Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
Wolfe sank down in the chair that Quest indicated, and as the Mesmer pulled another chair close, Jess saw the bedroom door silently open. Santi stepped out. The captain moved to stand beside Jess and said, in a low voice that couldn’t have carried to Wolfe, “If this goes badly, I will stop it.”
“I know,” Jess said. “It might not even work—sometimes it doesn’t . . .” His voice faded because Wolfe had already closed his eyes. Quest’s voice dropped to a low, calm rhythm, and Jess couldn’t catch what he was saying now as he bent close to Wolfe. The Scholar’s head slowly tipped forward.
Wolfe raised one hand—or, at least, the hand rose. There was no corresponding shift of balance from Wolfe’s body, no sign that the movement of that hand and arm had been directed from a conscious mind. The rest of him stayed completely still.
Quest reached out and pushed on the top of the floating hand. It hardly moved at all. He nodded in satisfaction and looked over to Jess. “He’s ready. What do you want me to ask?”
That fast? Jess blinked. “Ask him about his time in the cells—”
“Wait,” Santi said. He sighed. “I hate that you’ve forced him into this, but at least we can spare him some agony. Ask him about being taken to prison, then ask about any time he was taken out of a cell. Nothing about what happened to him—only locations and surroundings. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Quest said blandly. “You’re looking only for where he was being held. I understand.”
“Good.” Santi’s gaze bored into the man. “You’d better.”
“Trust in me, friend. I know my business.” Quest leaned forward and rested his hand briefly on Wolfe’s shoulder. “Now go back. Go back to the day that you were taken into custody. Do you remember?”
The reaction was immediate and terrible. Wolfe’s whole body tensed, shifted, and seemed to pull inward. His head did not rise, but Jess heard the change in his breathing from across the room. His skin went cold listening to that harsh, painful panting. But they couldn’t stop now. Wolfe had agreed to this.
“Tell me about the day you were taken to the prison,” Quest said. His voice was gentle, rising and falling in those faint, odd rhythms. “There is nothing to fear. You are only seeing, watching a play of light and shadow. You are an outside observer of what occurs. There is no pain. You feel no pain at all.”
The harsh breathing eased, just a little, but when Wolfe’s voice came, it sounded rough and uneven and utterly unlike him. “I was . . . here,” he said. “They came for me here.”
“Here, in this house?”
“Yes.”
“And where did they take you?”
“The Archivist’s office at the Serapeum,” Wolfe said. “He asked questions—”
“Let that go. Where were you taken after he finished with you?”
Wolfe didn’t answer. Beside him, Jess felt Santi’s muscles tensing, as if bracing for a blow.
“Scholar? Where were you taken?”
“Below.”
“Below where?”
“Serapeum. To a cell.”
“Stop,” Santi quickly said. “Skip over that. Ask him where he was taken after that.”
Quest gave Jess another questioning look, and he nodded. Santi was right. Asking Wolfe to recount whatever happened to him in the cells below the Serapeum in Alexandria wouldn’t help them at all. Thomas wasn’t there.
Paris, Jess thought. They’ll have taken him to Paris.
But when Wolfe answered the question, he said, “The Basilica Julia.”
Rome. Jess swallowed hard as he remembered how passionately he’d argued for Paris with his friends; he’d nearly persuaded them it was the only logical choice and to go tearing off in pursuit of Thomas there. Thank you, Khalila. Thank you for holding out for more information. They wouldn’t have more than one chance at this.
And even this information, he cautioned himself, wasn’t true proof. An indicator, certainly. But not proof.
“How were you taken there?” Quest asked.
“By Translation.”
Quest leaned back, frowning, and looked at Captain Santi. “There isn’t a Translation Chamber inside the Basilica Julia proper, is there?”
“No,” Santi said. “It’s in another building altogether, about a mile away. He can’t be recalling it right.”
“Scholar Wolfe, when you came out of the Translation Chamber, where were you? Can you describe it?”
“Hallway,” Wolfe murmured. “Inside the Basilica Julia.”
“How do you know you were in the Basilica Julia?”