If Santi can stand it, I can, Jess told himself. He tightened the straps on his pack and followed Glain down the wide tunnel that ran at a slant beneath the Serapeum.

No doubt parts of this vast pyramid were devoted to spacious, beautiful areas where the public could browse the Codex and load up Blanks with texts; librarians would be working, serene and helpful. A Scholar or two might be conducting his own research in a secret archive of local documents. There would be reading spaces, light, and beautiful views from the windows. That would be the public face of the Library, the one that even Jess had always known.

That was not the Library he saw here in the tunnels. As the majority of Santi’s troops continued down the stone-walled hall beneath the pyramid and headed for the docks, Santi led them off to the right, down a narrower passage lit by flickering glows above. The glows were chemical, an older style, and sputtered unsteadily with a greenish cast to them. It made all the faces of Jess’s companions seem eerily lifeless.

Not a thing to think about before Translation. The last time he’d been through this, he’d seen a classmate die and one broken by it. But he’d survived it once, and knew he could again. I am a soldier now, he told himself. Soldiers take risks.

The group accompanying Santi consisted of the green-eyed lieutenant whom he’d sent to intimidate Jess, their squad, and another, more seasoned group of veterans who seemed totally at ease with the situation. One of them, a man who seemed ancient to Jess but was in reality about his father’s age, caught sight of Jess’s face and laughed. “Don’t worry, boy, you’ll come through in one piece,” the soldier said, and shoved him ahead through an open set of double doors. “Might not enjoy the trip, but at least we travel in style here. Seen a lot worse!”

The old soldier was right. This was far different from the Translation Chambers Jess had seen in Alexandria and in their last arrival point in England. The one in Alexandria had seemed chaotically full of machinery, steam, pipes, gears, sparks. It had felt at once ancient, untidy, and unfinished. Maybe it had been under repair.

The one in England had seemed bare and grubby. He’d have expected Alexandria to have the best of everything, but as he stepped into this Translation room in Darnah, he was struck by how sleek it was. The floor was bare stone, cool beneath his boots. The ceiling stretched high, and what machinery was visible was only glimpsed behind barriers or rafters above. A single bronzed cable dropped down from the unseen machinery to hang down in a circle of light, in which lay a curved, reclining chair made of the same stone as the floor, with a metal helmet next to it.

“I wish I understood this better,” Jess said to Glain, who gave him a quelling look. “What? It would make me feel better knowing if I’m to be torn to pieces and put together again.”