Understood, Jess wrote, and closed the book with the feather caught inside the pages. He retied the book across his chest. Not as secure as a smuggling harness, but it would have to do.
Outside, the air grew charged and heavy, and the clouds massed higher and darker to the west like an approaching army. As Jess watched, lightning laced a bright line through the black, and a rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Coming on fast, he thought. All of it. Too fast.
Diwell returned nearly an hour after that, limping and looking miserable; he collapsed into his chair and glared at Thomas. "You've poisoned me, you Library bastard."
///
"I did not!" Thomas protested. "If I had, you'd be dead by now. But some of the food might have spoiled, I suppose. My apologies."
Diwell muttered something, took a deep breath, and suddenly bolted again for the door. Retching.
"I really am sorry," Thomas said, not to Diwell exactly. Just in general. "For all of it."
"I didn't think Protestant Germans went to confession," Jess said.
"We don't," Thomas said. "But sometimes, confession is good for the soul. And I think before this is over, our souls will need a little cleansing, don't you?"
He was probably right about that.
EPHEMERA
Text of a letter from Scholar Johannes Gutenberg to the Archivist Magister, interdicted to the Black Archives. Not indexed in the Codex.
With the greatest respect and admiration I have always borne for you, great Archivist, I must ask why you have ordered the High Garda to remove the model of the device I described to you, a device I believe to be of eminent importance that will only add to the great reach of the Library.
I must also ask why soldiers have taken from me all papers, drawings, and journals that refer to this device, and warned my family, in the safety of their own home, to say nothing of this, on pain of death.
I cannot believe this is done with your approval, or if it has been, that you have been properly apprised of all the wondrous possibilities of my device for the greater glory of the Library.
If I may pay a personal visit to you, I may put your mind at rest upon this matter.
Text of a notation in the margins of the letter, from the Archivist Magister of the time to the Artifex Magnus. Not indexed in the Codex.
Arrange for him to come to you. I have no stomach for the bloody work to be done here. His family, too, must be silenced, and you must see it done. Make sure no one else knows of this device. I want every tongue stilled, and every eye made blind that ever beheld the thing.
I despise the necessity of such things, but the safety of the Library comes above all else. Gods help us all if this knowledge should ever escape.
CHAPTER SIX
The storm hadn't yet arrived when Beck entered the workshop another hour later, surrounded by a small mob of guards and followers. "I hope you haven't summoned me for nothing-" He fell silent. The light from the windows and a single oil lamp glimmered on gears, metal springs, and the tall wooden frame. At the very least, Jess thought, what they'd built looked imposing, and Beck seemed momentarily impressed. Momentarily. He slowed and walked around the machine, then gestured to Thomas.
"Interesting," he said at last. "Explain it to me."
"Best to show you," Thomas said. "Jess? Ink and paper."
Jess sponged the ink on the letters and fixed the paper in place.
"Now, Master Beck, step back. All the way back, please."
Beck made a cautious retreat, and so did his men, as Thomas pulled down the lever. Beck let out a surprised yelp at the resulting crash, and several of the guards drew weapons. Luckily, they seemed unsure what exactly they should shoot or stab.
"It isn't dangerous," Thomas said, perfectly calmly. "Now you will see."
"See what?" Indira barked. "All right, all of you. Relax. Fire only on my orders!" Thank God, there was a professional in the fanatical ranks.
Thomas had managed to ignore their peril completely. Which was . . . very Thomas. "This machine is the future of the Burners," he said. "And the Library. Jess?"
While Thomas cranked the lever up and secured it, Jess stepped forward to retrieve the printed page. He carried the sheet to Willinger Beck, who took it, still looking doubtful . . . until he examined it in the light of the window.
"A life is worth more than a book," he read aloud, and the astonishment in his voice rang clear. "This is in both English and Greek. Our motto. The motto of this city." He stared hard at the paper, then turned it to face Jess and Thomas. "What kind of Obscurist trick is this?"