The red scout ship that had evaded some of Star’s Landing’s best customs agents bypassed the huge, art deco docks that it would have been shepherded into had it given up, and instead skirted around the edge of the financial district until it found a building site on the side of town. Amongst the girders, dirt and piles of slag heap, Wyvern settled down where it could not be seen. Dust blew up around the swivelling engines as they turned to the set position, and then everything fell still.

The hatch, after some minutes, banged open. Jace stormed out with a plaster over the bridge of his nose and two black eyes, hands jammed firmly into his pockets. Blake followed in his dirty, bloodied, torn garments and with no shoes, a purplish bruise ringing his neck. Keil trailed sheepishly behind, Miki on his shoulder.

Nobody spoke. Blake selected a large tarpaulin that might cover the ship, and he and Keil draped it over with the help of the Enfant Robots. It was not perfect, but it would do. Jace watched, tapping his foot, tongue in his cheek.

“First things first,” he said, “we need to find a tailor.”

“The last thing we need is a tailor,” said Keil, baffled.

“Really?” said Jace, raising his eyebrows.

He gestured to Blake, half-dressed in clothes he had been wearing since Silverrim, and then to the blood on his own clothes, and Keil finally changed his mind.

“Yes. A tailor.”

They slipped out of the building site. Keil had been excited to see Star’s Landing, but he realised as he left Wyvern behind that he was intimidated by its perfection. It was white and navy and clean, with straight lines and careful curves and bright glass; it was so far away from Greevo-16, so opposite, that he felt exposed and alone. He wanted to see everything but he wanted to hide from it, too. It was a daunting, confusing feeling. Robots ran errands around people in smooth, clean clothing, simple and streamlined. It made Keil more aware of just how scruffy the crew of Wyvern looked, especially since he clocked the gazes of the passers-by when they walked. Nobody bothered them. Somehow, that was worse.

The tailor gave them a double-take but once he saw the colour of Jace’s money, he bent over himself backwards to reclothe the men. Jace found his favourite style of wide-collared shirt and tight trousers, but the neckline was square and the shirt buttoned with handsome pearlescent rounds. The tailor tried to sell Keil a new waistcoat and failed, so Keil bought one new shirt and put his ancient waistcoat on top.

Blake, however, went into the changing room one person and came out another. The grey cigarette trousers he chose made his legs look longer and the jacket with the tall collar made him look dangerous; it fastened to the left, close to his chin. Keil did not understand why Blake looked so uncomfortable, so nervous, when the outfit had changed him so much. Maybe that was why.

When they left, Jace was in a much better mood. He clapped his hands, smiled and looked around the street.

“Right. Let’s find this library, then.”

It was a relief to return to the main objective. Keil nodded.

“It’s near the centre of town, over there – according to the map,” he said, holding up a small pad.

They turned to the bustling centre, where the skyscrapers became clearer. Somewhere in the cluster was a section of five, rounded towers, stretching into the sky like a hand. The promise of it made Keil giddy.

“I cannot wait,” he said, holding the pad to his chest. “It looks fascinating. The architecture is just superb -”

He was cut off by Jace clapping him on the back.

“Enough boring, Genius,” he said, striding past. “Let’s get going.”

Keil felt his cheeks get warm; he adjusted his glasses and simply nodded. He was getting ahead of himself again. But once Jace was safely in the lead, Blake fell in step with Keil.

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice quietened by his collar. “I doubt he’s ever been in a library in his whole life.”

Keil smiled, ashamed to be laughing at Jace’s misfortune but gratified. Jace turned his head and tutted.

“I heard that,” he said. “I have a doctorate, y’know. A PhD. I spent years in libraries. Do you even know how to read, Moon-Head?”

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“Let’s not fight again, gentlemen,” said Keil.

The library was always quiet, so quiet that Clara could hear herself think clearly. Her thoughts were always narrated to her in a low, excited voice that was not hers and that soothed her. It made her feel strong.

She worked without stopping. She moved from Shakespeare to Keats, noting patterns in both, phrasing, word choice, things other archaeologists would not touch. The words, she knew – the words were crucial to this, somehow. If only she could -

“Jace, honestly, this is a library!”

“Then keep your voice down, Genius!”

Clara frowned, a quiet irritation rising in her throat, and turned to glare at whoever thought coming into a place of work like this was appropriate. There were three men, one tall and handsome, one short and bespectacled, and one... one strange, insubstantial thing, something that seemed uncomfortable with the idea of being a man in a solid body and walked as such. The short one had pink patches on his cheeks and was hurrying after the tall one with urgency.

