The ground-floor office of the bibliophylax was not large for his station. Three male secretaries worked busily at a triangle of desks in one corner, beneath the light of an open window. Beside them, a press reaching to the ceiling overflowed with stacks of papers. A large electric graphomekhanos hummed and clunked on a heavy wooden stand beside the press. The bibliophylax himself worked behind a four-part Ioudeian hand-carved cedar screen, beneath the largest window in the room, in the opposite corner. The young man ushered her politely behind the screen.

The bibliophylax raised his shaven head and surveyed her coolly, then smiled the merest hint of a smile. He stood and passed his hand over his head. Rhita did likewise, and took a withy-cane seat at his request.

“I trust everything is in order with your quarters?” he asked. She nodded, reluctant to quibble about small things. “It is an honor to have you here.” He pulled forward a file—a finger’s-width of papers pressed between two paper-board sheets—and pulled out a long document. She recognized it as the transcript of her Akademeia studies and appended progress report. “You are a distinguished student indeed, especially in the area of mathematics and physics, I see. And you have chosen a similar curriculum here. Our professors have much to offer you. We are, after all, a much larger institution than the Akademeia, and we draw our teachers from around the Oikoumenē, and even outside.”

“I look forward to beginning my studies.”

“One thing interests me. You made an unusual request, even before you arrived,” the bibliophylax observed. “Besides your appointment to the office of the mekhanikos Zeus Ammōn Demetrios, unusual in itself, you wish a private audience with the Imperial Hypsēlotēs. Can you tell me the purpose of your visit to her?”

Before Rhita could speak, the bibliophylax raised a hand and said, “It is our business, because we look after the welfare of all students in the Mouseion.”

She closed her mouth, waited for a moment, and then said, “I bring a private message from my grandmother.”

“She’s deceased,” the bibliophylax observed, deadpan.

“Through my father. A message the sophē felt the queen would be interested in.” She paused, her lips set in a grim line. She could feel opposition radiating from the bibliophylax, even a professional kind of hatred. “A private message.”

“Of course.” His face soured slightly, and he flipped through more papers. “I have reviewed your course requests, and they are all in order. You are seeking a fifth in mathematics, and a third in physics, as well as a second in science of city leadership. Can you handle such an academic load without strain?”

“It’s similar to my load at the Akademeia.”

“Ah, but Mouseion professors will not be awed by your ancestry. They might treat you less leniently.”