Botha had a voice loud enough to carry halfway to China, and he used it to full effect to shout, “Century Two, report by squad to supply wagon and reform! Fast and orderly!”

Instantly, the first squad in the century peeled off and ran to a supply carrier that was parked not far away; Jess tried to watch them without turning his head, but got little but a headache for his trouble. It took just under five minutes for each squad to run over and return, and he realized that they were picking up weapons and travel packs.

Travel packs.

As they jogged to the supplies, he managed to whisper to Glain, “We’re on the move. Did you know—”

“No,” she snapped. “Shut up.”

“But what about Dario and Khalila—”

“Shut up!”

It was the work of seconds to grab weapons from the hands of the armorers, plus a travel pack; Jess wasn’t used to putting one on quite so quickly, but he managed to get the buckles fastened and be back in the Blue Dog line with only a slight delay. It earned him a lean-out stare from the squad leader. He kept himself at perfect attention until the other young man looked away.

He burned to ask where they were going, but he was now, officially, High Garda, and High Garda soldiers didn’t ask. Glain had done him a favor by insisting he pack his personal journal and wear his smuggling harness with his stolen books inside. He’d never go back to his room in the recruit barracks. When he came back, the few belongings he had left would be moved to new quarters in the regular company barracks. He was, finally, in his place. Everything to this point, Jess realized, had still felt like preparation—like schoolwork, not life. But now, in full battle uniform, wearing the heavy weight of the pack and loaded down with weapons he knew he would have to use, it all felt . . . different. More ominously real. This is my place. This is my life. The weapons were live and lethal, and he would be expected to use them.

Dario and Khalila. We’ve lost them. He couldn’t leave Alexandria without knowing where they were, what had happened. He’d thought they would have time to find out, but now . . . now they were being sent out without warning. Maybe to battle.

Hard not to flash back to Oxford and the terrible war that had overtaken them there as they rescued books and librarians. Jess had spent months fighting back nightmares in which he saw the slaughter, the desperation, saw his fellow postulant Joachim Portero die. It had been a cruel and terribly real introduction to the chaos that the Great Library had been built to guard against. During that chaos, it had been hard to see the Library as a villain, though he knew very well that the Library was no stranger to death, oppression, and cruelty. The Library had taken Thomas. Walled up Morgan. Separated him from everything he’d come to care about. Now they might have stolen away two of his remaining friends, too.