'For the record,' Wolfe said, in a deceptively casual voice, 'I don't agree. Postulants are not librarians. They cannot be asked--'
'They are not being asked,' the Artifex snapped. 'They are being ordered. You've narrowed the class to nine; there are six placements available. At the end of every postulant class is a field examination. This will serve.'
'Artifex--'
'Enough, Wolfe. I've heard your arguments. There is no place in the world for librarians who lack the will to defend books against wars, rebels, and Burners. Books cannot fight for themselves. Postulants or not, it's still their duty to defend them.'
Wolfe took a step forward. 'I strongly object to this--'
The Artifex snapped his fingers, and his High Garda escort pushed off the wall, ready to move. Santi moved, too, walking around the tables to stand with Wolfe. Two sides, and the students caught in the middle, Jess realised.
And it was very clear who was on the winning side.
The Artifex pointed a sharp finger at Wolfe. 'Leave. Another word, and you bring down a great deal of pain. Not just on yourself.'
Wolfe's dark eyes glittered, and his hands clenched, but he nodded sharply, turned, and walked out of the room. Santi followed, but not without a look back.
That, Jess thought, was a killer's stare, and it was fixed on the Artifex with real intensity.
Then they were gone, and the door shut behind them.
Portero cleared his throat. 'Artifex? With the greatest respect, sir ... what happens to us if we ... don't agree to go?'
'You fail,' the man said. 'And you go anyway. Never fear, I won't send you alone. You'll have a troop of High Garda with you. And Scholar Wolfe, of course. I wouldn't dream of keeping him from the action.' Smug bastard, Jess thought. As much as he'd always disliked Wolfe, what he felt for the Artifex was an entirely new level of loathing.
'When do we leave?' he asked. 'Sir.'
'Immediately. Wait here for instructions. And no messages out. I will keep your families apprised of any necessary details they need to know. You are dismissed. Tota est scientia.'
They said it back, mostly by rote, and watched him depart, drawing his High Garda escort along with him.
Wolfe didn't come back.
'What should we do?' Izumi asked.
'That's not the right question. The right question is, what can we do? And the answer to that is, nothing.' Dario got to his feet, but even he didn't seem to know where to go from there. 'We refuse, are failed, and go anyway, or we go, and hope we don't fail.'
'My father won't stand for this,' Khalila said. She seemed stunned, out of her depth for the first time since Jess had met her. 'The Library can't just send us. Not to a war zone! We aren't High Garda!'
'They can do whatever they want,' Jess told her. 'They always have. You're just seeing it that way for the first time.' He offered her a hand, and she took it to stand. Her fingers were cold, but she offered him a small, unsteady smile. 'It'll be all right. We'll look out for each other.'
'Yes,' Glain said. 'We will. It's time to stop biting at each other, and that means you, Dario, and you, Jess. We have to depend on each other from this moment on. No secrets. Agreed?'
Jess's gaze brushed over Morgan's. No secrets.
'Agreed,' Jess said.
One by one, they all echoed it.
The door to the room opened again, and Captain Santi looked in on them. 'Down the hall. Wolfe's waiting for you,' he said. They all filed by him, but when Jess passed, Santi took hold of his arm. 'Brightwell. A word.'
Thomas gave him a worried look, but at Jess's nod, he left with the rest. The door swung shut behind him with a solid boom.
Santi let him go. 'Do you recognise this?' He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Written on it, in ink, was a message that had no name or signature, but Jess recognised the hand. Brendan never had been very skilled with a pen.
Pay respects to your cousin Charlie. You'll find him beneath the sod. Lay some flowers for us.
It was a family message, and it was in family code. Cousin Charlie meant his cousin Frederick, in Oxford; beneath the sod meant a particular spot in that town to find the man. Lay some flowers meant that Jess could ask for help there ... at a price.
Jess looked up at Santi's impassive face, and felt a real stab of fear. Brendan had written this, so had his brother been taken? How else could that note be in the possession of a High Garda soldier? He deliberately fought down those fears and handed the paper back. 'Nothing to me, mate. No idea what it means.'
'Ah,' Santi said. His tone was light and pleasant. 'Good thing. One of my eager young soldiers found it in the possession of a black trader. Barzem. Know him?'
