He picked up the clip and slid it carefully down onto the front cover of the book, then opened the book to the interior to find the title. Once he had that, he checked the Codex. The title was already listed. He picked the book up and tapped the seal on the clip to his postulant’s bracelet, and a dim light woke inside the seal. It started to glow.

‘You may want to sit back,’ Wolfe said. Jess did. He was still holding the book, watching the glow brighten. There was a feeling inside his head, a kind of strange light static. ‘You may also want to place the book on the table, unless you want to lose a hand.’

Jess quickly put it down. The glow brightened, and brightened … and then flashed red. He felt a suction of air, a strange pop that sounded more in his head than in the room, and the desk was bare.

The book was gone.

‘Congratulations,’ Wolfe said. ‘You have successfully sent a book to Archive. Now do it again. Faster.’

He did. This time, he didn’t hesitate. It was a smooth process: clip, Codex, desk, pop, gone.

Wolfe said nothing. Jess reached back in the box and did three more in quick succession, one after another. The last title wasn’t in the Codex, so he took the time to take out his stylus and carefully enter the title and author on an empty page before sending it on.

‘Stop,’ Wolfe said, when Jess reached for yet another book in the box. He was frowning. ‘I think that’s enough.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, and stood up. He felt strangely dizzy for a moment, but braced himself and got his balance. His stomach growled.

‘What you feel now is the energy the Obscurist’s alchemical transfer takes from you. The tags work on the same principle as the Codex; they exist both here and in the Archive, and through manipulation of the essence of the object, an Obscurist’s process can physically move it from one place to another. You’re simply providing fuel.’ Wolfe continued to study him with an intensity Jess found unnerving.

‘Am I dismissed, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Wolfe said. ‘Send in Danton next. No discussion of this with anyone.’

‘Yes, Scholar.’

That, Jess thought, was one of the simplest things he’d been asked to do so far, and it cheered him that he’d found something that made Wolfe look at him with real interest. He wrote it down in his journal that evening: I think I might have finally found my place now.

And he was, of course, wrong.

The next morning, when the Codex instructions came, Jess still had no individual study. It felt deeply unfair, especially since he was one of only four who didn’t.

‘It doesn’t really help,’ Thomas told him later, when they were all back in the common room at the end of the day. ‘Individual study only makes me know how little I understand. And it seems no matter how much we know, Wolfe will always know more.’ He was trying to cheer Jess up, which was kind of him, but it wasn’t going to work. Jess was in a completely dark mood. ‘It only allows us more opportunities for failure, ja? So perhaps you are better off. We will be lucky if any of us survive to get a placement.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Dario said from where he sat near the fire. ‘I intend to wear the gold and become Historia Magnus one day. If you feel that way, Schreiber, you should save yourself humiliation and slink home to the land of … cabbages, isn’t it?’

Thomas, busy with a clock that he’d disassembled and laid out for inspection, ignored him. His big hands worked with delicate precision as he sorted and cleaned the tiny cogs. Dario was playing dice with one of his cronies, Hallem, while the other, Portero, looked on.

Jess, despite his foul mood, had agreed to a strategy game of red and white stones with Khalila. He’d learnt not to challenge her at chess, at which she excelled, but she’d not mastered the game of Go quite so readily. He was able to hold his own, which helped his mood a little. The rest of their classmates were clumped in groups around the room. Some studied, looking pinched and worried; some buried their fears in games, or dozed in the somewhat worn armchairs. He wondered what Dario was up to. He didn’t like the calculating look in his roommate’s eyes.

‘You’re not paying attention,’ Khalila chided him, and he focused back on the game board. Indeed, he hadn’t been, and she’d almost succeeded in trapping him. He made his countermoves, and almost laughed when her expression turned thunderously dark. Had she been Glain’s size and temperament, he’d have been right cautious, but on Khalila, thwarted ambition looked about as intimidating as a puppy’s snarl. ‘I shouldn’t have played fair and warned you, I suppose.’

‘Not if you plan to win,’ he said.

‘I do like winning.’ She smiled, the fit of pique gone in an instant, and Jess realised why Dario was staring his way. Dario did not like it when Khalila smiled at someone else. Jealous, Jess thought. That could be useful. Dario had few weak points, other than his tendency to believe everyone was inferior to him. Khalila could be a sore spot.

Jess was ashamed of that in the next heartbeat, and concentrated hard on the board in front of him. In six moves, he’d driven her into a corner, and Khalila declared defeat with good grace. ‘Next time we play chess,’ she said.

‘Don’t play to your strengths,’ Jess told her. ‘Strengthen your weaknesses.’

When he pointed to the board, silently asking for another turn, Khalila shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got more work from Scholar Zhao to do.’ As soon as she said it, he saw the flash of contrition in her eyes; she had additional study, and she hadn’t meant to rub that in his face. ‘Sorry.’

‘Maybe Brightwell’s not just stupid. Maybe he paid Wolfe off, and that’s why he’s got no tutoring,’ Portero said as he rattled his dice. He’d taken Hallem’s place across from Dario. ‘Though I doubt a scrubber like him has two Romans to rub together.’ The official coinage was a geneih, but everyone called it a Roman, for the portrait of Julius Caesar on the face.

‘Maybe he’s giving a different service,’ Dario said. ‘Have you finished licking our esteemed Scholar’s arse yet, or are you merely pausing for breath?’ There was an edge to Dario’s voice, and Jess understood why. He’d seen Dario vulnerable, when his Codex was stolen. They’d hardly exchanged a word since, unless it had that sort of confrontational teeth embedded.

Khalila looked up sharply at him, frowning, and Thomas dropped a wrench loudly on the table.

Jess poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter on the sideboard. ‘Sorry, was I taking your turn polishing his apples?’

Dario’s smile was a flash of teeth from a dangerous animal. ‘Honestly, Brightwell, I don’t know why you keep trying.’

‘Dario,’ Khalila said. ‘Please shut up.’

Dario shrugged and leant back, spreading his arms extravagantly wide. One of the other students was passing, and jostled him. Predictably, that focused Dario’s attention. The boy who’d trespassed was a quiet one, pale, with light flaxen hair and eyes more silver than blue. From America, Jess remembered, but with a very French name.

‘Pardon,’ the boy said, and moved on.

‘Danton, isn’t it? You’re related to the famous French Burner.’

‘I’m American.’

‘No, you’re a pitiful French expatriate. Do you go to Paris for the re-enactments? The mass beheading of the Burners?’

Danton had no readable expression on his face, but his body language was guarded. ‘I’ve never been.’

‘Very educational. Living history. No stomach for watching your ancestor’s head coming off?’

‘Dario,’ Glain said, and shut the book she was reading. ‘Leave him alone. Someday, someone is going to teach you a real living history lesson. It’ll hurt.’

‘It’s all right,’ Danton said. His voice was as level as ever, and as unsettlingly calm as his expression. ‘It’s common knowledge. He didn’t have to dig far to get to a sore spot. But then, Master Santiago never works very hard at anything he does.’