CHAPTER NINE

Santi’s lieutenant reappeared and called in Jess’s squad just as darkness took hold, though the Forum continued a brisk trade under the light of lamps. He was a bit sorry. Rome was just as lovely at night, with the glow of illuminated marble and household lights glittering from windows.

Though leaving the lions behind was a relief.

For the first time, Jess entered the Basilica Julia. They came in on the private side of it, away from the public Serapeum, and as they were led to the area where they were to eat and rest, Jess tried to place the corridor that Wolfe had described during his Mesmer session. Has to be here, he thought. Wolfe could see the Forum from windows as he passed. But instead of windows, they were led along a hallway that held alcoves and Roman statues. The way had to be hidden, he realized. Somewhere, behind one of these statues, there would be an entrance to a concealed hallway. Go left, it would take you to the Translation Chamber. Right, and a sentry automaton and a prison door.

He was so preoccupied with imagining it that it came as a shock when they suddenly arrived in the Basilica Julia’s common hall.

It was teeming with people—Scholars, assistants, librarians. The addition of Santi’s advance guard packed the place to bursting, but as the lieutenant led them toward the back corner, he saw it had been cleared for them. Several long dining tables and a private alcove. He expected to see Santi and his officers inside, but it was occupied by an old, white-haired man with pale European skin, arrayed in the very finest of Scholar robes and a purple sash to show his importance.

The Artifex Magnus.

Jess went cold inside for an instant, seeing him; the last time he’d laid eyes on the man, he’d been hearing him talk about Thomas’s death. The red right hand of the Archivist. The old man, seated in a comfortable chair, conversed with two Scholars he kept standing, and, as Jess watched, one of them—a young Indian woman—bowed respect and moved away. She seemed thrilled to have been in his presence, and as she joined a table of others, he saw how they admired her.

As if she’d accomplished something noteworthy.

That made Jess want to vomit. It was all show. The Artifex was a cruel, power-hungry man who thought nothing of breaking and destroying anyone who threatened his power, but these poor innocents saw him as a mentor, a sponsor, a man of great scholarship.

Something to which they should aspire.

The Artifex looked up as the last Scholar left his presence, and his sharp gaze moved around the room, snagged on Jess, and stopped. He blinked slowly, then turned his attention to a cup an assistant delivered, as if Jess didn’t matter at all. Which, Jess thought, he likely didn’t. But the Artifex had recognized him. No doubt of that.

Jess found a seat with some of his Blue Squad mates, and they ate with typical High Garda speed. Even so, he’d gotten only a few bites before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder.

It was the squad leader, Troll. “Brightwell,” he said. “With me.”

“Sir?” Jess stood up.

“The Artifex wants a report. I want you with me.”

Troll turned and led the way across the room. Jess caught sight of Captain Santi; the captain sat at a table near one of the exterior walls and gave Jess and Troll a look as they passed that Jess couldn’t read at all.

The noisy room fell away. It seemed as if the Artifex sat in a bubble of silence, far from the others, though it wasn’t far at all, and then Jess was standing just a few feet away from him, from the man who’d coldly engineered the ruin of Scholar Wolfe, killed who knew how many, sent his best friend to a prison. And for what?

Power.

The Artifex’s bright blue eyes fixed on him.

Jess wanted to curl his hands into fists and beat the smile off of him, but he forced himself to stay still as Troll said, “Artifex, sir, you asked for a report on the Burner encounter outside. I’m pleased to say that we had no Library casualties, and no apparent civilian involvement in our response. Nine Burners died. Their information is being retrieved and forwarded to your Codex.” He turned toward Jess. “Brightwell is a new addition to our squad, and was the one to alert us to the Burner attack on our flank. He saved many lives today.”

It dawned on Jess that the Artifex hadn’t requested his presence; his squad leader was trying to do him a favor. Troll had no idea how wrong that was.

The Artifex’s cold gaze fixed on Jess, and that smile deepened. It looked real enough. “Well done, Squad Leader. You continue to show great promise, by all reports. I’m sure you will rise high in the ranks. Captain Santi has an eye for talent.” There was a slight change in his voice as he said Santi’s name, as if he couldn’t quite keep the distaste at bay. “Brightwell, Brightwell . . . Ah yes. You studied under Scholar Wolfe, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.” Jess had to force that out. His teeth ground together hard enough to hurt. As if you don’t remember, you bastard. “I was in his most recent class. The one you sent to the Battle of Oxford.”