'Never heard of him,' Jess said. Barzem had been the contact who'd sent him to steal the Aristophanes play from Abdul Nejem. He was a good liar; he'd trained at it his entire life.
But he didn't think Santi believed a word of it.
'Just as well,' Santi said. 'He's dead. Knifed in the back on his way out of a coffee shop. What's the world coming to? Well, might as well dispose of this.' He ripped the message up into tiny pieces and put it back in his pocket. 'I'll burn it at home. Wouldn't want anyone to find it here.'
That was confounding. And disturbing. 'Are we done?'
'I doubt it,' Santi said, but he opened the door for him to escape.
Jess found the others, who were waiting in the hallway. Thomas sent him a questioning look, but Jess just shook his head. He edged closer to Morgan, who ducked her head and said, 'What was that?'
'Nothing you need to worry about,' he said.
'But something you should?'
He wasn't sure yet. He knew that he ought to be worried; Santi obviously knew the message had been meant for him, and yet he'd shown it to him. He'd destroyed it.
Brendan knew he was heading for Oxford. He'd known even before Jess did somehow, and that was worrying indeed. His father had extensive networks of contacts around the world, every book smuggler did. But he'd never had contacts inside the Library itself, not before Jess. So how had Brendan known? Who'd told him?
There was something familiar about what Santi had just said about the dead man, Barzem. Knifed in the back coming out of a coffee house. It was a strong echo of something his brother had once told him, long ago it seemed, back in rainy London. Stabbed in the back coming out of his club, his brother had said.
The ink-licker's murder. Something Brendan would know Jess couldn't forget.
Brendan hadn't got a message through to Barzem. He'd left it on his body.
His brother had never left Alexandria.
EPHEMERA
Text of a message in the hand of Scholar Wolfe, directly to the Artifex Magnus:
I've done all that you have asked of me since my release. I've stood silent when you threatened my friends, my lover, destroyed my life's work. I've borne every punishment.
I will go to Oxford and preserve the books. If it becomes necessary, I will lay down my life for the Library and all it represents, as I'm sure is your plan.
But I warn you, you have crossed a line I cannot forgive. These students were given to me to train. They are my responsibility. You may have made me proctor as a bitter joke, since I have always been a miserable teacher at best, but even so you have no right to risk the lives of an entire generation of Scholars to punish me.
I will take this to the Archivist himself.
Response to Scholar Wolfe from the Artifex Magnus:
By all means, appeal. I have already spoken with the Archivist, and he understands the urgency of this mission. And the risks.
Your life belongs to us, Wolfe. Don't test my patience again. As to your postulants, we both know that there will always be another crush to fill those empty spaces.
CHAPTER SIX
Jess expected that they'd leave the Serapeum and board carriages for the train station. It was a long journey back to London, and then to Oxford.
But Wolfe didn't lead them outside. He put his w
ristband against the painting of Callimachus, the first Archivist under Ptolemy II, and the painting melted into flowing orange symbols. Symbols Jess recognised, after having seen them moving under Morgan's fingers. Formulae, Morgan had called them. What was it doing here, hidden inside a painting?
Then the wall next to it slid open, and Wolfe stepped into another, hidden corridor. The eye of Horus was inscribed on the tiles that lined the hall.
'I had heard this place had secret tunnels,' Thomas said. He kept his voice low, but it echoed all the same. 'I thought they were all ancient. Abandoned.'
Not this one. It was modern, and lined with inset statues that melded Greek, Roman and Egyptian influences in the odd style that Alexandria had developed; the first, a Scholar in a Greek tunic, held a scroll. The next, in a Roman toga, held an open book. The third was one of the Egyptian deities ... Thoth, who had invented writing, and served as the god of scribes. He held the feather of Ma'at.
All, Jess realised, were automata. If a threat was found in the hall, it would never make it out alive.
Jess got all of this in hurried glances, because Wolfe was moving at a quick pace to the end of the hallway, which ended in another empty wall. He used his Library band on it, waking more symbols, and another entrance opened.
