There was nothing else to say. Jess pushed pain to the background. He’d need to be ready to run or fight; this was still not guaranteed escape. And if we get to the Translation Chamber, what then? Where do we go? London, he thought. It was half instinct, going home, but it was also practical. His family resources could be commandeered from there, and his family had plenty of hiding places and bolt-holes; if he and Thomas showed Callum Brightwell the plans for the press, his father would be the first to recognize the potential. Reproducing books had the potential to increase his black-market business ten thousandfold.
No more black sheep of the family. Jess would be welcomed with open arms, and the Library would never lay a hand on any of them. Callum didn’t hold with Burner theories, but he wasn’t a man to despise a good alliance, either; the Burners would be equally interested in the press, and what it meant for them to break the Library’s stranglehold. It could be done.
If they got away from Rome.
“Frauke,” Thomas said, and the lion immediately climbed to four paws, razor-barbed tail twitching. “Follow.”
Jess took one last look back at Glaudino’s workshop as they threaded their way through the outer room full of silent, still automata. It was an eerie sight, seeing Frauke ghosting silently along behind Thomas between her identical dead automaton twins. It was going to give him nightmares the next time he closed his eyes.
Then they were outside and pushing the door shut, and heading for the last place Jess wanted to face again. The logic of the plan was sound enough: the High Garda truly would be searching for them on the roads leading out of town, stopping carriages and transports, heavily guarding the central Roman Translation Chamber.
But not the heart of their own power. Besides, they’d already have realized that Morgan had disabled the secret Translation Chamber. It was likely they’d consider it totally useless.
Useless things weren’t guarded at a time like this.
“We’ll have to enter through the public side,” Scholar Wolfe said. “There’s a staff door at the back of the Serapeum that leads into the basilica; it might be guarded, but not heavily. They won’t expect us there.”
“What about the lions on the steps? They would have been alerted to us by now,” Morgan said.
Thomas sighed and looked back at Frauke, pacing steadily behind them with her eyes glowing bright, her head held high. “I’m sorry, Frauke. But we will all have to do our part, I think.” He looked scarecrow thin, all large bones and angles, and with his hair and beard cut close he seemed so much older than Jess remembered him. But still gentle.
How he managed that, Jess couldn’t imagine. He’d lost his optimism so long ago, he could hardly remember how it felt, and he’d never been locked in that terrible, dark place. Never been dragged into that torture room.
Thomas seemed all right, but Jess could tell it was a fragile kind of strength, floating on a river of adrenaline and hope. That tide would turn, and then the weight of the darkness would press on him, as it did on Wolfe. Jess knew he’d need to keep good watch on his friend when the shadows came for him.
Rome seemed utterly normal as evening fell, and the sky faded from blue to a greenish teal. Stars emerged in shy peeks, then gaudy sprays. Their little party passed brightly lit restaurants, and Jess’s stomach growled from the scent of roasting meats and fish.
Having Frauke with them made a difference. People made way for them, some with respectful bows, since Glain, Jess, and Santi were all clearly armed High Garda, and the others, except Morgan, wore Scholar’s robes. Morgan walked next to Wolfe, like a favored student or a fond daughter.
And the lion, Frauke, paced behind them, a silent and watchful guardian that warned off even Burner sympathizers from any confrontation. Strange, how good it felt to have that power at his back, at his command. Jess didn’t entirely like it. Too easy to become dependent on it.
But it did make their walk to the Forum efficient.
Standing in the shadow of Mercury’s feet, in virtually the same spot where Burners had died only two days before, Wolfe and Santi assessed the situation of the basilica. As they’d predicted, it did seem quiet. People proceeded in and out of the public area of the Serapeum, and most of the pride of automata patrolled farther down. There was a lion crouched beside the open Serapeum door, scanning those who entered.
“Can you turn it off?” Santi asked Jess, and he nodded.
“I can if it’s distracted.”
“That’s my job,” Santi said.
“Nic—,” Wolfe protested, but Santi cut him off.
“No. I’m the better option. They’ll all have me first on the list; after all, I’m the one who betrayed my own company.” Even as he said it, Jess saw the pain that flashed through him, quickly banished to some dark corner inside. Captain Santi loved the High Garda; he loved the men and women under his command, and the responsibility he held for the lives of Scholars.
“Jess, your job is to turn it off. Let me handle the distraction.”
Jess nodded. Thomas said quietly, “Frauke can help.” That meant Frauke could go in single combat against the other lion, but Jess was well aware that if that happened, things would get much worse, much faster. The rest of the pride would come, and Frauke wouldn’t last long against numbers.