No reaction from the old man. None. Even his smile stayed warm. “Ah yes, of course. Exemplary work, though the challenges were far beyond what we thought you’d face when we dispatched you there. Your class has proven quite exceptional.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Those of us who survived.” If the Artifex read that as a challenge, so be it. “You may want to have a look at the automata outside, sir. They might be malfunctioning. Seems like they almost attacked me. By accident, of course.”

“How unusual,” the Artifex replied blandly. “I’ll have my staff look into it. We certainly wouldn’t want any accidents.”

“Sir.” Jess nodded slightly, which was all the respect he could stomach showing the man. He didn’t intend to push his luck any further. But then the Artifex leaned forward in his chair, and there was a cold fire in his eyes that made Jess’s stomach tighten.

“Have you said hello to my new assistants?” he said. “They asked to be added to my research staff some time ago, and, of course, I could not say no to such excellent candidates once I realized their worth.” There was a vicious humor in the Artifex’s eyes that was meant only for Jess. “Friends of yours, I think.”

For an instant, Jess couldn’t think what he was talking about. Not Wolfe, surely, and Santi was here in his capacity as High Garda captain. He’s insane, Jess thought, and then he realized, as the Artifex gestured somewhere behind him, what the old man meant.

Jess turned, and Khalila Seif and Dario Santiago stood up from the table where they’d been sitting nearby. He hadn’t seen them there; he hadn’t been looking for them. Khalila gave him a tentative smile, but there was fear in her eyes. Dario—more handsome and well-dressed than ever—stepped forward and offered Jess his hand. “Brightwell,” he said. “Still just a recruit, I see. Nice to see you continue to keep to your natural level.” It was just the kind of insult Dario had always given him, but there was a warning flash in Dario’s eyes and his handshake felt painfully firm. “Maybe I’ll request you as a special guard detail when I go shopping.”

Even for Dario, that was laying it on thick, no doubt for the benefit of the Artifex. He watched them like a vulture from the comfort of his overstuffed chair.

“As you wish, Scholar Santiago. I’ll try not to accidentally shoot you.”

“Only on purpose, eh? You haven’t changed, scrubber. I suppose that will do for a fond reunion. I have work to do. Scholar Seif?” Dario gestured to the table where they’d been working and took his seat with a thump. He made a fine show of ignoring Jess altogether.

Khalila walked toward him. “It’s good to see you, Jess. You’re well?”

“I am. You?”

“Very well. I . . . had no idea you’d be here.”

“I could say the same of you,” Jess said, and what he really wanted to ask was, Was it your choice? But he couldn’t. And, besides, he knew.

“The work being done here in the basilica is truly exciting,” Khalila said. “Dario is studying the very pillars of history, you know. It is a field that has always interested me as well.”

Everything interested Khalila, which was one of the lovely things about her. “I’m glad you find it rewarding.”

“Oh, I do. The basilica is amazing, isn’t it? So much history. Rome’s roots go deep.”

“The feet of its moldy old gods may go deep, but I still prefer Alexandria,” Dario said, without looking up. “Rome’s too damp for me, and too chilly this time of year. Like living in a tunnel. Khalila, we have work to do. I’m sure Jess needs to . . . patrol. Clean his gun. Something equally important.”

Khalila turned on him to give him a sharp look. “Dario. He’s our friend.”

“He’s High Garda. Not our level, dear lady, if he ever was,” Dario replied. “Let the scrubber be about his business. You’re under no obligation to be nice.”

Troll suddenly stepped up to Jess’s side, then moved past him to lean over Dario’s shoulder. “Did you have something to say about your feelings toward the High Garda, Scholar?”

Dario looked up, and his natural arrogance came out in a smirk that Jess wanted to punch. “The High Garda has its place,” he said, and looked pointedly at Troll’s boots. “That place is not here, blocking my light.”

“Perhaps you should allow my assistants to proceed with their tasks,” the Artifex said, and sat back. He picked up his coffee once more. “You’re dismissed, both of you. Thank you for your service.”

