They were all staring at him with varying degrees of fascination. Thomas finally asked, “What are you doing, Jess?” He had opened the skin of the lion through latches Jess would never have seen, and was now restlessly running a length of cable through his fingers, testing it for flaws. “Put your clothes on.”

“I will,” he said, and opened the smuggling pouch and took out the book and the folded translation sheets that lay inside. The book felt cool and dry, and he handed it over to Thomas. “Here. This might help you.”

Thomas dropped the cable and began to leaf through the book—slowly at first, then with increasing eagerness as he compared the translations to the contents. Jess strapped the harness back on and put his shirt on again.

“What is that?” Morgan leaned forward to watch Thomas read, and glanced at Jess for the answer when Thomas didn’t seem to heed her at all.

“It’s research notes from someone—someone with inside knowledge,” Jess said. “A mechanical study of the automata—parts, how they work, all the details the Library never wanted out. I expect this is all that remains of the poor sod who wrote it down. They wouldn’t want him spreading this particular word, would they? Thomas? Can you use it?”

“Yes,” Thomas whispered, and then again, stronger, “Yes! And you see here, the metal ball, the container? That Morgan will need to open; it is an Obscurist’s creation. You know how to write scripts, yes? They taught you that?”

“I—” Morgan blinked, and then nodded. “Well, yes. But I’ll need some starting point. There should be a script inside there. If I can retrieve it and alter it—”

“Exactly. It’s simply a matter of—a matter of—” Thomas, who’d been doing so well, stuttered like an automaton powering down and dropped the book from suddenly clumsy hands. He was trembling, Jess saw. No, not trembling. Shaking. Badly. His teeth chattered and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“It’s no use,” Glain said quietly. “Part of him’s still in that prison.”

We don’t have time to let him recover was left unsaid. They all knew it. Thomas was doing his best, with all his good heart, but he’d been through a horrible ordeal.

“Then we help him,” Jess said, and looked at Morgan, who nodded. “Thomas. I’ve read the book; I translated it. Let me do this, and you just rest and tell me what to do. Can you do that?”

Thomas said nothing, but after a long moment, he finally nodded in a movement so abrupt it must have hurt him. More like a convulsion, Jess thought, than agreement. He seemed pale as milk now, and the bruises stood out like fading tattoos on his cheeks.

Morgan yanked a thick blanket down from a shelf and wrapped it around Thomas’s trembling body. He huddled into the warmth, and she rested her hands on his shoulders and looked at Jess.

“I’m sure they have scissors somewhere in this workshop; I’ll find some and cut his hair. Then I’ll find him something better to wear. Jess. Be his hands.”