Stepping into the mist, Nico felt icy tendrils curl around his skin.

The next moment he was inside the Library’s impossibly vast antechamber — about one hundred yards wide and a quarter mile long. Colossal marble statues were arrayed at intervals along the walls, representing the Library’s Collections. A Globe signified World & Geography; a Sage holding a scroll denoted Natural Philosophy; an easel stood for Visual Arts; and so on.

Leo and Gianna materialized to either side of Nico. Gianna oohed appreciatively, her gaze turned up at the ceiling.

“Are those …” her voice trailed off.

“Stars, yes.”

The ceiling had been bewitched to display a star-studded night sky. Scholars milled about, many of them peering up at the sky using spyglasses and taking notes.

“And are they …”

“Divining portents, yes. Or so I presume.”

“I don’t recognize these constellations,” Leo said. “And I know the stars like the back of my hand. The hell are we looking at?”

“If I’m not mistaken,” Nico said, “those are the stars we would see if not for the sun. See?” He pointed to a dark void with a purple rim, right where he would expect the sun to be.

“Impressive,” said Gianna, awestruck.

“Indeed,” said Nico. He led them across the hall past clusters of scholars and mages, including one who was dictating notes aloud. His quill, suspended in midair, dutifully transcribed them in a leather notebook.

At the end of the hall was an immense iron-banded oak door, flanked by two burly sentries. Beside them, a crimson-robed clerk sat by a tall lectern. The clerk was poring over some tome, furiously taking notes. He seemed conscious of Nico's presence but did not deign to call on him.

So Nico waited.

And waited.

A tense moment stretched awkwardly. Finally the clerk slammed his quill on his desk.

“Well? Are you mutes, or are you mimes? Speak!”

“If it please your eminence, we have Letter of Imprimatur from Duke Ferdinand II.” Nico affected a Kerch accent; the Kerch called everyone by honorifics, and frequently omitted articles like ‘a’ and ‘the.’

“It does not please me, but it is my duty nonetheless. Proffer the writ.”

Nico held out the Invitation, and the nearest sentry took it and passed it to the clerk. He quickly skimmed it.

“You seek a cure for bluebruise fungal rot? Ha!” he scoffed. “Certainly a matter of national importance.”

“Duke Ferdinand thinks so. Bamboo is a staple export of the Kerch economy—”

“I needn't endure a treatise on the Kerch economy. If the duke is satisfied, then so am I. You may enter.”

Nico sketched a low bow, in the obsequious Kerch manner. Leo and Gianna did their best to imitate him.

The two sentries began to open the oak doors, but as Nico strode forward the clerk stopped him.

“Wait. You're unarmed?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You misunderstand me. Why are you unarmed? Do you know nothing about Library? There are bibliofauna. Nasty vermin.”

Manifestations, Nico thought.

“Should we—”

“You should visit the armory. Qual will escort you. We have our own stock of weapons you may choose from. Now begone.” He waved his hand as though repelling an insect.

Qual, the burly sentry, conducted them through the oak doors and took them to the armory. Compared to the Pathfinders dojo, the Library’s armory was quite lackluster — mostly just cudgels and dull steel swords. Leo was scandalized by the paucity of options, but he kept his silence.

When they were suitably armed, the sentry led them into the Atrium, which was somehow even larger and more impressive than the antechamber. Alchemical globes were suspended from varying heights, shedding warm amber light. Desks were arrayed in neat rows and columns, and scholars (emerald robes) and mages (cobalt) toiled at their studies while scrivs (crimson) bustled around, carting books to and fro.

Beyond lay the shelves, looming like a dark and forbidding forest.

Nico led the way, venturing into the heart of the Library. The shelves were like sheer cliffs, impossibly tall, rising above into a cloudy mist. Wheeled ladders were perched against them at precarious angles, and the air was musty with stale scent of dry parchment. There were mustard-orange crystals on some of the endcaps. Wards, Nico thought, to control or at least contain the depredations and vicissitudes of unbound magic.