The Obscurists built these passages. He looked at Morgan, who'd put her hands in her dress pockets as she walked, as if she was cold. He remembered how the string of orange light from the blank had clung to her fingers. She was afraid to touch anything, for fear she might call something up that others could see.
Jess followed her into a small, plain anteroom lit by amber glows. No books here. No blanks. No reading tables or couches. In one corner was a stack of black canvas bags.
'Pick up your packs,' Wolfe said. 'Your names are on tags.'
Thomas got there first. Even for his bulk, the pack he selected seemed large. When Jess grabbed the one with BRIGHTWELL on the tag, he was staggered by the weight. He slipped the straps on his shoulders. It fitted well enough, and having the load distributed made it feel more manageable.
He wondered how Khalila would fare with it, but he needn't have worried; she shouldered it just as easily as the much more muscular Glain. Only Izumi, the smallest of them, seemed overwhelmed, but she didn't complain.
'Watch out for each other,' Wolfe said, when they were all ready. 'This will not get any easier, I can promise you. I didn't want you involved in this, but since you are, I need all of you focused. Follow orders without delay, and stay alert.'
It was Wolfe's concern, Jess thought, that was the most unsettling part of this.
'I thought we were going to Oxford,' Thomas said. 'What are we doing here?'
Wolfe said, 'You are in the Translation Chamber. That is how we will travel.'
Jess had heard of it, but only in whispers ... the same principles that allowed for the mirroring of documents and the movement of books back to the Archive could allow different kinds of things to be physically moved from one spot to another ... with the direct participation of an Obscurist. It wasn't something he'd ever expected to see.
There was a brief hesitation before Dario said, 'I thought the Translation Chamber was only used to send supplies.'
'It is,' Wolfe said. It sounded casual, but Jess wasn't deceived. 'But it can also be used to send people in emergencies. I will warn you, it can take years of practice to grow accustomed to Translation; some never do.'
'We - haven't had years of practice,' Thomas said. 'Or any practice.'
'I'm aware,' Wolfe said. 'But needs must. It's a simple enough process, one that requires little from you but to clear your mind. If all goes well, you'll appear in the Translation Chamber in Aylesbury, which is the closest safe point to Oxford.'
'And if all doesn't go well?' Khalila asked.
Wolfe ignored the question. He reached out and pressed his gold band to the matching Library symbol embossed on the far wall, and a hidden door swung open.
On the other side was a dizzying array of wires, tubes ... a tangle of metal and harsh lights. So different from everything else Jess had seen here. Massive and intimidating, this ... machine, he supposed he should call it. In the centre of it was a clear space, and an old man in a white robe stood with a bronze metal helmet in his hands. The helmet was connected to wires that led into the tubes.
There was a sudden, loud hiss, and white steam billowed up over their heads. Jess ducked. So did everyone, except Wolfe.
Niccolo Santi stepped into the room and edged past them to Wolfe. He had on a pack, too, but his looked well worn. 'Let me go first,' he said. 'Show them how it's done.'
Wolfe nodded and put his hand on Santi's shoulder. 'In bocca al lupo.'
'In bocca al lupo,' Santi said, and walked to the centre of the room where the old man was waiting. 'I'm ready.'
The old man sighed and fitted the helmet down over Santi's head. It looked tight, and left only a small part of his face showing.
Santi's easy smile faded, and he closed his eyes. Stood very still.
'Ready?' the old man asked. Santi nodded. 'The connection isn't good. It will hurt.'
'Always does. Get on with it.'
The old man put his palsied, unsteady hands on the metal helmet Santi wore.
A column of orange symbols rose up into the air around the two of them, and began to revolve. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, until it was just a blurring tornado of light. The old man suddenly jerked his hands away, and the light contracted down to a tight, whirling circle around Santi's body.
The circle drew in on itself into a single, brilliant orange point of light, and Santi ... folded. There was a flash of something horrible, something so fast Jess hardly saw it: sprays of blood and torn flesh and the fragments of bones. A powerful wave pushed through Jess's flesh, and he felt the hair rise on his head and arms in response to something alien, terrifying, and wrong.
The metal helmet fell with a heavy thud to the floor. Empty. Then it was silent. Dead silent.
