Arm of the Sphinx (The Books of Babel, #2)

by Josiah Bancroft

Civilization is like sunshine. Spread it about, and the world blooms with culture, innovation, and fraternity. But focus it all upon one spot, and mankind scorches the earth like a ray from a magnifying glass.

She had grown to enjoy watching the flowers die because she knew the gentlemen’s hope wilted right along with them.

Without military experience to shape and temper them, young men turn into idlers, my lord; they turn into bards. The Gardens are full of them, lounging on elbows with their shirts open, spewing poetry at plain-faced girls. I shudder at the waste of it. We will owe this generation a war. —Inaugurations of the Silk Gardens, Salo

“What happens if you open the door and the hall’s not there?” Voleta asked, pulling at Iren’s arm as she tried to keep pace with the marching stag. “The doors won’t open until the hall arrives.” “What if I broke it down?” “You would fall into a hole, and no one would miss you.”

he had a trustworthy face and a flexible conscience,