‘We did not discuss his faith,’ I said. ‘He was in no state to discuss anything.’

‘There is a line in Bartrey’s, I believe, that refers to the “unfaithful”. Though there is some debate on the exact translation. Still, Poul would be a stronger start. This way—’

‘Show me, Ignatius.’

He studied me for a moment, before he relented. He took the text from the shelf as if the serpent on the spine were only in slumber. He would not let me see any of the pages as he found his way in the text. Instead, I was left to gaze at the cover: seven crowns that appeared burned onto the front. Seven crowns that would not sit still, but swirled as if caught in a maelstrom. I blinked rapidly, thinking it an effect of the poor light, of the close air, but the crowns did not stop. Instead, I closed my eyes, determined to resist such an unknowable force.

‘Here it is,’ Ignatius said. ‘My memory was correct. You may read it for yourself, Inspector. Inspector?’

I opened my eyes. His thick finger indicated a line scrawled in faded ink. It read:

The unfaithful lose sight of themselves

‘The Ritual of Berith, from the lesser known demonologies. But not without adherents over the centuries.’

‘What of the lines below?’ I said.

Ignatius brought the book close to his face. ‘Like many such rituals, Berith demands certain conditions be met. Typically these are quite abstract, to allow the misguided hope of equally misguided individuals. Here, see for yourself.’

‘The sword—’

‘Careful, Inspector. Even here, in the Lord’s house, to say such words aloud is unwise.’

I read the ritual’s list silently.

The sword shrivels to flakes of snow

The law devours its history

The stone moves on water

The broken heart bleeds gold

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Be glad you do not.’ Ignatius closed the book before I could read any further. ‘The mention of sight is intriguing, but I believe we would fare better with Poul. And, of course, there’s Hendrick’s work on bestial teeth. Are you quite sure they were human teeth, Inspector?’

‘Quite sure,’ I said, and followed him once more among the infernal stacks.

I struggled to concentrate in the hour or so that followed. Ignatius led me to many other texts. Poul did indeed recount his time among the eye-eating shamans of Northern Ketts. Hendrick had much to say on the powers of animal teeth. Lisherwood fleetingly mentioned curses placed on those already incarcerated. Gibson wrote extensively on the many manners an eye might be extracted. And so it went, on and on, but I kept being drawn back to the Bartrey text with the serpent and the crowns. Eventually, I was exhausted – and long before Ignatius’ knowledge, or his appetite for sharing it. I could take no more of the baleful influence of such texts. I asked him to lead me back to the surface, back to air free of books, back to the living city.