It was brighter here than in the outer room, but still dim. The worktable was overturned, and one of the chairs smashed, a box lying on its side with the contents strewn on the floor. Mags reported it all to Caelen.

Tell the redheaded Guardsman to work his way around the wall, with the rest of you following. I want you directly behind the redhead.

Once again, Mags relayed the instructions. This time he was the one to give the signal, and the designated Guard, who was almost as good at belly slinking as Mags, eased forward.

:Keep your mind open to me, too, Mags,: Dallen urged.

They all inched their way across the frigid floor, their breaths puffing out and hanging in the still air in tiny white clouds. Halfway down the length of the room, the silence was broken by a low moan.

“Hushabye baby,” said a strange, high voice. “They haven’t come for you yet. Here. Drink your drinkie, there’s a good baby.” The voice giggled. “Oh, and when they come for you, there will be such a surprise! They’ll be so pleased!”

Oh, dear gods . . . that sounds like a trap. Mags was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard that thought. But he had—and so had Dallen.

:Tell Caelen that Nikolas is getting something ready. Mags, we are going to need you; you are the key to this. I want you to ease close until you can see what is going on, get a good look, and then ease back.:

I’ve been told, Mags, came Caelen’s thought, hard on the heels of that. Do what they tell you.

:I need to scout,: Mags thought at the Guardsmen. :Ain’t getting closer than I have to.:

All four nodded, and he slithered past them, trying to breathe as slowly and silently as he could.

When he got to the end of the shelves, he moved over across the aisle so that he was sheltered by their bulk, then peered around the corner.

The Archivist’s desk was here, and a strange, thin, dark man was seated at it. Behind him, tied to another chair, bound hand and foot and with a gash on his forehead, was Bear, unconscious, but still alive. The man was dressed in odd clothing of a very dark gray; his head and hands were wrapped in what appeared to be bandages, and despite the fact that it was freezing in this room, his arms were bare. Laid out on the surface of the desk was a glittering array of knives.

The man seemed to sense Mags looking at him. He glanced sharply at the shelves, but he was looking high, not low, and Mags pulled back out of sight. He waited, listening for footsteps, but none came.

He slithered back to the others.