Troll snapped a salute that wasn’t at all necessary—the Artifex wasn’t generally entitled to salutes—and strode away. Jess followed, minus the honor; he wasn’t about to give the man more credit than he was due, even if it was interpreted as an insult.

“Unbelievable,” Troll said. “Did you hear that? ‘Thank you for your service’—as if he cared. He didn’t even reprimand that arrogant puppy Scholar. You came through postulant class with Santiago? Impressive. I’d have thrown the smug bastard off a bridge halfway through the first day.”

“I’d have helped,” Jess said. “He’s smart, though. Worse, he’s clever.”

“The other one seemed nice enough.”

“Khalila Seif is the smartest person in this room.”

“A good friend to have, then. Not to mention attractive,” Troll said. “You wouldn’t mind if I struck up a conversation?”

“I wouldn’t. Dario might.”

“I was afraid of that. Too bad. Killing him would wipe out my good conduct today.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Jess said, but his mind was elsewhere. That display from Santiago had been classic, but it had also been out of place; the young Spaniard hadn’t given him that particularly sour reception since their first days with Wolfe. They weren’t exactly the best of friends, but they weren’t enemies. Or, at least, they hadn’t been when last they’d spoken.

Either something had changed for Dario or Dario was trying to tell him something. Dario and Khalila, working together. Had they planned to be here? No, surely not, or Khalila would have found time to warn him. The Artifex made it sound as if they’d asked to be added to his staff, but somehow, Jess doubted that; they’d applied, certainly, but he’d heard nothing of either being accepted. They’d been given no choice, and no time to tell anyone.

Rome’s roots go so deep, Khalila had said, and veiled it in a cloud of compliments. Dario had added his own clues: The feet of its moldy old gods. And tunnel.

Maybe, just maybe, they were trying to tell him they’d found something. A way into the prison.

Jess sat down at the squad’s crowded table, but he hardly saw their faces or heard the chatter. His thoughts were far away, locked on possibilities. On an insane and desperate possibility.

We’re all here now except for Wolfe and Morgan, he thought. Thomas’s rescue was almost within their reach. If Khalila and Dario really had discovered a way in, that was all they needed—an advantage. Get Thomas, get out, disappear.

Glain was staring at him from across the table, clearly worried. She waited for a few moments, smiling and talking to others, and then moved to a seat next to him when one became vacant. She bent close and said, “I saw. Khalila and Dario.”

“I think they may have information that can help with Thomas—”

“Jess. We’re all here because he wants us here,” Glain whispered. “The Artifex can’t touch Wolfe directly because of his mother, but us? Getting rid of us will isolate Wolfe. Destroy him.”

She was right. He’d been looking down the wrong end of the telescope.

This wasn’t a chance for them to rescue a friend.

It was a threat to kill them all.

The rest of Santi’s company arrived by ship the next morning. As early arrivals, Blue Squad got their pick of spots in the barracks built on the secured side of the basilica—which was, Jess realized, far larger than he’d ever imagined. An enormous building on a truly monumental scale, though only two stories in height. It took nearly an hour to walk from one end to the other, and that was at a brisk pace. A solid two hours, then, to travel both floors end to end.

Not even Egypt built on such a scale.

Most of the Library’s side of the basilica was a warren of offices and laboratories, with long, straight halls running the length of the structure. Jess began a map while he waited for the lights to dim and his squad mates to fall asleep. He planned to slip away once it was quiet and the snoring started, but the comfort of the bunk and the stress of the long days before pulled him down fast.

He woke up hard at the touch of a hand on his arm and found himself reaching for a knife with the speed of the criminal he’d once been . . . But he stopped when the scent of the girl crouched next to his bunk hit him. A light cinnamon perfume with a hint of dark amber. He connected that to Khalila even before her whisper said, “Quietly. Come.”

Jess slipped out of his bunk, pulled on a pair of uniform trousers and a loose black shirt, put his boots on without bothering to tie them, and followed the drifting sweep of her dress through the shadows to the hallway. She hardly made a sound, and for a strong moment he wondered if he was wrong; maybe this wasn’t Khalila. Maybe it was a vengeful Roman ghost whispering down the hallway, leading him to some terrible death.

