Hood grabs Madeleine by the hand and drags her across to the balcony, pointing down into the courtyard to alert her to the whereabouts and current condition of Helmet. “Mechanicus!” he rasps again.

“What! Oh, you’ve got to be joking!” Madeleine says, shocked at first and trying to process the sight before her, along with Hood’s single word explanation. “I don’t think I can take any more madness,” she says, her usual equanimity starting to fray around the edges. As she watches, with a mixture of fascination, horror and frustration, the body of Helmet slowly stumbles, rising and falling to its knees as it feels out the ground around itself trying to locate Helmet’s helmet-head. Hood calmly puts his other hand on top of the one of Madeleine’s he’s already holding and pats it reassuringly, tilting his head towards the door, indicating that they should go, before the time afforded by Hy’Jinx’s distraction and the current friction between the troops dissipates.

Turning from the balcony Hood and Madeleine quickly make their way to the wooden door which, having no reason to be locked, isn’t. Turning a ringed iron handle, it swings open on well oiled hinges and the two step inside, over a raised stone step, closing the door behind them.

A proper library is like any other proper library: a place where silence gestates, permeates and eventually threatens to seep into the very architecture of the building itself, and, once there, any would be hard pressed to get rid of it. The Library of Aspartemane is no exception. Steeped for centuries in silence, the Library of Aspartemane resonates with it; it drips from every shelf, lies upon desks and tables, and hangs in the air like…well, like silence.

The door through which they step leads onto an internal mezzanine which hugs the walls of the building and looks out and down across a central hall, filled with rows of large oak bookcases which run its length, separated by heavy oak desks. Four long, thick iron chains descend at intervals from the ceiling, ending in large iron and glass lanterns which hover about ten feet above a stone floor overlaid with an immense woven carpet. The lanterns are on a level with the mezzanine and are not lit, but dawn light is beginning to stream through a set of stained glass windows located in the east wall, causing coloured beams to cut the air, illuminating the hall and revealing spinning dust motes that drift and glide languidly like jelly fish in a vast dark ocean.

“It’s like the world when it snows!” marvels Madeleine, the atmosphere almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Hood is not sure whether she’s talking about the dust or the silence or both, but she is obviously deeply moved.

“Helmet,” rasps Hood, by way of snapping Madeleine out of her reverie and spurring them both to move with greater haste. Wrought iron stairs lead down at either side and, descending, Hood and Madeleine make their way to the main entrance, and what looks like a bizarre and rather complicated mechanism that forms part of the door and seems responsible for the placement of a variety of thick iron bars which secure it.

“Whoa!” says Madeleine, taken aback by what she is looking at, but Hood seems unfazed. “You know I’d heard about this, but never had the curiosity to come and see it for myself,” she says.

Unslinging his satchel, and flipping open its cover Hood ruffles through the pages of his journal without removing it, locating the loose folded parchment he secured there several days before. Opening up the parchment, and holding it in one hand, a small light orb rises from the palm of his other. Scanning it over Hood locates what he is looking for, carefully studying it for a few moments before making a clicking sound with his tongue. Extinguishing the orb and placing the parchment into a fold in his smock, Hood turns once more to the door.

Stepping up to the contraption, Hood slides a variety of small metal protrusions along curved arcs and the metal bars slowly retract as the central hub of the mechanism begins to rotate. As it does this, a metallic latching sound - clackit clack - emanates from within and the double doors open inward to reveal Helmet standing before them, his helmet-head tucked underneath one arm, his other arm raised as if about to knock on the door. Behind him several thousand guards, still oblivious to what’s happening at the library are continuing to jostle and argue whilst their leaders along with Commander Perriam, who has now officially arrived on the scene, are trying to calm things down.

Hurrying Helmet inside, Hood pushes the doors shut and once more fiddles with the mechanism, causing it, with a ratcheting clicking sound, to seal the doors shut.

All breathe a sigh of relief.

Hood reclaims his satchel, hooking the straps over his shoulders.

Helmet clears his throat…or, at least, makes the sound of doing so…or, at least, the sound of someone pretending to clear their throat emanates from the disembodied helmet-head clutched under the arm of the headless automaton. “I suppose, I have some explaining to do…”

Helmet walks over to the nearest study table, turns a chair about, places his helmet-head on the table and sits down facing Hood and Madeleine.

