Melek Taus Abramides, the Black Scrivener, has died.

It is an appalling fact, unbelievable on its face. In this civilized age, within the precincts of the Terrestrial Coil, no one is supposed to die. Not ever. The technologies of the Machine Intelligences have rendered the human body invulnerable to injury and disease and decay. But there he sits, his rotting corpse slumped upon his dream-throne, sunken and sad beneath the magnificent robes and the death mask.

There would be enough of a scandal if an ordinary citizen had elected to discard his immortality. But Melek Taus Abramides was no ordinary citizen...and he left behind him no ordinary bequest.

The Black Scrivener was a maker of worlds. Now that he is dead and gone, the archive of his unpublished work -- the so-called Thousand Worlds -- lies waiting for a new master. According to the terms of his will, any one of the guests at his funeral may end up inheriting that prize. The decision lies completely in the hands of his estate’s bizarre executor.

Abramides had few friends, but the friends he had were extraordinary. Only six guests are in attendance at the funeral. They are all movers and shakers in the Terrestrial Coil, legitimate geniuses in their various fields...and busy, so busy, with their projects and enterprises. For them all to be in the same room together is a rare, precious thing in its own right. They will not let the opportunity go to waste. They have a great deal of business to resolve with one another. The decisions they make will do much to shape the future.

But that is not why they have come. They have come to mourn a tragic, incomprehensible loss.

And they have come to lay claim to the treasure of a thousand worlds.