“You made a pass at a librarian,” he hissed to the tall one.

“She was hot!” the tall one protested.

The strange man with the silver hair followed wordlessly, staring around at the piles and piles of books, at the rib-like shelves, at the light as it fell through the spindly windows above.

And then his eyes hit Clara.

The feeling was immediate, instant, like lightning or a sudden toothache. Clara felt it through her bones, in every pore.

Whoever – whatever – this man was, he was important and brimming with power and rage.

She gasped and turned, terrified of the sensation that was gone as quickly as it had hit, and forced her shaking hands back to her book.

She kept seeing them, though. They wandered the shelves like tourists. Occasionally, the short one would pass with a stack of books. They stayed for hours and, at the end of opening, walked frustrated to the doors. Whatever they were looking for in the library, they could not find.

Clara watched them leave as she packed her bag to go, and the strange man with the silver hair turned to her again. She quickly averted her eyes, trying to pretend she had not noticed him.

The next time she looked up, he was gone.

Jace only paid for one hotel room. The idea had been that he was going to use it alone and tell the others that they had to figure it out themselves, but they trailed into the suite after him like little penniless shadows and he supposed he could let them stay for one night.

“I call on the bed,” he said. “And I’m not sharing with you.”

He pointed firmly at Blake, who scowled, which Jace considered rather rude after the events of the day.

“You broke my nose,” he said, which should have been obvious. It still hurt and he was miserable about it, because despite years of playing a pretty vicious sport he had managed to keep his nose intact, and Blake had managed to ruin it for him in the dumbest way possible.

“You tried to kill me,” Blake said, managing to sound outraged.

Jace figured he hadn’t tried hard enough, because Blake was still capable of speech.

Keil glanced at Miki, who sat on his shoulder, and murmured, “Are they annoying you yet?” The robot didn’t bleep or bloop, just nodded its head solemnly. Keil sported a sympathetic frown. “Me too.”

“Plus,” said Jace, louder than he needed to, “you made us look through every book in that library because you won’t tell us what we’re looking for, so I’m sharing with the genius. At least he sleeps.”

Keil raised his hands in what was supposed to be a placating gesture but only made Jace more annoyed.

“It’s been a long day,” he said. “Let’s just shower and get to bed.”

“You’re not my mother,” Jace said to him, and slammed the bathroom door for good measure.

Keil sighed and tried to be patient. Blake had not moved from beside the door, his face as blank as always. It was difficult to know what he was thinking at any given time and in some ways it was impressive. In others, it unnerved Keil. What kind of person could shutter themselves up so well? What kind of life had Blake lived, where he had to?

Keil settled on the end of the bed to test how bouncy it was. He did not usually get the luxury of a mattress with springs that held. Miki leapt off his shoulder and started bouncing on the bed behind him, giving chirrups of delight every time he caught air.

Blake turned to the robot. “It’s probably time you slept too, Miki.”

Dutifully, Miki hopped off the bed and found a plug socket. He slotted his ears into the holes and, with a green blip on his back, began recharging.

Sleep sounded good, but Keil did not want to impose. There was only a double bed and Blake looked like he needed it more than Keil.

“You can have the bed if you want, Blake -” he began, but Blake shook his head.

“Jace is right. Plus, he snores.”

“He does?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Keil smiled, and the corner of Blake’s mouth twitched.

“Well, where will you sleep?” Keil said.

“Like I said, Jace is right. I don’t need to sleep.” Keil thought that largely untrue, but he did not argue. “I might head back to Wyvern,” Blake said. “Make sure it’s okay.”

“She,” Keil corrected. Blake frowned.

“Sorry?”

“Make sure she’s okay. All ships are female.”

This time, Blake cracked a real smile. Keil felt gratified.

“Don’t wander too far,” he said. “Remember, there’s Green on your head.”

The smile slid, and Blake nodded with a weary sigh. “I know.”

Keil did not know why he had brought it up, because the very thought sent him into an anxious sweat. There was so much danger in everything they were doing, not just for Blake but for him and Jace, too.

“Do you think... is there a gang here?” he said, hoping the answer was no. “People who would hand you in?”

Blake said nothing, but a worry line appeared on his brow and he pursed his lips.

“... I see,” Keil whispered.

“I’m good at being discreet,” said Blake. “I won’t be long.”

Jace reappeared, shirtless, and threw himself backwards onto the bed. Keil had to leap out of the way so he didn’t get flattened as pillows flew up from the mattress and landed haphazardly around a central, content Jace.

“Oh,” he said, as if he had never stopped talking, “and I’m not paying for everything anymore. Just so you know. G’night.”