“…and I would love to but unfortunately I am sworn to secrecy. Disclosing certain facts and information at this juncture would be hazardous to your greater destiny. Simply know that I am deeply committed to your cause and indebted to you and will serve you wholeheartedly with loyalty and conviction. By my word as a Knight of the Order of Order I shall protect you and your companions henceforth and ensure your safety in any endeavour that you pursue, moreover I will make it my goal to aid…

“Okay Helmet,” says Madeleine, holding up a hand by way of attempting to prevent Helmet’s verbosity from continuing any further. “We get the picture, although…I’m now intrigued. When you say ‘I’ what exactly are you referring to?“

“Let us just say for the moment that my presence is firmly ensconced within this mechanical apparatus and that it affords me the ability to interact with this world.”

“And what about letting the Anghorkan’s into the city? Did you do that?”

“Er, I’m afraid I did yes, but it was a necessity that had to occur but beyond that I can speak of it no more - though at some future point in time, I will explain everything. There is too much at stake to become a blabber mouth.”

Madeleine raises an eyebrow. “Hood?” she asks, turning to her friend.

Hood circles his hands in front of his chest, then slams a fist into an upturned palm before slicing the air in front of him with the fist hand now turned flat and palm down. He balls the other hand into a fist, bangs it upon his heart and then points to Helmet and shrugs.

Madeleine translates: “Secret’s are dangerous but we trust you. You have a good heart, if you even have a heart.”

“My essence is pure. But I feel slightly out of sorts. Would one of you be able to provide assistance?” The automaton picks up its helmet-head and holds it in front of itself by way of explanation.

Hood wanders over and peers carefully at the open neck of Helmet. His eyes and mind lighting up at the intricate complexities that are whirring below. Small metal gears spin and turn, some smoothly, some in discrete jumps. Some oscillate back and forth. Tiny little pistons race up and down - a mechanical dance of well oiled and tuned perfection. Peering deeper, a faint rosy glow emanates up from somewhere deep within Helmet’s chest. Hood turns his attention back to the job in hand. Around the neck joint a set of calipers and ringed mounts are housed. Hood, taking Helmet’s helmet-head, a seriously heavy item, places it back on the table then climbs up on top, lifting the helmet and gradually easing it into place, circulating it back and forth, working it into grooves and mounts.

“Err, Hood,” says Madeleine, jabbing a curved finger gently at Helmet’s helmet-head.

Hood looks down, takes a step back and, realising what he’s done, starts giggling to himself, a strange recurrent rasp which causes his shoulders to rise and fall with merriment. Helmet’s helmet-head is currently on, but back-to-front.

“Maybe we should leave it like that, it could be an improvement.” Madeleine says dryly.

“I think perchance that this would not engender safety nor full functionality of this suit so I would hope, nay recommend that…”

“We get it Helmet, don’t worry. Hood’ll sort it out.”

Hood goes back to tinkering, finding protrusions similar to those on the library door mechanism to slide and re-release Helmet’s helmet-head, replacing it shortly after in the correct orientation.

“Ah excellent. Fully restored and ready for our next encounter!” Helmet stands, his head swivelling left and right as if he’s testing it to make sure that it’s in full working order. Seemingly confident that all is well, his head goes through a complete three hundred and sixty degree rotation and back again, after which he raises his hands also, opening and closing his fingers, then performs some strange contortion of his arms that a normal human being simply could not do. “Marvellous, a master of control again! Many thanks young master Hood. Okay what’s next?”

“You can move all your joints in that manner?”

“Oh yes, this suit is a masterclass in engineering - in fact to be honest I don’t think that I myself, even taking into account the vast amount of escapades I have enjoyed, have fully ascertained the precise limitations and capabilities of this beautifully constructed apparel. Although when I had that encounter with the Barblefloose I believe the limits were indeed tested! Ha ha!…Uh hum! Yes, anyway, I digress. How and in what manner are we to proceed?”

“I believe we find Hood’s book…if it’s actually here.” Madeleine says, her tone laced with the possible ironic notion that after all that they’ve gone through it might not actually be present.

“And if it isn’t?” enquires Helmet earnestly.

Madeleine turns towards Hood. “Words will be spoken,” she says darkly.

Hood, climbs down from the table and pulling up a chair for himself, slaps his hand on the table twice in quick succession, indicating that the others should join him. Taking the parchment that he stole from Arkanthor out once more, he places it before himself, smoothing it down onto the table, trying to overcome the multiple rips, bends and tears that cover it. Madeleine and Helmet gather round and peer closely at the notes and images that fill the ragged page. After a moment Hood turns it over to reveal its reverse side, similarly covered.

Madeleine looks at Hood questioningly.

“Clues,” rasps Hood, stabbing a finger on to the parchment.

“And here I thought that we were just going to locate the correct stack and shelf - at worst have to use a ladder.”

Hood shakes his head.

“A treasure hunt!” exclaims Helmet, “Fantastic!”