Eerily quiet here.

“They might already know we’ve come here,” Wolfe said. “Morgan, see if you can use the Translation equipment.”

It was immediately obvious she couldn’t; as she came close to the helmet and couch, a low humming sound rose and spiked, and a harsh blue spark stabbed out toward her. She yelped and jumped back, rubbing at the spot on her arm where it had struck. It left a burn.

“And that’s our answer,” Santi said. “Work quickly. Spread out. Find anything that might be a concealed staircase, a switch.”

They’d all been well trained in how to suss out hidden alcoves, floor tiles, concealed safes and shelves. Common practice among those who possessed book contraband to hide it from view. Scholars and soldiers learned how to pry those secrets out early in their training.

But Jess had experience at hiding things, not just finding them. The Brightwell family expertise lent itself to a search like this, and instead of doing what the others were, he stood very still, looking around the large round room. Those who built this place weren’t trying to hide something completely. They’d want it accessible. No Obscurist is going to want to grub around in flower beds, looking for a switch or a panel.

He let his eyes unfocus and wander, and suddenly, he was looking at a statue. The largest statue, in fact, in the room: an image of hawk-headed Horus, from whose bowl flowed a continuous stream of water that snaked among the flowers and plants.

Horus, God of Scribes. Patron of the Great Library.

Jess grabbed Thomas as he passed and pulled him over to the statue. “Look for any kind of switch,” he said. They both began running hands over the cool marble, and then Jess felt a scarab ornament on the arm of the statue give to his touch. “Here! It’s here!”

He pressed it, and above them something hissed. What had seemed like just another part of the ceiling proved to be a plate—the bottom of a black iron staircase that screwed down from the ceiling, turning so smoothly that it must have been powered by steam or hydraulics. The whole thing was silent enough that it seemed as eerie as a dream.

“Incredible,” Thomas murmured, and ran his hand over the smooth black railing. “We go up?”

“We go up,” Santi said. “But I go first.”

Jess hung back to take rear guard. The staircase turned in a tight spiral around a central iron core, and above him Thomas said, reverently, “Look at this. It’s the same as the Iron Tower! No one remembers how this metal was created; it has the same properties as the Iron Pillar of Delhi, but—”

“You must be feeling better,” Glain said from just below him. “Since you’re lecturing again.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I’m happy to hear it.”

At the top of the steps, Santi paused and said, “There’s a door. No lock and no handle, so I assume it takes an Obscurist. Morgan?”