The central vault of the Archivia Primus is so tall that I cannot see the ceiling. It must extend to the very top of the spire, where the clouds grow too thin to make rain. The vault is circular and lined with bookcases and shelving. Servitors mounted on slide rails move up and down the racks, turning the scrolls and books to keep them from wearing unevenly. Cherubim hover and hum softly, carrying lanterns in their bionic hands. The lumen strips set into the walls are yellow and dim so as not to bleach the texts, and the few narrow windows are set with coloured crystal and sealed with heavy bolts to keep out the cathedral world’s moods. In the middle of the circular space is a massive table carved from a single piece of marble, the surface of which has been polished to remove any imperfections or flaws. Any snags, or hollow spaces.

Standing on the opposite side of the table to me and my squad are the cardinal-principal and his Master of Trails. Silvera avoids my eyes even more determinedly than before, as if he knows I am wondering about his earlier words. Canoness Elivia stands at one head of the table, while Ravara stands at the other. All of us are clad in white, like the doves that make their homes in the hollows of the Archivia. Like memorial statues.

Placed on the table is a map made of a dozen or more sections of parchment. On it are depicted hundreds of spires and thousands of lesser structures, the miles-wide avenues merely fine lines running between them. Placed around the edges of the map are dozens upon dozens of texts and maps and rolled scrolls in leather wraps. Some are handwritten. Some are replicated. Copies of copies.

‘What you see before you is our entire collection of records concerning the construction and disposition of the south-western cathedral quarter,’ Castanne says.

‘Are they unbroken?’ Elivia asks. ‘The records?’

Castanne reaches out, stopping just short of touching the closest of the scrolls. We are all wearing the same pale gloves for the purposes of handling the ancient texts, but Castanne still wears his multitude of heavy, studded rings on chains around his neck. Ruby and platinum. Topaz and gold. I am certain that the cardinal has more wealth on one of those chains than most of the people in the district he serves.

‘No, Canoness,’ he says. ‘Unfortunately they are not.’

Silvera nods. ‘Few things are, in these times.’

‘Perhaps there is something to be done about that, if we find the Shield.’ Ravara looks at me. ‘Evangeline, tell them what you have seen.’