She looked back at him with an impatient raise of her eyebrows, and he had to grin. Not a ghost. Though a terrible death is still on the table, some dour part of him said. He tried to ignore it.

Khalila led him down the hall to a closed door, which she opened with a key. It led to a small, enclosed atrium, open to the night sky, crowded with clipped hedges and a spreading olive tree. In the center of the tiny garden, a graceful statue of a winged woman balanced on one foot with her drapes flowing in an invisible wind and a hand holding up a laurel wreath—Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. Not an automaton, thankfully.

In the shadow of Victoria sat Dario, Captain Santi, and Glain. A pitifully small crew, Jess thought, to go to war with the Library.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Khalila said, and gave Jess a quick embrace. “We had to be careful.”

“Of course you did.” He nodded to Dario. “I’d say it was an impressive display of arrogance you put on, but—”

Dario laughed, stood, and gave him an embrace as well—a quick one, with a heavy slap on his back that stung hard enough to remove any sentimentality from it. “But it comes naturally, of course.”

“Did the Artifex force you to come, or was it your own idea to ride along?”

Dario and Khalila exchanged a quick look, and she said softly, “Something of both, I’m afraid. We did apply to be on his staff, you remember. But he rejected us as applicants.”

“Until yesterday,” Dario added. “When suddenly our presence was not just desired, but required.”

“He means to kill us here,” Glain said. “That’s why he brought us all. Death, or we join Thomas in the cells under here. Why else would he do this?”

Santi, Jess noticed, hadn’t spoken. His head was bowed, as if he were lost in thought. “Captain?” Jess asked. “Do you agree?”

“I think he means this as a show of strength,” he said. “And as intimidation. I don’t think he’d quite dare to make all of us vanish at once.”

“He couldn’t make you disappear. You’re too prominent.”

“You think too small, Jess. High Garda soldiers die in combat. A nicely staged Burner attack, some conveniently destroyed bodies, and no one but Christopher will ever doubt the story.” His hands, which had been resting on the bench on either side of him, clenched the lip of the marble and tightened, until his knuckles were almost the same pale shade. “We’re hostages for Wolfe’s good behavior, at best. And through him, his mother’s. I don’t think this is so much about us or him as it is a power struggle between those two.”

Wolfe’s mother, the Obscurist Magnus, was a formidable woman, but trapped by her own power. Her influence didn’t extend to freeing herself or those locked away with her. At the same time, the Obscurists had a fragile hold over the Library; without them, the essential components—the Codex, the Blanks, even the automata—ceased to operate properly.

The Artifex would use Wolfe to keep her in check—and the rest of them as leverage against Wolfe.

“I suppose you were assigned the honor of escorting the Artifex at the last minute, too,” Khalila said to Santi. He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult for you.”

“I’ve defended Scholars I loved and Scholars I hated. Just part of the job,” he said. “I defend an idea, not an individual.”

“None of that matters now,” Dario said. “The Artifex sees us as chess pieces he can move as he wishes, and, eventually, he’ll knock us off the board one by one, if not all at once. Are we just waiting to be killed?”

Santi said nothing. Did nothing. Jess stayed quiet as he watched him; he could see the man thinking, weighing, calculating odds and tactics. This was Santi’s specialty, the art of war. Surprise and defense.

“No,” he finally said. “We can’t wait. Dario’s correct. We’re in a position of great weakness—away from home, easily disposed of. I think bringing us here was a demonstration of his power. He can’t know we’ve found out anything.”

“We haven’t,” Khalila murmured. “Not for certain.”

“We have,” Jess said. He took a deep breath and told them about the information he’d received from Anit. “Thomas is here. He is definitely here. Now.”

“Do you trust her?” Khalila asked.

“She wouldn’t have any reason to betray me,” Jess said. “Our families are old trading partners. Throw me to the lions, and she has the Brightwell clan to deal with after. Her father wouldn’t want that.”

Santi nodded slowly. He looked up at them, and the anger in his face was chilling. “Then we can’t wait. We must get Thomas and get out of here. I’ll send word to Christopher to join us, and we’ll have to go into hiding, immediately. Jess? Can you arrange that with your family?”

