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‘I didn’t—’ Jess couldn’t stop the protest, but he managed to stop after those two blurted words. It wouldn’t matter. The Artifex knew damned well he hadn’t killed his best friend. The truth was what the Library wanted it to be. That was the lesson being taught here.
‘Of course you didn’t kill him. However, I can build a convincing case against you – and the price of that would be your death. And Wolfe’s. And Captain Santi’s, which is a genuine regret, because he is very capable.’ The Artifex was still rolling the marble ball in his fingers, but now he set it carefully back on its small golden stand on his desk. ‘Your fellow students might also be suspect.’
‘What the hell do you want?’ Jess dimly recognised the tense, gravelly tone of his voice; it reminded him of his father’s voice, the day that Liam had been hanged for book ru
‘From this moment on, you will become my eyes and ears,’ the Artifex said. ‘Scholar Wolfe is a dangerous man, with dangerous leanings, and although he has powerful protection, he can and must be brought down. Your friend Thomas fell under his influence, and his death may be laid directly at Wolfe’s feet.’
Jess’s fists were clenched at his sides, which he only realised when he became aware of the pain. He deliberately loosened them. ‘You want me to spy on Wolfe. For you, who killed my best friend.’
‘I think you’re a smart, capable lad who has a bright future in the Library, and you’ll do what’s best for yourself. You understand practical considerations; you were raised by a practical family. Thomas was brilliant, but fatally naive. You won’t make the same mistake.’
‘Do you really think I’ll work for you?’
‘Oh, I think you’d rather spy than swing like your brother Liam,’ the Artifex said. He pressed a button on his desk, and the door unlocked behind Jess with a thick, metallic click. He felt the wave of air as it opened. He looked back to see two Garda behind him. One was taking a fresh pair of binders from his belt. ‘Yes or no. I need your answer.’
‘How can you even be sure I’ll tell you the truth?’
‘Do you really think you would be my only source of information? If I catch you in even one lie, you’ll hang. Yes or no, Jess. The sand’s almost run from your hourglass.’
Jess shut his eyes for a few seconds, not because he was uncertain, but because he didn’t want to look at the man any more. He had a sickening urge, nearly impossible to resist, to grab that marble ball and beat the old man’s head in, just as they’d done to Thomas.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘What will I say to Wolfe?’
‘You’ll tell him that I questioned and released you. From now on, you will write me handwritten reports when anything of interest occurs regarding Scholar Wolfe. Do you understand? And as I said, there will be other eyes watching. I’ll know if you try to cheat me.’
‘Why don’t you just kill him?’ Jess asked. He opened his eyes now, because he wanted to see the old man’s face as he answered.
‘With some enemies, it’s safer to let them destroy themselves.’ The man went around his desk, sat, and made a dismissing gesture as he opened the leather-bound blank on his desk. ‘I expect to hear from you soon, Brightwell. Very soon.’
EPHEMERA
Transcript of the questioning of Postulant Thomas Schreiber by the Artifex Magnus, transferred to the Black Archives under orders of the Curators.
ARTIFEX: Explain how you developed the idea for this device.
SCHREIBER: I like to tinker with things. My little cousins had wooden blocks I carved for them, with letters on each side. We had a game of spelling words and pressing them into the mud—
ARTIFEX: Who encouraged you to build it?
SCHREIBER: No one, sir. I wanted to see if it worked. I thought once it did I would show it to Scholar Wolfe.
ARTIFEX: And did you? Show it to Wolfe?
SCHREIBER: No, sir. I never had the chance. We only just returned and I couldn’t sleep, so I worked on it. It only began to work tonight. I was pla
ARTIFEX: Wolfe never saw this machine. And you never showed him plans, drawings, discussed your ideas for it. He never encouraged you in this mission to undermine the Library?
SCHREIBER: Sir! No, no, that is not at all what I am doing! I only mean to help the Library, never hurt it. Scholar Wolfe had no knowledge of it. I wanted to wait to show him once it was ready.
ARTIFEX: Don’t be afraid, postulant. No one doubts your skill, or your genius. It takes a very bright young man to do what you did, and invent something that is so … world-shaking.
SCHREIBER: Thank you, sir. I am glad you think so. I can work on it to make it better, if you will give me a workshop and tools to—
ARTIFEX: Do you know what happens when the world shakes, Thomas? Cities fall. People are crushed. Empires break. The very foundations of the Library shatter. When I say it is a world-shaking invention, it is not a compliment. It is a condemnation.
(SCHREIBER is recorded as silent.)
ARTIFEX: Who else saw the plans? The machine?
SCHREIBER: No one, sir.
ARTIFEX: Is there a hand-drawn copy of these diagrams?
SCHREIBER: I only put it in my personal journal. No one else saw it.
ARTIFEX: We will, of course, make sure you are telling the truth.
SCHREIBER: You’re going to destroy the press?
ARTIFEX: Oh no, boy. We’re simply adding it to the warehouse of many similar inventions. You’re not the first to think of such a thing. Merely the latest.
SCHREIBER: You’re going to kill me.
ARTIFEX: Some ideas are like a virulent, persistent virus. They must be ruthlessly eradicated before an infection spreads. It is an unpleasant rule of medicine that diseased limbs must be severed for the health of the body. One last time, tell us who else knows, and you may live out your days in a cell, instead of dying in an unmarked grave.
(SCHREIBER is recorded as silent.)
ARTIFEX: May whatever god you follow have mercy upon you.
(The Artifex then directed that Schreiber be taken to a place of questioning.)
End of record.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Jess was escorted out of the Serapeum, the world was warming to a clear dawn; the eastern horizon was layered with soft yellow and warm orange, while the western sky still showed indigo. The Serapeum pyramid’s top three tiers of stone were bathed in a blazing glow, and the golden capstone shone like the as-yet-unseen sun.
It was beautiful, and eternal, and Jess averted his eyes at the sight of it. His head pounded from a mix of tension and weariness, and he felt desperately sick. The guards didn’t bind him this time. They escorted him through the courtyard, past rows of guardian statues thick as an army’s column, and out into an area shaded beneath spreading olive trees that were heavy with fruit.
His friends were there. All but Thomas.
Glain saw him first, and spoke to the others; Dario was embracing Khalila, but he let go when he saw Jess, and they all came at a run to meet him. It should have made things better to be with friends, but he was only starting to realise that he had no friends now. Only people he could ruin and betray.
Thomas is dead.
‘What happened?’ Dario asked him. ‘Brightwell? Jess? Come on, English, talk.’
‘Let go, Dario.’ Khalila was, as always, more perceptive. And she saw the shocked distance in Jess, even if she didn’t know what it was. ‘He’s not well, can’t you see that?’