The Obscurist - he had to be one, there was a golden collar around his throat - staggered backward, breathing heavily.
Khalila let out a choked cry, and pressed both hands to her mouth as if she felt sick. Jess knew exactly how she felt. How were they supposed to endure that?
In the silence, the Codex in Wolfe's pocket buzzed. He checked it. 'He's through,' he said. 'Next.'
It was abruptly very real, Jess thought; the pack dragging on his back, the Translation Chamber, the future opening wide and unknown at his feet like an abyss. His feet felt frozen to the spot.
It was somewhat surprising that it was the quiet Guillaume Danton who stepped forward and said, 'I'll go.' He didn't sound frightened, but Jess caught the telltale tremor of his hands.
Wolfe put a hand on Danton's shoulder and guided him forward. He picked up the helmet and placed it on the boy's head. 'Think about the sky,' he told him. 'Close your eyes. Think about the blue sky, and clouds moving over it. White clouds. Moving over a blue sky.' Wolfe's voice seemed different now, slow and soothing, and Jess saw Danton's body actually relax. Wolfe nodded to the Obscurist, who placed his hands on the helmet. 'Blue sky.'
'I see it,' Guillaume said, and smiled.
The orange light formed around him. Symbols swirled. Wolfe took a step back. 'White clouds,' he said. 'Watch them move.'
'White clouds--'
The light snapped in on itself, and Danton screamed. It was a horrible cry, ripped right out of the core of him, and Jess started forward, but Wolfe was in his way, holding him back.
'You can't help him,' he said.
Jess stared as Danton's body was ripped apart, folded, gone. The horrified shrieking cut off clean, and that wave of power flashed over his skin like a burn.
The empty helmet clattered to the floor.
Wolfe checked his Codex. Something changed in his expression, just a brief flash: anger, anguish, fury - hard to know. He said, 'Next.'
Going next was the very last thin
g that Jess wanted to do. It was all he could do not to bolt for the exit.
Khalila said, with forced cheer, 'Better to get it over with.' She walked towards the Obscurist, who was picking up the helmet.
Morgan had a horrified look on her face. She rushed to Wolfe. Before she could speak, he turned on her and snapped, 'Wait your turn, postulant.'
'But I saw--'
'Postulant. Control yourself, or go.' Wolfe's stare burnt, hot enough to melt the Iron Tower itself, and she finally nodded and bowed her head. Stepped back. 'Postulant Seif, you may proceed.'
Khalila squared her shoulders as the Obscurist settled the helmet over her hijab. When Wolfe moved forward, she shook her head. 'Blue skies and clouds. Yes. I know. Just let me do this.'
Dario made a twitch of a move towards her, as if he wanted to drag her back, but he held himself still. 'In bocca al lupo, desert flower.'
'I'm from Riyadh,' she told him. 'It's not the desert, it's a modern city, with roads and carriages. And desert flowers have spikes.' She somehow managed to smile beneath the weight of that helmet. 'What does it mean?'
'In the mouth of the wolf,' Dario said. 'Forget the clouds, and keep your eyes on me. I'm much prettier.'
'And much more empty in the head,' she said. 'In bocca al lupo, Dario.'
The old Obscurist put his shaking hands on her head. Dario continued, somehow, to hold her stare and smile, though Jess couldn't imagine what that cost him. She didn't look away, either, even as the light began to swirl.
Even as it snapped in and broke her apart.
She didn't scream. Jess felt the power blow over him, disorienting and visceral, and he wondered how the old man could bear that lash, time after time.
Dario must have felt honour-bound to go next, because he strode up and donned the helmet without a word. At the last second, he threw a dazzling grin at Jess. 'Don't ask me to look at you, scrubber,' he said. 'I'd rather think of the damned clouds.'
A soul-deep shriek of mortal pain and terror, blood, shock, and then he, too, was gone.
When Izumi's turn came, it did not go the same. The Obscurist laid on his hands, and there was the same scream, the same whirl of blood and bone and flesh, but instead of collapsing inward, the whirling orange light exploded out. It washed over them in a wave of heat, and this time Jess ducked as if it was an actual, physical threat. He wasn't the only one. Even Wolfe flinched.