“Why would you do that?” Geryon said. “Instead of just telling me what you heard?”

“I . . .” Alice hesitated, as though she were about to cry. Her head throbbed. The pressure of trying to direct the swarmers while keeping a straight face was like trying to think in three different directions at once. “I knew you were angry with me. After the century fruit. I thought . . .”

The two swarmers made it to the marble tabletop, scurried around the real red book, and started pushing. It slid easily over the polished surface, and just as it was about to fall, Alice brought her hands up to cover her face, the motion drawing Geryon’s eye. Behind her, the book fell among the swarmers, whose rubbery bodies silently absorbed the impact. She had to bear down hard to prevent them from making quirks of triumph. Now for the difficult part.

“Spit it out,” Geryon said, disgusted.

“I thought I could make it up to you by getting the book,” Alice said, sniffing. “I just wanted you to be happy with me again. And when you said you were going away, I thought . . . maybe this was my chance.”

The swarmers couldn’t climb and carry the book at the same time. Alice had six of them stand side by side, and four more clamber on top of those, and so on, forming a ramp. But the little things weren’t tall enough. I need more. Carefully, very carefully, she pulled on their thread, letting more of them appear around her feet. She locked eyes with Geryon, silently willing him to hold her gaze.

It worked, and he continued to glare at her, tugging absently on one of his long sideburns. Then, suddenly, he got to his feet. Alice’s heart double-thumped. Did he see them?

“Alice Creighton,” he said. “You are a terrible liar.”

“S . . . sir?” Alice didn’t have to fake the quaver in her voice.

“I met with my fellow Readers,” Geryon said, looking down at her from his full height, “to determine what happened in the matter of Esau’s death. We . . . inquired. Do you know what we found?”

“No, sir.” Alice took a step back, as though terrified, the better to obscure the swarmers from Geryon’s view. There were enough of them now to form a ramp all the way to the top of the table, and four of them started shoving the book up across the backs of their fellows.

“I always thought your story was fishy,” Geryon said. “You were never clear on exactly how you’d defeated Torment. A gang of apprentices, defeating a labyrinthine? Unlikely.” He leaned closer. “I know you had help.”

“I . . . I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”