“Stop,” Santi said. It was just one word, but the force behind it—not a shout, just pure menace—made her look at him in surprise. “He doesn’t need to relive any of this.”
“He does if it’s the same place Thomas might be held.” Jess stood up, and Wolfe’s gaze followed him. It seemed black and remote, but there was something behind it Jess couldn’t understand. “Where are they keeping him? Here?”
“No. They wouldn’t keep him in Alexandria, knowing he has friends such as us.” Wolfe leaned forward, and his shackles dragged across the wood. “Let me see it.”
“No,” Santi said.
Wolfe’s voice stayed warm. Almost kind. “I know you are trying to protect me, but, Nic, I see all this every night in dreams. You can’t protect me from memories.”
Santi finally gave up. The anger and frustration radiated off him like waves of heat. He wanted to act, and Jess understood that; he’d felt the same for the past months, knowing about this tantalizing book, hearing of its list of prisoners and executions. He’d intended only to punish himself by finding out exactly how Thomas had died, but instead . . . instead he’d found hope. And hope hurt.
Jess held out the book, and Wolfe took it. They were all silent a moment while he flipped the pages. Jess found himself watching the man’s face, waiting to see him react, but he might have been perusing some dusty academic work instead of reading about his own darkest hours. When he was done, he closed the book and sat back with a sigh.
“I suppose I should begin with what Glain doesn’t know,” Wolfe said. “Three years ago, I invented and built a device—something that threatened the entire foundations of the Library, though I didn’t see it at the time. My device was destroyed, and I was charged with heresy. My work was erased. I was made to disappear, too.” He glanced at Santi, who was still staring hard at the floor. “Nic was a fool and risked himself trying to find me. He nearly died himself in the attempt. At any rate, I was finally released, under the condition that I never again publish or pursue any lines of research that the Library deems dangerous. I live on sufferance.”
Jess knew all this; he’d learned it from Santi and Wolfe when Thomas had disappeared. He’d never breathed a word of it to the others, and it jolted him that Wolfe was speaking of it now.
“But you got out!” Glain said. “That means there’s hope for Thomas.”
Wolfe was already shaking his head. “My mother is the Obscurist Magnus, and her influence and power meant that the Archivist couldn’t execute me out of hand, no matter how badly he wanted to. Even so, I didn’t just get out, though I was a man of high standing, of many accomplishments, with honors and friends. Thomas was just a student. A postulant.” Wolfe paused a moment, and Jess thought he was censoring himself about what to tell them. “If Thomas is still alive, it’s because the Archivist recognizes his worth to the Library. That means they’ll keep him until his will and spirit are thoroughly broken, and then they’ll put him to work in some secret corner. Eventually. It won’t be a life, but he will still be breathing.”
That was a horrible thought, but it was one Jess had already experienced. Thomas wouldn’t simply be held. It would be far worse than that. He didn’t want to imagine how much worse, but he could see from the lightless look in Wolfe’s eyes that the Scholar remembered. There was something not quite right in that stare, and Jess shivered. Maybe Santi had been right: maybe involving Wolfe in this was a mistake.
But we need him, Jess thought. For the first time since he’d held that book and read the account of Thomas’s arrest and questioning, he felt less alone. Less helpless. He knew Glain wouldn’t let it go; despite Santi’s reluctance, the captain wouldn’t, either.
And with Wolfe’s guidance, Thomas’s fate seemed more and more like something they could change. Together. He’d never once, since realizing Thomas still lived, thought about leaving him where he was, to whatever mercy the Library might have.
Thomas was his friend. And he would find him. It was as simple, and dangerous, as that.
Glain, in the silence, turned to Santi. “Captain. Do you really think Thomas is dead? Or are you more afraid that Jess is right and it sends us all down a dangerous path?”
That was a pointed and perfect question, and Jess had to give Glain credit: she was much more clearheaded about this than he could be. For him, it was a raw, personal wound; he’d loved Thomas like a brother, and he still felt responsible, in no small part, for what had happened to him.
Santi chose his words carefully—too carefully, maybe. “I don’t want Christopher dragged back under this threshing machine. The book could be faked. They might be waiting to draw us in. There’s every reason to believe Thomas is dead, and almost none to believe he’s alive.”