Leave the Library. He saw Khalila and Dario exchange looks. They’d had to know this was coming, but it was all happening—and Jess surely felt it, too—so fast. “Not Khalila,” Dario said. “Surely no one would suspect her of anything. She could go back afterward . . .”

Khalila cut him off. “Dario. You don’t decide on my behalf. I love the Library. I grew up believing I would spend my life serving it. But that ideal, the one they made us believe, it doesn’t exist. I would rather spend my life fighting to change it. I can’t continue to pretend to be loyal to it, not if all of you are gone!”

“Maybe that Library, the one we all believed in, maybe that could exist after all,” Jess said. “It’s not the idea that’s bad; it’s thousands of years of bad decisions and desperation. We could change that, but we can’t do it from Alexandria.” He swallowed hard and glanced at Santi before he took the last step. The last risk. “The reason Thomas was taken was that he invented a machine to cheaply and easily reproduce books. If we can get him, if we can build it and start distributing private books, it will change everything.”

Glain, Khalila, and Dario all looked blank. “I can call up any book I like from the Codex,” Dario said. “What use is something to make them, except to benefit smugglers like . . . well, like you, who can sell them to hoarders?”

“Sounds like a Burner invention,” Glain added, frowning.

“It isn’t. And you think the Codex is your doorway into the Library? It’s a little box they hand you—a curated, careful selection. They tell you what you can read. The Library shows you a fraction of what they have—trust me, I’ve seen tens of thousands of books go through my family’s hands that never appeared on the Codex and never will. If we believe in the existence of the Black Archives, then we must believe that the Library hides what they think is dangerous—and it’s old and conservative, and it believes anything can be misused.”

Khalila stared at him, but her mind was flying; he could almost see the thoughts and connections colliding. “That explains a lot,” she said. “There are holes in the progress being made, the science, if you look hard enough. And I have been gently warned away from certain questions. It explains everything if that research disappears into the Black Archives.”

“That’s why Thomas is so dangerous. His invention inks print on paper, using precut letters. No alchemy, no Obscurists. It prints an entire page at a time. You can make your own books and no one—especially not the Library censors—can stop you from making more, spreading ideas, changing minds.”

He watched them think through that, and was impressed, again, by how quick Khalila was to grasp the implications. Pallor settled over her face. “It would destroy the Library’s power,” she said. “If everyone could print and keep their own . . .”

“Then the Library can’t choose what we learn, can’t decide which science can and can’t be pursued, and can’t place books above human lives, because books wouldn’t be irreplaceable,” he said. “Books could be reproduced in the hundreds of copies. Even in the thousands. Everyone could have them. It changes everything about what they do, from that one simple idea.”

She looked sick. “But, Jess . . . I don’t know what the world looks like once that’s done. Do you?”

“No,” he admitted. “But if the Library overcomes its fears and uses that invention first, it can still be a force for good. It’s been fighting the Burners for centuries, but Burners could be silenced simply by giving them what they want—the chance to freely own books without criminal penalties. Thomas’s press allows for that. It sets the Obscurists free from the Iron Tower, too; they would go back to being Scholars, not slaves, because the whole basis of the Library wouldn’t rest on them. The world . . . The world might be better in so many ways. If the Library agrees to change. But it won’t, if the Archivist has anything to say about it.”

“This is . . . Jess, this doesn’t just challenge the Library. It changes the entire world. What gives us the right to make that choice?” Dario asked.

“Nothing,” Jess admitted. “Except someone has to. The Library’s leaders made the choice for us again and again and again. It’s time someone else had a try.”

Santi had watched the discussion silently, with bleak, calm eyes. Finally, he said, “I don’t think less of any of you if you want to take your chances with the Artifex. He’s a powerful man, and behind him stands the Archivist, who makes the Artifex look as friendly as a pet. If you decide to rescue Thomas, if you even help rescue him, you forfeit everything you’ve worked toward. I won’t lie about that. They will do anything to keep this invention secret. They have already killed, and will kill again.”

“I’m in,” Glain said. “I’m a fighter at heart. I’ll fight for what the Library should be.”

“It’s the only logical way the Library itself can survive.” Khalila nodded. “I value the future. That means I must do it or live a lie. Dario?”

