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Her missing book; Lautric and his book of venoms in the Sumbra Wing; Lautric borrowing Sumbra books from Vittoria.

Josefa’s missing work; Edmund Ferrow offering her an alliance in the Palissy Auditorium; Josefa’s locked door.

And the wild cards: the body in East Hemwick; the threat uttered outside Fern’s door on her first evening in Carthane; Fern’s missing mentor; Lautric crossing the atrium in the middle of the night smelling of frost and mud and caraway.

Were any of those things connected?

It was getting more difficult to link all these events. There was only one thing Fern knew for sure: she could not forget to carry her dagger with her everywhere. She could not tellwhyshe felt the instinct to do so, but she knew better than to ignore it.

Back in the Mage Tower, she checked the common room. It was deserted but for Dr Essouadi and Srivastav, who were drinking cups of fragrant tea and chatting amiably by the fireplace. Fern greeted them but did not tarry and went up the stairs to the apartments.

She had just stopped in front of Josefa’s door and raised her hand to knock when she noticed the envelopes in the tray next to the door. She frowned and picked up the letters, flipping them over. They were the same cream envelopes with the seals of golden wax as she had received that very morning.

The assignment results and the invite to the Palissy Auditorium. Both unopened and seemingly untouched.

Fern glanced up and down the corridor. All the other wooden trays, just like hers, were empty. Fern’s stomach twisted. She placed the letters back in their tray and knocked firmly on Josefa’s door. No answer.

She knocked again and waited for several minutes, pacing the corridor, the plush carpet swallowing the sounds of her footsteps. Nothing happened. Josefa was not there. Of course, she might still be in the library somewhere, working on her research, too busy to return to her apartment.

None of it should be particularly worrisome, and yet Fern was full of unease. It was almost midnight, and a candidate had already been attacked by a creature of Sumbra. Nobody would risk being out in the library too late, especially since the second assignment had not yet been announced.

A weight was descending upon Fern’s chest and remained there as she turned her back on Josefa’s door.

Back in her own apartment, she greeted Inkwell and put her things down on the corner of her desk. What could she do? Go back to the library and look for Josefa? It was a poor plan: she of all people knew how impossibly vast Carthane was.

Should she go find Housemistress Sarlet, then? She might be able to tell Fern if she had seen Josefa earlier. Fern checked her watch. It was almost ten o’clock; Inkwell was already settling on his little windowsill cushion. Would Sarlet even still be in her office at such a late hour? There was only one way to find out. Arming herself with her dagger, Fern left the Mage Tower once more.

Housemistress Sarlet wasn’t inher office; Fern bumped into her when she was halfway there. She appeared around a corner, two Sentinels flanking her. She wore her hair in its tight knot, her plain dark clothing and storm-grey sash. Her malachite eyes lacerated Fern with an impatient look.

“It’s late,” she said. “Can I help you, Miss Sullivan?”

Fern had worked with enough cantankerous librarians to remain unfazed by Sarlet’s abrupt tone.

“I was wondering if you’d seen Miss Novak today.”

Sarlet raised an eyebrow. “Miss Novak? Whatever for?”

“She was having some issues with her door yesterday.”

“Her door,” Sarlet repeated, tilting her head sharply. “No. This is the first I’ve heard of this matter. What happened?”

“Her key did not seem to be working, as though the lock had been tampered with. A hermetic spell, perhaps, or—“

“No.” Sarlet’s voice was a knife. “My Sentinels would have sensed a hermetic spell—they are forbidden. Here in Carthane, one must have the key to the lock they wish to open, or else leave it shut.”

She pierced Fern with her eyes, and Fern suddenly got the impression that Sarlet was trying to warn her, or even threaten her.

Did Sarlet suspectFernof interfering with Josefa’s door?

“Whatever happened to her lock,” Fern said, “Miss Novak was unable to access her room last night and stayed the night in my apartment so that she could come see you in the morning. I haven’t seen her since, and she hasn’t returned to her room yet, so I feared—I thought perhaps you might be able to help—or that it might be a cause for alarm.”

Sarlet looked at both Sentinels. It struck Fern as odd: the Sentinels were constructs of wax and magic, little more than corporeal incantations. They had no eyes for Sarlet to meet, and yet she looked at them the way one might exchange a glance with a colleague. She turned back to Fern.

“You need not concern yourself with this matter, Miss Sullivan. Miss Novak is most likely in the library somewhere. Rest assured my Sentinels will find her. Leave the matter with me and return to the Mage Tower. I’m certain you shall find Miss Novak back in her room come morning.”

Sarlet’s tone was as sharp as usual, but it held a conviction within it that comforted Fern. She was correct, of course: Josefa was probably working somewhere, andthe small army of Sarlet’s Sentinels would surely find her.

Without waiting for her to say anything else, Sarlet bid her goodnight and walked away, her footsteps cracking across the marble, the Sentinels flanking her like two black fortresses.