The route the spectacles devised only took five minutes, for which Maximilian was grateful. The university’s multifaith chapel turned out to be a separate building that was made from very old stone. Just as the spectacles started telling Maximilian exactly what kind of stone it was, and precisely what was intended to happen in a multifaith chapel, and some of the finer points of Jainism and how Jains, who were members of a Buddhist sect who would not even kill insects, differed from Janeites, who liked to dress up as characters from Jane Austen books, Maximilian took them off and put them away.

Effie pushed open the heavy wooden door to find a small empty chapel with wooden seating and waxy candleholders. Large stained-glass windows turned the dull outside winter light into something softer and more peaceful, with all sorts of lovely colors dancing through the air.

“Where is everyone?” asked Maximilian.

Effie shrugged and looked around. Then Lexy emerged from a door just beyond the quire.

“There you are!” she said. “Come on, the meeting’s already started.”

“What meeting?” said Effie.

She and Maximilian followed Lexy through the door and into a windowless room lit by many candles. The main thing in the room was a huge wooden table. And around it sat various people, including Dora Wright, Laurel Wilde, Mrs. Beathag Hide, Festus Grimm, Leander Quinn, Professor Quinn and, at the head of the table and currently speaking, Pelham Longfellow.

Wolf crossed the threshold of the strange, spaceship-style building. He half expected it to take off, to carry him deep into outer space, like in films from the past. But nothing happened. There was a large silver-and-white atrium, with a high ceiling and many levels of gallery-style corridors, with lots of what looked like office doors. To Wolf’s right was a reception desk, with no one behind it. The reception desk was made out of white plastic, as if from another age. Had Wolf gone back in time? No one used plastic like this anymore. It was illegal; had been for decades.

“Yarright?” said a man’s voice, suddenly. The owner of the voice emerged from a door behind the reception desk. He was wearing a white shirt and, bizarrely, a pair of silver pants.

Great. A different language.

“Eye spect yoore looookun for le program,” said the man. It was English. Sort of. Just. It was a Borders dialect, Wolf realized. He was still in the Borders, more or less. Good.

“Yes,” said Wolf.

“Nahm?”

What? Oh, name. “Wolf Reed,” said Wolf. The man wrote it down on a list. He made Wolf a name badge that had, as well as the words “Wolf Reed,” a strange sort of barcode on it.

“Tek a seet ear, laddie, and wait to be callt.”