He looked sorely tempted to back away, but the young man sighed, shook his head, and said, “All right. But if you get me killed, I’ll never let any of you rest. My ghost will be very persistent.”

Jess looked at Santi. “You know where I stand. And yes. My family can hide us.” He didn’t know that, but he knew that he would make it happen somehow. No matter what it cost him. His father was cold, but he was not completely cruel. Promise him anything, anything at all. Promise him Thomas’s press. Just get him on our side.

“This is all well and good, but we still don’t know how to get to Thomas,” Glain said. Khalila, in answer, dug in a satchel that she wore over her shoulder and pulled out loose sheets of paper that she passed to Glain, Jess, and Santi.

“I may not be able to get you in, but I can help with the exit from the prison. You remember what we said to you before?”

“Something about the old gods having deep roots in Rome?”

She moved next to Jess and tapped a spot on the drawing. It was a carefully inked diagram of the Forum, and each of the buildings and statues within the precincts. “Here,” she said, and pointed. “Below Jupiter’s throne—”

“These are ancient tunnels,” Santi said, and looked up. “How did you find this?”

Khalila nodded at Dario with a little smile. He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t,” he said. “It wasn’t me. It was Scholar Prakesh; she left the information for me before she was killed. Both the records and the tunnels are ancient and very obscure, dating from early Roman religious practices. Unused for a thousand years, at least, but one thing about the Romans—”

“They built things to last,” Santi finished. “You know how to access them?”

“I found references. I think I could figure it out.” Dario grinned humorlessly at Jess. “Or our resident criminal could. The tunnels are a warren below, but from all the best information I could find, they connect to a sewer that is just below the prison. Not a working sewer, mind you—I’m not that dedicated. Its position in the Forum gives us a chance to melt into a crowd.”

This was, Jess thought, a fair and interesting idea, but he put little faith in millennia-old records without a firsthand scouting expedition. That might be difficult, since anyone tinkering with an ancient statue of a god in the middle of the Forum might be noticed.

They wouldn’t notice at night, he thought. And not if I’m wearing a High Garda uniform. If I’m seen, I could just say that I noticed suspicious activity and went to check it.

“The prison itself has human guards, and three automata on patrol within,” Santi said. “Sphinxes and a Spartan. I’m not worried about the Garda. The automata . . .”

The automata were another matter altogether, and they all knew it. Glain had seen the ones surrounding Jess on the steps. They were already alert to him, ready to pounce in an instant. One wrong move and they would all be dead.

“We won’t solve that tonight. We’ve already been out too long,” Santi said. “Go back before someone discovers you’re missing. Especially you two.” He nodded at Dario and Khalila.

Dario laughed. “They won’t worry. I made sure they knew I wanted to show Scholar Seif the beauties of Rome in the moonlight.”

“Dario,” Khalila said, “tells everyone he’s trying to seduce me. It does make a very good cover story.”

“Not that it’s working,” he said gloomily. “The best I’ve managed is a kiss. Not even a long one.”

“It was long enough.”

“For what?”

“For me to tell if you knew what you were doing.”

“You see how she treats me?” Dario said to Jess. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Then you’re even more of an idiot than I imagined,” Jess said. “Be careful. Both of you. This isn’t a game.”

“Spoken like someone who always loses when it is,” Dario said. “Cheer up, English. We’re survivors.”

Jess wished he hadn’t said it. It sounded like a bad omen.

Going back to bed was impossible now. He told Glain what he planned to do—she argued, of course—and exited silently down the hall and through a secured door that led out into the public space of the Basilica Julia: the daughter library, the Serapeum.

Like all similar institutions, it never closed, but just now it was utterly empty of visitors. It was flanked on all sides by steady rows of tall white columns and shelves upon shelves of Blanks. At regular intervals around the floor stood marble podiums, upon which large volumes of the Codex waited.

Nothing in the Codex will help me with automata, Jess thought. There might be other books, restricted from public view that would hold hints and pieces of a key. He’d need a Scholar like Khalila to gain access. Being just a copper-banded High Garda had its disadvantages.

