‘For you?’ he asked. ‘Or for me? I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘What can we do?’

He nodded to the sphinxes, gazing off into the distance. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We can’t run, can we?’

Morgan followed his motion, and stared thoughtfully at the automaton.

It turned its head and met her gaze.

‘Morgan. Come on.’

She didn’t seem to want to move, but he grabbed her elbow and forced her up for a few steps.

When he looked back, the automaton had turned its head almost completely around at an utterly disturbing, inhuman angle.

Watching them.

Jess climbed faster.

They joined the others at the top in the shadow of the ancient stone portico. Portero, Himura and Danton behind them, the last still labouring up the stairs. Next to him, Morgan leant forward, bracing her arms on her thighs; her chest heaved for breath. Jess was just as exhausted, but he held himself upright and tried to slow his breathing as he gazed out over the city. It was a magnificent view … all of the glittering, elegant glory of Alexandria laid out around the pyramid like spokes in a wheel. The harbour was a silken teal blue in the growing morning light, perfect as a jewel, and the ships drifting there small as toys. The breeze up here was fast and cool on his sweating face.

Staring down from the pyramid’s golden capstone was the Library symbol, and the motto: Tota est scientia. Knowledge is all. A multitude of sins could hide in that all-encompassing shadow.

When the last three joined them, the nine of them looked at each other. ‘Well?’ Glain demanded. ‘Anyone?’ When no one moved, she shook her head and stalked to the closed marble door under the capstone. It glided open under her touch.

‘You first,’ Dario muttered, but he immediately followed second.

The hall they passed through was lined with the portraits of ancient librarians. Not a single one looked as if they’d ever learnt to smile. It took almost a full minute of gloomy progress before Glain arrived at a massive set of square wooden doors set with iron bands and intricately carved with the seal of the Library.

The portal opened at her push, and buttery light from the room spilt out over them. Ranks of amber lights cast pools of brilliance down from a high, pointed ceiling onto gleaming wooden tables, and books.

The Scholars’ Reading Room.

The shelves surrounded the room, floor to high angled ceiling – blanks already filled with Codex information in a permanent collection, like the ones Jess’s father had in his office. And there, on the far western wall, stood an entire case of originals. Not, Jess thought, anything rare, but enough to allow Scholars to touch real paper, smell real ink, weigh real history. Handling originals was an important part of a Scholar’s life – finding them, saving them, preserving them for the future.

Defending them.

The room was empty. No sign of Wolfe. No sign of anyone, in fact. Tables stretched out across the room, some stacked with untidy piles of blanks as if those who’d been here had left in a hurry.

It seemed unnaturally quiet.

‘Should we sit?’ Thomas asked. When no one answered, he shrugged and took a chair at one of the tables. They all followed suit. Jess wanted one with easy exits, but Dario beat him there, and Danton claimed the other logical choice. He chose a seat next to Morgan instead.

Then, they waited. Time ticked by, and with every silent moment, Jess felt the tension crank tighter. This is wrong, he thought. Why now? Is it because I found out about Morgan? Is it even Wolfe we’re waiting for?

It was.

Wolfe arrived dressed, as always, in Scholar robes, so that was comforting in its own cold, familiar way. What wasn’t so comforting was the fact that he didn’t come alone. Santi was with him, and took up a post near the door, but Santi was only one of an entire contingent of High Garda men and women, all dressed in full uniform who filed in and took up positions.

In the middle of that parade of force came a new form in billowing robes, but his weren’t black.

They were a brilliant purple.

Jess had never seen one of them, but he knew that only the seven Curators of the Great Library wore that colour, by law.

Beside him, Morgan took in a breath and whispered, ‘That’s the Artifex Magnus.’

Artifex. Mathematics, engineering, the practical arts. Jess studied the man as he moved forward, and if he’d had to boil his thoughts down to a single word, it would have been intimidating. The man’s white hair was shorn close to the scalp, and his face was square and lean and strong beneath a shocking white brush of beard.

He looked grim. Impossible to tell if that was his usual manner, or a sign of what was coming.

‘I am honoured to introduce the Artifex Magnus,’ Wolfe said. ‘Attend to his words.’

That made Jess’s stomach go tight and his mind go still. There was something ominous in Wolfe’s stiff posture, the distant glitter of his eyes. The presence of the Artifex alone made it an earth-shaking event that no one could possibly have predicted. Someone in the position of a Curator, charged with the preservation of the Great Library itself, could not be here just to impress students.

‘We have a pressing issue,’ the Artifex said; he had a deep, resonant voice, one that must have delivered thousands of speeches. ‘Oxford has been under siege for some time. All negotiations have failed. The English king has ordered that no surrender be given, and both sides have informed us, as is required by the accords, that the Serapeum at Oxford may be damaged in the conflict. They’ve agreed to the standard evacuation ceasefire so that we may withdraw Library personnel.’

Morgan’s body trembled, just a little, but her expression didn’t flicker. She was from Oxford. She had family there. This was personal to her.

‘The Library staff have been guaranteed safe passage from the city, and most have exited, but therein lies our problem,’ the Artifex continued. ‘The staff left before the discovery of a cache of rare books beneath the Serapeum. Since most of our librarians are already gone, those who remain cannot possibly handle the removal of so much. To make it more critical, if the English forces discover we are in possession of such a treasure, they might use it as a bargaining chip.’

‘Bargaining chip?’ Thomas seemed stunned by the idea. ‘But surely they would want to save the books, not put them at more risk! That is in the accords!’

‘In theory,’ the Artifex agreed. ‘In the fog of war, such things become fluid. So we must send in additional staff to assist in tagging and archiving the books.’

‘And you’re sending us,’ Jess guessed. ‘Why?’

The Artifex’s frosted blue eyes fixed on him. They were the colour of unforgiving winter, and Jess felt a chill go through him to match. ‘In part, because of you, Brightwell,’ he said. ‘There are only a few among us capable of handling the transfer of so many books, so quickly; your skill then becomes essential. Likewise, Postulant Hault’s familiarity with the city benefits us. Even Postulant Wathen’s Welsh connections may come in handy for the fulfilment of the mission.’

‘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—’