The sphinxes turned their heads to track him, but with his face blocked by the boxes, they quickly lost interest and began scanning the rest of the incoming rush of Scholars, guards, and assistants. The automata were trained to detect Greek fire and the delicate scent of original books, but the pastries would have more than covered any hint that escaped the smuggling harness’s pouch.

The pastries smelled delicious enough to make his stomach rumble again.

Jess paused in the courtyard to get his bearings. It was still night-shaded inside the thirty-foot walls that served as defense both from sea and enemies, though some glowing lamps hung in alcoves. The outer edges were furnished with long marble benches and expertly maintained little contemplation gardens, each overseen by a god statue with some connection to scholarship. There, in the far corner, Athena lifted her spear with her familiar owl on her shoulder. Saraswati had her own quiet garden, where her statue sat with lute in hand by a little fountain. Nabu of Babylon and Thoth of Egypt presided over their own groves, each a patron of the written arts. The Lighthouse courtyard had the feel of something incredibly ancient, and, at the same time, something vital and alive, walked and enjoyed by thousands every day. Antique and modern together.

The Lighthouse rose in a stacked spire toward the heavens. It had looked large at a distance, but it was truly massive—and, more than most things he’d seen in Alexandria, it had the look of ancient wear. It had been rubbed by so many hands and shoulders that the corners at the base to the height of his head were almost rounded away. The stone steps leading inside dipped in the center, the mark of hundreds of thousands—if not millions—of feet.

Jess began the long trip up the winding stairs. There was a steam-powered lifting device in the center, but it seemed slow and crowded, and he didn’t altogether trust mechanical things today. By the time he reached the twenty-second floor, he was only a little out of breath. Brutal as it might be, the High Garda’s conditioning certainly worked.

He rapped on the closed door, balancing the boxes in one hand, and heard a muffled voice invite him to enter. He stepped in, closed the door, and put the stack of pastry boxes on the desk, careful to avoid any of the loose pages littering the top.

Then he looked up into the wide, startled eyes of Scholar Khalila Seif.

She was just as he remembered, as if the months had never passed: pretty, composed, modestly dressed in a loose floral-patterned dress beneath her sweeping Scholar’s robe. Her pale pink hijab lay neat and perfect and framed her face to accentuate her large brown eyes.

After that shocked, frozen stare, Khalila let out a girlish squeal and launched herself around the desk and into his arms, hugging him with a ferocity that was surprising for a girl her size. “Jess! It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”