The wards were interesting, but the books themselves were downright fascinating. They were positively saturated with magic. Many gleamed or vibrated, or made tinny high-pitched noises. Nico watched one thick, dusty leather-bound tome decamp from its shelf and take flight, its cover fluttering, before settling snugly on the opposite shelf.

He stopped to examine it. It was Zirce's Brief Narrative Atlas of the Discovered World. As he fingered the spine it wiggled contentedly.

“There are no signs on the shelves, no guideposts, and while the books are labeled they’re all out of order. How do we find anything?”

“Well,” Leo said, licking his lips and glancing around, “this must be the first Collection. Philosophy, I think.” The Library was divided into a dozen Collections; Collections were then sub-divided into Series.

“No, this is the World & Geography Collection,” corrected Gianna. “Everything to do with maps and terrain.”

“Shall we ask a scriv for help?” asked Leo.

“Sure, if we see one…”

They had been wondering for some time, and so far they’d been entirely alone. And while Leo, a trained ranger, had an immaculate sense of direction, he now had the unsettling feeling that he'd already lost the way. He could not tell from where they had come, or how to return to the Atrium.

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If Nico shared his feelings, it did not worry him overmuch. He continued strolling aimlessly, propelled mainly by curiosity, allowing himself to be drawn deeper and deeper into this strange and wonderful library. There were more than just books. Some shelves were stacked with artifacts, like enchanted astrolabes and spyglasses. Then there were exhibits for exotic magicks like nautomancy, the magic of nautical navigation.

It was within that exhibit that they uncovered a Manifestation: an ice block that had thoroughly encased one of the bookshelves.

Leo put a palm to it.

"Azrael's balls. It's cold.”

“Yeah,” said Gianna, “ice tends to be that way.”

“Leo’s right,” said Nico. “It is unusual. Manifestations are typically illusory in nature. They may appear visually identical, but they are only superficial facsimiles, they don’t exhibit all natural properties. But this…” Nico ran his own finger across it, feeling beads of cold water, “this is indistinguishable from real ice. It proves what we already suspected: the ambient mana within the Library is incredibly strong. I shudder to think what lay ahead.”

“Manticores,” said Leo, beaming. “The book I read said there’d be manticores.”

“Why are you smiling about that?” said Gianna.

“I've always wanted to slay a manticore.”

“Are you soft in the head, Lee? Sometimes it's like you crave mortal peril.”

“It's not like I crave mortal peril. I crave mortal peril.”

“You're weird.”

Leo shrugged. “Merely fearless. I believe in my shelf.”

“Huh?”

“Library pun.”

Gianna ignored that. “Nytios says the man with no fear is a man with no brain.”

“Well, Nytios never wielded Whisper.” Instinctively, he reached for his ensorcelled longsword, and was disappointed to not find it. Both his saber Ice and his falchion Wraith were dependable weapons, but Whisper made him feel nigh-invincible. Leaving his three beautiful swords behind on the Mint felt like abandoning children.

His reverie was interrupted when he felt a chill breeze tickle his ankle.

“You feel that?”

“I do,” said Gianna. “A draft?”

“I don’t think so…” Leo said. He followed its source, crossing down the aisle.

They came to a massive set of double oak doors which were slightly ajar. Leo pushed it open a little wider.

In a pitch black room, a loose configuration of scholars were arranged in a circle. A child lay supine on the floor, seemingly unconscious. The scholars were chanting some guttural incantation.

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Wokjulu wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

And as they chanted, a piercing ray of golden light beamed up from the center of their circle. Rising up from it was a silver moon. No, Nico thought, not a moon — an eye. An eye resting on a crooked black stalk, its vertical iris slowly scanning the room.

The smell of sulfur hung thick in the air.

“Azrael above,” Leo said. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“Excuse me! That door must remain closed.”

Nico turned to find a scriv stomping toward them, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. He was a lithe man with a pointed chin and a hawk-like nose… and he had a crescent-moon tattoo on his temple.

He was Kerch.

Fuck, thought Nico. The one Kerchman in Capri is the one scriv I manage to find. Our disguise is blown.

A moment of cultural recognition flashed between them. The scriv’s face softened into a smile.