He ran his fingers over the smooth leather spine of a book. It was more of a talisman than a comfort; he just needed to remind himself of why the Library was so important. Books had become a symbol of trust and libraries places of peace and stability. In all the chaos of the world that counted people as different levels of worthy, the Library served all equally. All genders, races, levels of ability. It was the one place they could all be safe.

It was a fragile idea, and the safety was a fiction; the existence of the Burners proved that. Armies didn’t always obey the accords. Kingdoms fell. But the ideal was worth preserving.

I don’t want to bring an end to this, Jess thought, and was suddenly afraid that was exactly what he’d be doing if they succeeded.

But there wasn’t much choice. Not if Thomas was to be free.

Jess moved out through the outer Serapeum doors to the moonlight-washed steps.

Dario was right: Rome was magical at night. The marble glittered soft as snow, and the stars above were hard and bright, set in a deeply black sky. A breeze moved down from the hills and brought with it the smell of dusty olive trees and sun-warmed stones. He descended quickly. The lions were clustered together near the other end of the building, the end where the Artifex would be sleeping in peace, no doubt. If the old man thought about Thomas at all, it was probably only with satisfaction that he’d stopped what he saw as the downfall of the Library.

That thought strengthened Jess as he moved through the deserted Forum, past empty temples and the shadowy forms of gods. There were no patrols out that he could see, not in this direction, but he went quickly anyway, moving from shadow to shadow, checking constantly in all directions.

Then he was at the statue of Jupiter. It towered far up, and from this foreshortened view it looked massive and monstrous. What if it’s an automaton? The thought struck him with real unease. A colossus like this could crush buildings, destroy armies. He put a hand on the metal. It felt warm, but a natural kind of warmth, residue from the day’s sun.

The foot looked ancient and solid, and Jess ran his hands over the pitted surface, worn by time, and realized that ancient as it was, Jupiter couldn’t have been here for more than a thousand years. This Forum had been a meeting place far longer than that. Roots run deep. Jupiter sat over the entrance.

He found the opening between the statue’s feet, shrouded beneath the falling golden drapes of the toga. Just enough room to squirm under into the hollow spaces, and send a large rat squeaking away in alarm. Set into the cobbles lay an old iron grate. Jess pried it up with his knife and carefully put it aside. The opening was hardly large enough to fit through, but he managed, and dropped into a damp, echoing darkness that smelled of mold and the faint, pungent whisper of rot.

Jess shook a chemical light to life, and the yellowish glow washed over rough stones built in a strong, arched structure only a little taller than his head. It had a shallow trough in the middle, through which ran a slow trickle of moisture. And though—as Dario had promised—these sewers were long disused, except to channel rainwater, the smell of old waste lingered. The tunnel seemed sound, and he went carefully, tossing the light ahead as he went to be sure nothing dangerous waited. The darkness was complete and claustrophobic. It felt like an almost physical weight against his shoulders, and he tried not to think about the old stones pressing down. It’ll collapse someday, he thought. But not today. Keep your nerve. It reminded him of the old tunnels beneath Oxford, but these were far older. He found engraved stones inset in the walls depicting a group of toga-wearing men gathered around a bull. The tunnel angled down. He felt the strain of it in the backs of his legs, and had to be careful not to slip on mold, but then it leveled again and twisted in two directions. The basilica would be to the right, but just in case, he dropped one of the portable glows at the tunnel entrance before going on.

There was no sound here except for the faint rustling of rats and insects running from the light and the trickle of water in the tunnel’s center. He passed another engraving in the left-hand wall, then another, and then, finally, the tunnel split again. One side veered right and up. The other went down.

He dropped another glow and followed the left-hand path into the dark. It seemed to be a long journey, and then, suddenly, he heard something that didn’t belong here. Something up ahead, a scraping noise that sounded deliberate. A faint whirring.

He doused the glow and blinked, because an afterimage of it remained printed on his eyes. No, the glow he saw was a faint red.

Growing brighter now.

Spilling over ridges and curves that he didn’t understand at first, and then suddenly, chillingly, did.

There was a lion in the tunnel.

Jess stopped. Running would be useless; even at his best speed he doubted he could outrun the stride of a Roman lion in these cramped confines. The growling rumble of the thing echoed off the bricks, and he realized that he’d stopped breathing, as if that might hide him. It wouldn’t. Stay ready. Stay calm. Running would be death.

