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Finally, in a mechanical voice, it said, “You are not of the Archive.”

Each syllable ended with a metallic hum, a bit like a wind-up music box.

“We are not,” Adam said. “But we brought you a book.”

“And we had a key,” Daff added.

The construct did not respond. There were several small motions behind its filigree shell, pieces moving back and forth.

“What is it doing?” Adam whispered.

“Processing,” Jack said. “It’s analog. It needs time.”

“That is correct,” it said eventually.

“We need information,” Jack said. “We’re hoping you can assist with our query.”

Another long pause.

“State your query.”

“We wish to learn about the elven religion,” Adam said.

The construct let out several loud clicks. Adam took a step back and opened his hand.

“Hang on,” Jack said. “It’s calling the others.”

Adam lowered his arm.

Across the stacks, the other constructs dashed into motion. They reached into stacks, opened books. Adam blinked to see the volumes. They weren’t bound in or filled with paper, but gleaming, lustrous metal.

“Is that gold?” Daff asked.

“It makes sense,” Jack said. “It’s elemental, doesn’t tarnish, and soft enough to mark with letters.”

“I’m not getting it back, am I?” Adam asked.

“Probably not.”

Daff gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat with a gloved hand.

The platform floor vibrated. A section rose to eye height. It tilted and shaped itself into a book.

“It looks like Legos,” Daff said.

The dots rose and sank, arranging themselves into complex strings.

“More binary?” Adam guessed.

“Yes.”

“Can you read it?”

“Now that I know it’s based on Sanskrit, yes.” Jack pushed up his glasses and went to work. The pages reshuffled when he reached as if to turn the page.

“He looks very happy,” Adam whispered to Daff.

“He’s in heaven. I bet he tries to build one of those for the school.”