and white birds and the land of Eldorado symbolize. All I can say is that, when the discovery comes, at least one of us in this Community will be greatly changed – and I hope, Marilee, that you and I and the rest of the Council will be able to lead the Community wisely through the other changes that must then follow."

A moment's silence followed these words; then the Chief Elder inclined her head. "I see," she said. "Thank you, Receiver of Memory. I will do what I can to ensure that we are."

As she left the Annex a moment later, her mind was chewing over a certain point. It hadn't escaped her attention that the Receiver, in defiance of grammar, had twice used the feminine pronoun to refer to the hypothetical person reminded by the reminders – which suggested that he had privately identified this person in his mind already. A quiet, introverted female, probably under Twelve – and she had already noted his interest when she had mentioned Katharine at their last meeting…

But, if he thought it likely that Katharine was being specially influenced by the reminders, why hadn't he said so outright? It was as though he didn't trust her with the knowledge – but why not? Surely he knew that she would do nothing with it except what was right for the Community? Or did he believe that what was right for the Community might be wrong for Katharine – and that Katharine, somehow, was more important than the Community itself?

Again, she found herself wondering uneasily just how committed the Receiver really was to protecting the Community from the reminders. Was there something about his role as vessel of the memories that made him uniquely vulnerable to the subversive appeal of memory-dreams? One would think that his wisdom would protect him – but perhaps wisdom wasn't always a perfect guard against the seduction of irresponsibility. Or, then again, perhaps it was precisely his wisdom… perhaps there was a hidden unwisdom in the very… no. No, she wouldn't admit that possibility.

She yawned, and shook her head: it was too late in the day, now, to pursue such ideas. There would be time enough in the morning to begin inquiring into Katharine's recent activities; to take measures to keep any transformation she might be about to undergo from harming others – and, if need be, to discreetly neutralize the Receiver's objections to such measures. Right now, she needed to go and get some rest: the seventh of March been as wearying for her as the fifteenth and twenty-seventh of February had been. A little food and drink, a little sleep; then she would be ready to do what she needed to do.

She turned down a side road just before the Speakers' building, and made her way to her private dwelling.