“Please.” Guan Feng’s face was wet. She had stopped struggling against Lena. “He’ll die.”
“He died five hundred years ago,” Gutenberg said. “This was a collection of memories, nothing more.”
“You’re locking the book.” More than anything, I felt disoriented. Off balance, as if I was falling in every direction. Desperation built like steam—desperation that belonged not to me, but to the man bound to that book. I heard a whisper in my head, but I didn’t understand the words. And then the struggle simply stopped, replaced by resignation and a sense of acceptance.
A second later, there was nothing.
“Very good.” Gutenberg capped his pen and returned it to his pocket.
I reached over to touch the book. Magically, it was cold and dead. “He’s gone.”
Guan Feng wiped her face, the movement violent. “His name was Lan Qihao. He was a poet. He was seventeen years old the day your automatons attacked. His parents were farmers. He lost his sister at the age of twelve, during a flood.”
She stared at the book, her eyes unfocussed. “He was in love with another student, a girl of nineteen, from Hopei. She was from a riverboat family. They spoke of running away together, but neither would dishonor their studies. When shelved, their books were always placed next to each other.”
“A touching story,” Gutenberg said. He drew a thin paperback from within his vest and turned in a slow circle.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I want to be certain Harrison hasn’t left any of his pets behind to eavesdrop.” He clapped the book shut. “Isaac, I’m told you had acquired one of these books when you and Lena escaped from August Harrison.”
With his attention on me, he didn’t see the sudden panic on Guan Feng’s face, nor the desperate pleading in her eyes.
“It was stolen during the fight,” said Nidhi. “While the dragon distracted Isaac and Lena, a second creature entered the library. A metal dog or wolf. It snatched the book and tried to attack Guan Feng. Lena was able to fend it off.”
I had never been a good liar, but Nidhi was amazing. Perhaps a second and a half of real time had passed while I battled the dragon and moved people to safety. There was no way Lena had fought anything during that time. Yet as I listened to Nidhi, I almost believed her.
“I see.” Gutenberg somehow managed to shove the oversized book into the back pocket of his trousers. Another trick I would love to learn one of these days.
“Harrison and Bi Sheng’s students aren’t the only threat.” I told him about the Army of Ghosts. “They’ve infested Harrison’s insects, and they did the same to Bi Wei when Lena restored her. We’ve got to assume everyone he and his dryad restores will be similarly infected.”
Gutenberg frowned. “Victor didn’t create his insects to house such things. Every documented encounter has involved human beings.”
“He did make them telepathic, though,” I said. “When we spoke to Victor’s ghost, he said at least one insect had gone missing overseas. It was supposed to be seeking out magic.”
“We’ll have to see about finding that lost insect,” said Gutenberg. “In the meantime, our priority is August Harrison. The Ghost Army is using him. They helped him learn how to build monsters for his protection, and how to restore the students of Bi Sheng, all as a way to provide vessels for their own return.”
“Harrison knows where I live,” I said. “Nidhi, too.”
“We have both places under observation. For now though, we’ll remain here.”
“Here?” I stared. “But he’s already attacked the library once. If they return—”
“Stop thinking so defensively, Isaac. Small and damaged though it may be, this library is our strongest fortress.”
“Small?” I bristled, but held my tongue before I could say things I would regret. On a per capita basis, the Copper River Library had more books than just about any other library in the country. I watched in silence as he browsed the broken shelves, selecting a book seemingly at random. He fanned the pages, and Guan Feng dropped to the floor unconscious. Nidhi crouched to touch the girl’s neck.
“She’s alive,” Gutenberg said, pulling out his gold pen once more. As he moved toward Guan Feng, understanding twisted my stomach.
All libriomancers knew Gutenberg could lock books, sealing away the most dangerous magic. Only a few of us knew he could do the same to people, suppressing any magic they might possess. He had even been known to wipe people’s memories of magic, and to erase them from the memories of others. Gutenberg argued that it was the most humane way to deal with magical criminals, and he wasn’t entirely wrong. You couldn’t exactly send them off to a mundane prison, which meant the only other alternative would be to kill them.
To most of us, death would be preferable. “She doesn’t have any magic.”
“Are you certain?” asked Gutenberg.
“What she does have is a connection to Bi Wei,” I continued. “A connection we don’t understand. Bi Wei appeared sane when we escaped. For all we know, Guan Feng is the one helping her to hold on to that sanity, and to resist the influence of the Ghost Army. Do you know what severing that bond might do?”
He pursed his lips. “When did you learn such caution, Isaac?”
“About the fourth time I nearly eradicated myself from existence.” I watched his pen as if it were a loaded gun. “Why did you try to wipe out the students of Bi Sheng?”
Gutenberg slid the pen back into his pocket. “Do you think I was the first to attempt to build an organization like Die Zwelf Porten?re? There were many guilds and circles of magic-users throughout the world. Some were only too happy to join with me. Others viewed the Porters as a group of impertinent upstarts with no respect for the laws of magic who threatened the proper order.”
“It sounds like you threatened more than ‘the proper order.’” My throat was dry. Provoking Gutenberg was near the top of my list of stupid ideas, just below throwing snowballs at a wendigo.
“The Archbishop Adolph von Nassau was the first to challenge me. He sent his soldiers to burn my press when he learned what I could do. Two of my apprentices died in the blaze. I would have been killed as well if not for the protection I gained from the grail. This was no ordinary fire, Isaac. The flames were alive, sent by magic. After five hundred years, I can still see the smoke pouring forth, like the black breath of hell itself.” He shrank inward. “I pulled Peter from the fire, but I was unable to save him.”
He brushed his sleeves, visibly regaining his composure. “That was the first of many such attacks. We were at war. My discovery meant the mastery of magic was no longer limited to a handful of individuals. Hundreds, even thousands now had the potential to use such power, and to challenge those who once thought themselves untouchable.” He pursed his lips in amusement. “The great conquistador Juan Ponce de Leon took particular offense at my presumption, at least in the beginning.”
“
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Bi Sheng crafted a primitive form of book magic. I took libriomancy to its full potential.”
“Bi Sheng’s ‘primitive’ magic preserved his followers for five hundred years,” Lena pointed out.
He waved her comment off with a sharp gesture. “The original twelve Porters were under constant assault. Some campaigns were waged through rumor and gossip, seeking to destroy our reputations in both the magical and the mundane worlds. Other practitioners arrived to challenge us directly. The only way to prove the legitimacy of my art was to accept and defeat all such challenges.”
“Bi Wei never challenged you,” I said quietly. “She knew nothing of Porters or European libriomancy. Her ancestor’s magic showed her the stars, and you sent your automatons to kill her.”
“Did she tell you about the 
?”
The words translated to “dark afflictions.” I shook my head.
“They were similar to Victor’s insects in some respects. The are small creatures of folded paper, made from the pages of books penned by Bi Sheng’s students. They stowed away on Portuguese trading vessels and eventually made their way to Germany. They came during the night, cutting flesh so cleanly their victims never even stirred. The wounds resisted magical healing. I watched five of my students suffer for weeks, their wounds turning septic.” He unbuttoned his vest and the top of his shirt, then pulled back the collar to display a thin purple scar over his shoulder. “Even I never fully healed.”