The lion padded toward him at a slow, inexorable pace. He backed away, moving one slow step at a time, and as if in a terrible dance, the lion paced him move for move, gliding forward as he retreated.

Jess stopped cold in his tracks, staring at the lion. He wasn’t looking at the ferocious, crushing jaws now, or the huge paws ready to smash the life out of him. The sphinx’s switch had been hidden just behind the thin beard, under the chin. The design of Roman lions, though different, would follow the same logic. Pick a spot no one in their right mind would reach for. Either inside the mouth, or . . .

Or just underneath it, beneath the lion’s bearded chin. The challenge was that it was much harder to reach.

He heard the low, rumbling growl grow louder and echo in a continuous, angry pulse from the tunnel walls. The lion paused, very still, only a short distance from Jess, and the red illumination of its eyes turned everything bloody. It must have been confused, Jess realized; his High Garda uniform, the band he wore on his wrist must have made it pause and wait to see what he’d do. Any casual intruder would have already been dead.

That didn’t mean the lion wouldn’t decide at any moment that High Garda or not, Library band or not, he needed to die. Don’t hesitate. Just keep moving.

Jess slowly raised his right hand. His fingers were trembling and twitching with the need not to go near this thing, but he controlled that and his natural desire to run for his life. His fingertips touched warm, slightly rough metal: the underside of the lion’s jaw. A jaw that could open at any instant and bite off his entire arm. A mouth that held razor-sharp teeth longer than his fingers and so much more terrifying than the sphinx he’d faced in Alexandria. This is a bad idea. So very bad.

Jess’s sweating, shaking fingers slid along the creature’s jawline. The lion’s eyes sparked as red as blood, and a rumble built inside. The jaws parted, an instant away from clamping onto his arm and ripping it from his body in a spray of blood and torn bone.

His fingers brushed a slightly depressed area in the metal. It could have been a dent, since the beast was battle-scarred, cast-off, consigned here to lonely tunnel guard. But he pushed hard, knowing it was his last chance, and felt something click sharply inside.

The lion didn’t stop all at once. First, the rumbling died off, and then the glow faltered and flickered in its eyes. There was a ticking inside, like something very hot cooling off slowly, and then it was just . . . still.

A statue.

Jess pulled his hand back, still careful. Still wary. As the red glow died in its eyes the dark closed in and landed on him with the weight of real panic. What if he’d gotten it wrong? What if it was still moving in the dark and those jaws were opening? He fumbled for the glow he’d put aside and shook it back to life with so much enthusiasm, he almost dropped it.

The lion stared straight ahead, eyes dull gray now. One paw was slightly lifted and the body was tense, as if ready to lunge forward, but it stood utterly motionless.

There were still sounds from inside the body—ticks, pops, scratches. A spring slowly hissing as it uncoiled. Jess’s mouth was dry, and he felt giddy with relief. He tried to slow his breathing and had to stop himself from laughing aloud. After a few seconds, the exhilaration faded.

Mainly because he asked himself, Why did they put it here? Why in this spot? Surely it would have been a simple matter to position one right below the grate under Jupiter’s feet, the better to catch intruders before they even had a chance to discover any secrets.

If the lion had been put here, set to guard this spot, it meant it was important.

Jess squeezed past the bulk of the lion, moving carefully in case it should suddenly come back to life, and just beyond it lay the end of the tunnel. It emptied into a huge, rounded room lined with ancient mosaics dulled by time. But it was empty. This had once been some kind of ritual chamber, and on one wall Jess found a display of masks cast out of greenish bronze in frightening shapes.

He heard something directly overhead and looked up. Footsteps. They rang on metal, and as he raised the glow, he realized that there was a rounded, metal plate in the ceiling above. It looked solid and very old, and it was exactly where he would imagine a drainage grate would have gone. And who would remove a drainage grate and cover it with solid metal instead?

Someone who didn’t want anyone coming or going through it.

There it is. The prison.

Jess stood for a long moment, gaze fixed on that metal barrier, and then he turned and retraced his steps past the frozen lion, up the tunnel, out from under Jupiter’s robes, and back to the Serapeum.