“Zi lok Kerch, ke?” You’re from Kerch, no?

“Vo,” Nico replied. Yes.

“Kin lok bot du rep?”

Nico was stumped. He knew some basic Kerch phrases and greetings but his proficiency was nowhere near fluent. He sketched another low bow and muttered an earnest apology in Common: “Forgive me, your eminence. Kerch is the place of my birth, but I was apprenticed to a merchant at a young age, and my command of the tongue has diminished.”

“You've done no injury. Do not apologize. What's your name? I'm Ari.”

“Émeric.”

“It's rare to meet a Kerch in the Myriad Isles… let alone three. Your partner, is he—”

“—A mute,” said Nico, speaking before Leo was tempted to reply in his own mangled Kerch, lest he betray their disguise.

“Is he? I swear I heard him speaking just moments ago.”

“Jibber jabber. He speaks occasionally but the words are meaningless.”

“Ah, a dimwit.”

Nico suppressed a smile. “A dimwit, yes, but an able swordsman and a loyal companion.”

“And the girl…?”

“I'm a dwarf,” said Gianna.

“Also dimwitted, as you see“ Nico said, mussing her pink hair. “The two are siblings, and they share the same terrible affliction. I found them in Kratos.” Kratos was one of the smaller Kerch islands.

“Sad. Terribly sad. You're from Kratos then? We must be far-flung brothers! What is your surname?”

Curse my luck, thought Nico. The disguise is cracking.

“It’s, well — you’ll never believe this, but —”

But as he fumbled for a reply, fate intervened. A pair of scrivs came around the corner, bearing a stretcher on which a third scriv lay rigid and motionless, either dead or incapacitated.

“Another attack!” said the scriv at the fore of the stretcher. “That marks the fourth this week.”

“The basilisk again?” asked Ari.

“What else? We need reinforcements. We need Ambrose. This is beyond our capabilities.”

“I'll speak to the Archscriv. Get Paolo to the infirmary.”

As they marched away, Nico seized the opportunity to change the subject. “The Library has a basilisk?”

“Basilisks — two. And many more creatures besides. They are the Library's Manifestations. Are you familiar with them?”

Nico nodded. “We saw a bookshelf encased in ice.”

“Yes,” Ari nodded grimly. “Right over there — Collection 1, Arctic Series. A pity too — there's a rare and valuable book about Glaciomancy on that shelf. I doubt we'll ever recover it.”

He shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Our losses continue to multiply, Manifestations grow and encroach on new Collections, and more and more books become inaccessible. We are but hapless gardeners trying in vain to prune our plot.”

“I see,” said Nico. “So… how do you find things in here? I don't see any signs, and the books are out of order.”

“You must use the Index. No one showed you? Here, follow me.”

He led them briskly to one of the mustard-orange crystals on the endcaps that Nico had mistaken for wards. When Ari waved a hand in front of it, a small table appeared, complete with a small stack of square parchment, a peacock-feather quill, and an inkwell.

“How does it work?” Nico said.

“How? Magic. Simply write what you seek — be it a Collection, a subject, a book. Whatever.”

In keeping with his assumed identity, Nico dipped the quill in ink and wrote bluebruise fungal rot.

As he lifted the quill, a map blossomed on the parchment. Their present location was marked by a fat crimson dot, and teal-colored footprints marched a sinuous path that led to Collection 3 (Flora & Fauna), Section 59 (Tropical Fungi). The path was marked by milestones and landmarks to help guide the way.

“It’s a circuitous route,” said Ari, “but a safe one. The Index helps you steer clear of condemned regions.”

“Condemned regions?”

“Areas of the library that have been overrun and overtaken by deadly Manifestations. I fear there are large swathes of our dear institution that we’ve ceded to the feral spirits that lurk within.”

“Very well. Any other advice?”

“Yes. If you do not heed my previous advice, at least heed this: avoid Collection 5.”

“What is it?”

“A tumor,” he said. “A malignant tumor that is spreading its disease far and wide.”

“What subject?”

He spoke the word with venom: “Fiction.”