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“Halt,” one of them barks at him. “Halt in the name of Emperor Atticul.”

Jemel does not halt. He keeps walking towards them, greeting them amiably. “Good evening,” he says in Artemian.

They blink at him in the torchlight as he trots towards them. They must surely recognise him. Everyone in the Rose Palace knows him. The veiled acolyte. Effete, hapless, harmless.

“I’m sorry,” Jemel continues, “could you help me? I was looking for the Chamber of the Immurite. I have some things I need to confess. I must have taken a wrong turning and…” he staggers slightly bumping into the passageway wall, feigning disorientation and perhaps some mild drunkenness, although his blood is so high he does not have to feign much. He rights himself and reaches them, “I don’t…” He moves his head as if looking around , confused. “I don’t know where I am.”

“You are in the Rose Palace dungeons, you stupid luxorite,” snarls the closest guard. “Stand aside.”

Another of the guards, in a more lascivious tone, says, “What do you have to confess, priest?”

Another laughs.

Jemel wobbles a little, again it is part mummery, but mostly pure fear. His legs are shaking with no performance needed. He twists and lets himself fall, swooning into the arms of the guard nearest to him.

The guard grunts, taking his weight.

He lets the guard handle him roughly, moving him aside to prop him against the wall.

“Get out of our fucking way, acolyte,” one of them says.

Jemel leans against the wall and nods, “I apologise,” he says, praying this distraction has given Xan and Trysta enough time to flee. As the guards force their way past him and thunder away down the passage. He carefully rights himself and bolts in the opposite direction, heading through the maze of tunnels for the only sanctuary he knows.

He leaves the guards and their torches far behind, racing through the dark, stumbling when there are no candles burning in the passageways recesses. But he knows this route, even in pitch dark tunnels.

He finds the library, breathless, staggering through the iron gates and locking them, before vomiting thin bile in a corner. He cannot remember when he last ate.

He stays for a moment, doubled over, regaining himself. He is safe now.

It’s pitch dark in the library too, but he finds his way by touch, fumbling through the piles of books and papers right to the back until he reaches his work table with the oil lamp, lights it with a tinder and sits down.

He tries to decide on his next move. Before Xan grabbed him he had been meaning to go back to his room, to take the linden box and some of his belongings before he fled the palace, but he cannot do that now. He should probably find his way out from here. The old tunnels that lead down to the Gleam perhaps. But that route is treacherous at night.

He had not imagined he would be able to reach the library before he fled. But as he is here there are probably some books that would be worth taking in lieu of his linden box.

He gives himself some more moments to rest and then stands, and as he does so he sees someone on the other side of the iron gates, holding a torch, clearly snatched from a wall sconce.

He freezes. In the shadows it is impossible to tell who might be there.

“Baraboo,” a voice whispers.

“Xan?”

Jemel takes up the lamp and walks over to the gate. Xan’s blunt face recognisable as Jemel draws near. “What are you doing here?” he hisses, trying not to rattle the key as he opens the lock.

“I came here to find you. To help you. I knew you would come to this place. You are leaving. You would want to take these books.”

“You did not run with Trysta?”

“You did not run when I battled the guards.”

Jemel glances out in the passageways. There is no sign that anyone has followed Xan here.

“You are a fool to stay. The word is out now. There will be guards everywhere in the tunnels looking for you.”

“Then perhaps we should not remain here.”

Jemel relocks the gates. “This place will be safe for a time. So long as none of those guards followed you. Few know this place exists.”.