The mother of humanism stands above you -- a precious and complex wax painting on a…

The mother of humanism stands above you -- a precious and complex wax painting on a single pane of glass. A crack runs across the length of her body, her face oval and sad.

Reconstruct the cracked glass.

A jigsaw of broken shards falls into place in front of you: a ghostly reconstruction of the stained glass window. Before it was shattered there was an older woman beneath the younger one -- and a text, a leitmotiv below them both.

"Lieutenant, this used to say: 'After life, death -- after'..."

"...death, life again," he nods. "After the world, the pale; after the pale -- the world again."

"This exaltation is common in Dolorian sacralism. In the early years it was even incorporated as the RCM's slogan. No more, however."

"Why?"

"It was deemed subservient to use a strongly Moralintern-related motto. We're already suspected of bootlicking. The sentence was also seen as... too feminine. It was a macho thing."

"What is the RCM motto now?"

"'Justice, Union, Prudence, and Force'."

"Cool."

"Ice cool," the lieutenant nods.

"I like the other one better."

"So do I."

"I like this. Puts the fear of god back in the f****ts."

"You are brutal and dumb." He says, his voice ice cold.

There is silence in the church. He wants there to be.

"Not very feminine."

"Not at all."

What shattered this mosaic?

Unknown.

Something during the raid the lieutenant mentioned? Or just hooligans looking for something to break.

A motor carriage? A gunshot? Someone falling into it? Or maybe just hooligans looking for something to break.

The motto? What does it say?

Below both women, in luminous blackletter: APRÈS LA VIE - MORT; APRÈS LA MORT - LA VIE DE NOUVEAU.

And then along the left side: APRÈS LE MONDE - LE GRIS; APRÈS LE GRIS - LE MONDE DE NOUVEAU.

AFTER LIFE -- DEATH; AFTER DEATH -- LIFE AGAIN. AFTER THE WORLD -- THE PALE; AFTER THE PALE -- THE WORLD AGAIN. This is the great leitmotiv of humanism, a summary of the effect of the discovery of this isola -- the Insulindian -- on human thinking. A tremendous sea change akin to finding life after death...

Could these words be the password that unlocks the filament memory?

Step back.

The mother of humanism towers above you -- a wax painting on a cracked pane of glass. Nothing has changed in her expression.

Who is this older woman?

The escutcheon on her throne says: Irene the Navigator. She is depicted as an older woman wearing thick rimmed eye-glasses, holding a golden reichsapfel in one hand and a scepter in the other. This is the queen Her Innocence Dei advised -- above, she herself is whole.

Small figures of wise men, common men, worshippers walk up the stairs to stand at her feet. Secret servicemen -- Therriers -- stand in a row guarding her. It must have taken years to produce this work in all its dizzying detail.

Nothing, just the edge of the crack sparkles in the dark. There may have been a writing here but you cannot make out what it said.

The shards glimmer in the dark -- you see little pearls of light on the edges of the crack that splits the female figure. Something was written there... remains of broken letters line the emulsion. What it said, you do not know.

"Kim, are you a follower of Dolorianism?"

"Yes. We all are. Her name, body, and rule are synonymous with humanism. The laws we enforce are Dolorian in origin."

"I didn't think you were spiritual."

"It's not spiritual. It's constitutional. The Dolorian system does not demand faith -- only accordance."

"Hmm..." (Stroke your chin first.)

The woman looks by in silence, smiling enigmatically.

"I don't like her. She looks like a leaver."

"I have no idea what you mean by that. We've been standing here long enough. We should look around, or get out."

"This is Dolores Dei."

"The old woman in the village was right..." He looks around. "This must be the Dolorian Church of Humanity in Martinaise -- or the Small Pinewood Church in some records..."

"You knew of the place?"

"It's a minor landmark, not easy to find. Most maps misplace it..." He lowers his voice. "It was built not long after Revachol's founding, 300 or so years ago by first-generation settlers."

On the coast of an uninhabited archipelago, where only animals had roamed before. In the wild reeds.

"Okey-dokey."

"Okey-doe-doe," he whispers in the silence of the great building.

A touch of absurdity there, nice!

"What else do you know?"

"There used to be seven stave churches on the coast. Les Sept Soeurs they call them -- The Seven Sisters. Only one remains. The rest were burnt in the Revolution, or used for building materials."

"We should be respectful here, although the building appears to be deserted. We have already found the instigator -- I'm not sure what else we could want from here..." He looks around.

Respectful? Is the lieutenant a follower of Dolorianism?

There it is again -- a small pang of guilt. It's time to ask him what happened here.

"Tiago said the place was abandoned because of a police raid. Do you know anything about it?"

"I do." There's a pause, then he continues: "I heard it was a particularly bad one. The place was shot to pieces."

"If this man was really here when it happened, then it's better for all of us that he doesn't remember what happened."

"Who conducted this raid?"