Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(103)

They took the strange moving room—it was, Jess learned, called a lift, which made quite a bit of sense, given its function—up to the garden floor, a floor that, he realized, could only be accessed by Morgan’s hand resting on the panel, while other choices were clearly visible with switches. “Not everyone is allowed use of the garden,” she told them. “Only the most senior in the Tower.”

“And you’re one of them?” Wolfe gave her a look that said he clearly doubted that, and, of course, he was right.

“No,” she said. “I changed the script inside the elevator months ago. It thinks I’m Gregory. So far, none of them have figured that out, though they’ve found other changes I made. I suppose this is the last time I’ll be able to use this one, too.”

“With any luck, it’s the last time you’ll need to,” Jess said. “Can you use the Translation Chamber?”

But Morgan shook her head this time. “Not after I used it to escape last time. They’ll have made sure to lock it off from me this time. But I’ll check, just to be sure.”

When the lift slid to a stop and the doors opened, they stepped out into the lush, warm garden. It was deserted except for the flutters of butterflies among the flowers and a subtle hum of bees that drowsily roamed the room near a hive at the far end. The Translation couch and helmet occupied the central gazebo of the room, but outside morning stretched toward noon beneath a bleached-pale sky, and the dizzy patchwork of Alexandria heaved with motion in the streets.

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?”

She squeezed her way past the others to the top. Jess craned his neck, wishing he’d put himself farther ahead, so he could see what was going on. Someone has to bring up the rear, scrubber. He could almost hear Dario’s mocking voice. When had he started missing Dario, of all people?

It seemed to take forever, and Jess faced outward, toward the garden room. How long before someone—Gregory, perhaps—came looking for them? How long before he realized they’d gone missing and began to search? Not long, surely. He wasn’t the trusting sort. I should be up there, he thought. I’m the one who’s good with closed doors.

But Santi did know best, after all. Above there was a hollow clunk, and Santi said, “We’re moving!” Khalila, just ahead of Jess, glanced over her shoulder at him and gave him an encouraging smile.

“Come on,” she said. “At least we can brag to Dario later that we saw something he didn’t.”