Max frowned and ran to retrieve Nick from where the lymrill was standing on his hind legs to examine a plump were-rat specimen. Seconds later, their pod had reversed out of the gallery and rejoined one of the disk-lined tubes.

They glided along for several minutes until the pod eased to a stop and they stepped out into a clearing where a Grecian temple opened onto a small sunken amphitheater ringed by olive trees. Several dozen young children sat on the steps, listening to an elderly woman who was demonstrating an antique-looking device that resembled a sort of vise. The woman pulled the handle, which turned a large screw that, in turn, lowered a metal-faced woodblock, pressing it tight against a sheet of parchment. The children clapped as the woman removed the parchment and displayed an inked broadsheet.

Max stared at the children. They looked almost identical; dark olive skin, bright blue eyes, and close-cropped black hair.

“Our youngest students, learning the basics,” said Rasmussen, stepping out.

“Are they clones?” asked Miss Boon, squinting at them.

“Of course not,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “We do practice some eugenics, of course, but we have a healthy respect for nature as well. Some genetic traits are controlled; others are left to chance. We find it maximizes advantageous characteristics while still allowing for evolutionary outliers.”

The man smiled and inclined his head deferentially toward Max and David.

“But you wear glasses,” said Miss Boon. “And you’re—”

“Bald.” Dr. Rasmussen smiled. “Totally hairless, actually—alopecia universalis. All evolutionary disadvantages, I know, but it’s a law at the Workshop that only nonengineered humans can attain certain levels of seniority. It’s an important safeguard against the temptations of total optimization. That could lead to dangerous levels of genetic convergence, an evolutionary no-no.”

He led them around the rim of the amphitheater, strolling toward the columned temple.

“Hello, Dr. Rasmussen,” chimed the children.

“Hello, children,” he said, waving amicably. “What have you got there?”

“Gutenberg’s press,” said a proud-faced girl, holding up a sheet of freshly inked type.

“And what’s so special about it?” asked Dr. Rasmussen.

“It used movable, durable type to create a mechanical printing process,” answered the girl.

“So what?” asked Dr. Rasmussen with an irreverent shrug. “Why should we care?”

The girl blushed and sat down. Her immediate neighbor stood and continued.

“A mechanical printing process was much more efficient than handwritten manuscripts. Information and ideas could be disseminated more easily, democratizing knowledge and creating a primitive network effect.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Rasmussen said, clapping. “And what permitted this transformation?”

“A machine,” crowed the children.

“And what is a machine?” asked Dr. Rasmussen, feigning ignorance.

“A machine is any device that transmits or modifies energy to perform useful work,” chimed the children.

“Carry on, then,” said Dr. Rasmussen, waving good-bye and strolling casually toward the temple. Max and David followed behind, glancing back at the children, who had clambered up to the top steps to watch them with open, curious faces.

“Dr. Rasmussen,” called Miss Boon. “Please stop for a moment.”

“What is it, Miss Boon?”

“This tour’s very enlightening, but I’m curious that you’ve never once asked the purpose of our visit.”

“But I know the purpose of your visit, Miss Boon. You seek something secreted here by Elias Bram—something to do with the Book of Thoth.”

“Well, yes,” said the teacher, blinking rapidly. “I happen to think it’s in Aachen. You see, Charlemagne’s tomb is located there, and it might—”

“It is not in Aachen,” said Dr. Rasmussen with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It is here. We have found a chamber constructed by Bram.”

“Have you got it, then?” asked Cooper quietly.

“No,” said Dr. Rasmussen. “Try as we might, we haven’t been able to open the chamber.”

“How’s that?” asked Miss Boon. “It seems you have a machine for everything.”

Dr. Rasmussen smiled coldly. His small, reptilian eyes shifted from her to David.

“We don’t need a machine, Miss Boon,” he said. “We need a Sorcerer.”