The Welshman was shorter than Jess would have expected, and not prepossessing; he wouldn’t have glanced twice at him on any street in the world. The man’s hair had receded to a thin fringe at the back of his skull, and though the life of a soldier wasn’t one of ease, he still had a comfortable paunch on him. He greeted Wolfe and Santi with courtesy and handshakes, and offered them hot coffee, which Jess deeply envied.

‘Scholar Wolfe, your reputation precedes you. By my information, this is your … tenth war zone?’ the commander said, which was a surprise to Jess, and likely to the rest of them. ‘Given all that experience, do you really think it’s wise to bring your little chickens into the fox’s den?’

He meant the students, Jess thought. The commander sounded amused, and just a little grim.

‘Our little chickens have sharp beaks,’ Wolfe said. ‘I’m informed that you have put more conditions on our safe passage. I hope you understand what trouble you’re borrowing, General Warlow. It has a very high interest rate.’

‘Are we dealing exclusively in metaphors, or may I speak plainly?’

‘Please.’

‘My troops will not help you,’ Warlow said. It was clear to Jess now why he was in charge, because there was a sharpness to the man that felt dangerous even at this distance. ‘They will not hinder you, but they will not help. I am not rescinding safe passage, I am simply telling you that once you leave this tent, you are on your own, and I can’t answer for your safety.’

That, Jess knew, wasn’t the accepted code of conduct in war zones; the armies of both sides had always accepted Library neutrality and given protection to their parties. Or, at least, that was what they’d all been taught to believe. Yet neither Santi nor Wolfe seemed at all surprised at this turn of events.

‘You know that should anything happen, Wales and England will share the blame,’ Wolfe said. ‘Are you prepared to face those consequences?’

‘I’m up to my neck in a bloody war. I’m prepared to accept every consequence.’ Warlow sent a hard, telling look towards the gathered students. ‘I’d think you’re the one who has something more to lose, Scholar. For shame, bringing children into this hellhole.’

‘It’s a hellhole of your making,’ Santi said. It was the first thing he’d said, and Warlow’s stare locked on him like a gun on a target. ‘You’re the one declaring no quarter for the city. Are you also threatening a Scholar and his students now?’

‘Am I?’ Warlow and Santi were engaged in a full-on staring match. Warlow’s lips curved into a cold smile. ‘With one single command, I could make you, your Scholar, his students, and all of your troops and vehicles just … vanish. Just like that. No bodies. No wreckage. No trace. Strange things happen, in war. That’s not a threat. It’s a simple fact.’

Wolfe and Santi had no reaction. None. Jess glanced at Thomas, then at Dario. Dario had moved his hand to his sidearm beneath the cover of the cloak, which seemed like a damn fine idea. Jess’s palm was sweating, and now the warmth in this tent seemed overpowering. Smothering.

General Warlow let the silence stretch. And stretch. The sharp pound of rain on canvas grew louder and louder, and Jess found that he, too, had his right hand on the handle of his gun, and his left on the hilt of a knife. There were guards just outside the tent, but Warlow hadn’t bothered to keep a single one in here, despite being heavily outnumbered.

It spoke volumes about his confidence.

Wolfe finally smiled. It seemed, to Jess, an easy, calm smile, and he sat back in his chair, entirely comfortable. ‘It’s good we understand each other,’ he said. ‘Every single fallen Scholar in history has his or her name on a wall in the Great Library. Names that each of these students remember. You may ask them. They will flawlessly recite each name, each war, each instance.’ He raised his voice, just a bit. ‘Postulant Seif. Relevant example, please.’

Khalila straightened her shoulders and stepped forward, and Jess felt an intense surge of pride in her, in that moment. Her chin was up, her gaze steady on Wolfe. ‘Yes, Scholar. Scholar Padma Dahwan was selected to close the Serapeum in the city of Milan during the war with Austria. She and her entire party were taken prisoner by the Austrian army and executed. The Serapeum was destroyed.’

‘And the Library’s response?’

Khalila said, softly, ‘Austria no longer exists.’

‘And approximately how large was Austria then, in comparison with the area Wales now claims?’

‘It was approximately thirty-three thousand square kilometres in size. Wales is now approximately eleven thousand square kilometres.’

This time, as the silence stretched, it seemed heavier on Warlow’s head.

‘I wish you to understand that this is also not a threat,’ Wolfe said. ‘Only a history lesson. Thank you, Postulant Seif. You may step back.’

Warlow cocked his head. Not intimidated, Jess thought; just made more cautious.

‘I regret that your vehicles can’t proceed any farther. My men will escort you to the gates on foot,’ Warlow said. ‘I can’t answer for the actions of the English army, of course, once you get inside the city. They’re violent and starving. And they are, by nature, a savage people.’

Jess could feel Glain looking in his direction, and Morgan’s – possibly in sympathy, possibly in agreement with her countryman’s opinions. He also knew that Wolfe would be observing him, and he kept himself expressionless and still. If there was a little extra colour in his face, well, he couldn’t help that.

‘I’m sure the English have interesting views on the Welsh as well,’ Wolfe said. He drained his cup of coffee in two gulps and set it aside, then rose. Santi had left his untouched, and that, Jess realised, was also a strategy; Wolfe had demonstrated he trusted Warlow, or at least, that he had a reckless disregard for his own safety. Santi had simultaneously sent the message that he didn’t trust the general a bit, and stood ready to avenge Wolfe’s death should there be poison in the cup.

Jess was suddenly quite glad he hadn’t been offered any refreshments. Should have thought about poison, first thing. Well, it wouldn’t be far from his mind from now on.

So much going on in this tent. He probably hadn’t even understood the half of it, and for the first time since being inducted into the Library’s programme, he began to realise how much he had to learn about how different the world was from the theory of it.

Wolfe and Santi led them out of the tent and into the rain. Neither man bothered with hoods, and after a hesitation, Jess left his down, too. The rain was already passing away again into a disinterested patter, though the clouds remained overhead, iron-grey and oppressive.

‘What now?’ Jess asked Wolfe as they moved back towards the vehicles.

‘Now we walk,’ Santi said.

‘But I thought we were going to remain in the vehicles until we loaded the books …’

‘It’s war. Plans change,’ Santi said. ‘It’ll be your job to get the books out now. Each of you can control tags to transfer volumes back to the Archive. Between you, what we have should be enough.’

‘Sir? Some of us can’t manage more than a few at a time.’

Santi’s look turned sharp. ‘Then they’ll get better with practice. Enough talking, Brightwell. Walk.’

EPHEMERA

Private paper note from Obscurist Magnus Maryanna Sfetsos to Lingua Magnus Cao Xueqin, 1750:

My dearest friend,

By the time you read this, the doors of the Iron Tower will be shut on me, by the order of the Archivist. Do not try to reach me. The High Garda have orders to stop any who try to enter, even Curators, and I would not wish for you to risk injury on my behalf.

I fear for what is happening to us … and not only to the Obscurists, who have been steadily robbed of our power and freedom. The rot extends deeper, into every branch and root, for the Library now seeks not to enlighten, but to enslave. We are only the most visible casualties of a silent war, and as they lock collars on our necks and tell us it is for our protection, we know that worse will come.