Paper and Fire (The Great Library) (12 page)

He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. Or in him. “What else should I think about? Our bright future here?”

“No need, because we don’t have one. Wouldn’t, even if it had nothing to do with Thomas. I lost one soldier for good and another to serious injury. I almost lost a Scholar
.
That was Feng’s point to me today: how poorly I’d performed, and how much of a
favor
it would be for him to recommend me for advancement. If I accept that favor, he’ll own me. Nothing’s worth that.” It hurt her to say it—Jess knew that—but he saw no sign of it in her expression. Tough girl, Glain. And now she faced losing her dreams, and did it with the same courage as always.

He felt a tug of deep respect for her in that moment. Perhaps even a little love.

“At least we’ll be able to meet with Khalila and Dario easily, if we’re not constantly on duty.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You want to put
me
face-to-face with Dario? I might have to punch him before I trust him.”

“You can trust him.” At her look, he shrugged. “I know. Still surprises me, too.”

Glain sat back with a creak of wood and crossed her arms. She was out of uniform now, in a simple loose white shirt over formfitting trousers, with the same boots she always seemed to favor.
If she’s lost her place, she’s lost her world,
Jess thought. “You know, our odds are so bad as to be worthless. You and me, Khalila, Dario, Wolfe, Santi—
if
we can rely on Santi, who’ll have to choose his own loyalties—against the Library? It’s ridiculous.”

She was right. Even corrupted, the Library still commanded the absolute loyalty of tens of thousands of good men and women, and had the reverence of billions. That was a testament to what it
should
be, though. Not what it was. That was the dream that Jess loved, really—the dream of the Library as a shining beacon of knowledge to the world.

But a light that cast so many shadows.

“It’s getting late,” Glain said, which jerked him out of his musings
and, as he blinked, back to the cool evening of the room. Dinnertime was fast approaching. “You’ll talk to Dario? About the Black Archives?”

“I will.” He groaned as he stood. His body was sore again, and all the older bruises and cuts clamored for attention. “Are you going to the dining hall?”

Glain smiled very briefly. It was a rare enough event, and it made her almost human. Almost pretty. “Are you asking to escort me, like some girl you’re romancing? Jess. Don’t waste your time. I’m extremely unavailable.”

“Tragic,” he shot back. “Be serious. You know I’ve got—”

“Morgan,” she finished for him, when he stopped. “Yes. You do enjoy a challenge. Now she’s a princess locked in a tower. That makes you want her even more, doesn’t it? I think you’ve read too many tales of knighthood, Jess.”

That effectively silenced him while he processed the words; a flush of anger ran through him, followed by a chill of something like understanding. Was that why he loved Morgan? Because of the
challenge
? He couldn’t deny that it might be a part of it. Damn Glain and her sharp eyes. Challenge and guilt.

“I’m not saying that because I’m jealous,” Glain continued, still with that maddening, calm smile. “You and me? No. Agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now there’s no confusion.”

How like Glain, to take action to dispel
any
uncertainty that might exist, however awkward that might be. The cold blast of it was shocking, but it did clear the air.

“Remind me never to be polite to you again,” he said, and she laughed this time, came around, and draped a comrade’s arm around his shoulders.

“Of course I will.”

D
ays passed, and other squads finished their final tests. Recruits were dismissed or assigned to new duties, and their wing of the barracks emptied and filled with another quota of aspiring High Garda soldiers.

But there was no word on their future. That was worrying, and Jess inquired—carefully—among other soldiers. There were a few examples of squads whose fate had been held in suspense for a while, but only a few, and almost all of those had ended up dismissed. The delays, Jess thought, had to do with debates within the higher ranks.

Maybe Captain Santi was fighting for them. And losing.

Jess was just as glad, because he spent his days chasing down obscure information through the Codex, and nights with Red Ibrahim and Anit, looking through rare volumes for anything that might give small details about what happened to the enemies of the Archivist. What he
did
find wasn’t heartening; almost everyone accused of heresy was recorded as executed, though those executions were done privately now, rather than as the vast spectacle they’d once been. The Alexandrian prisons that had once existed in the early, brutal days of the Library were long torn down. There might be a few cells beneath the Serapeum, but Khalila’s work had turned up guard rosters, and by matching up those assigned to duties, she’d been able to create a dizzying map of assignments that accounted for every one of the High Garda guards assigned to the Archivist. There would have to be
some
whose duties remained unaccounted for, if they actually guarded a secret prison.

Wherever Thomas was, he wasn’t being kept in Alexandria.

“We should press Wolfe,” Khalila said as she, Jess, Glain, and Dario sat together in a small café near the water. Twilight dyed the sky a rich teal, though Jess couldn’t much appreciate the beauty. All the information she and Dario had unearthed was proving to be useless. No nuggets of gold had turned up. The inaction drove Jess mad. “Surely he
must
remember more than he’s telling.”

“He might not,” Dario mumbled around a mouthful of curried chicken; Jess had already cleaned his own plate. “There are Medica techniques and potions to block memories. If they treated him with those, it’s not likely he
can
remember on his own.”

“What do you mean by that? Can he remember with help?” Glain
asked. She’d long finished her meal, and now sat idly watching the white-sailed Egyptian fishing ships glide in the harbor toward home. “More potions?”

“More likely it would require the help of a Mesmer,” Dario said.

“Mesmer,” Glain groaned. “Don’t tell me you believe that tripe.”

“Mesmerism is a scientific fact,” Dario said. “Anyone can learn to do it. Doesn’t take ability, like being an Obscurist. But Mesmers’ skills are closely guarded secrets. We had one at court.”

“Don’t tell me you learned how to Mesmerize,” Khalila said. “I can never trust you again.”

“I tried, but, lucky for you, he refused to teach me. It is a real skill, though. It can recover memories in some subjects.”

“Mesmers are one step away from illegal,” Khalila said. “Even if you found a Mesmer you could trust to undertake it, the outcome’s doubtful. If the memories are there, they’ve been locked up tight. Breaking that lock could be dangerous.”

“We’ll save that for a last resort,” Jess said. “I’ve found references in some black-market books to a Library prison in Rome. Ancient references, though. Nothing recent.”

“Rome would be logical,” Khalila said. “After all, next to Alexandria, it’s the city most loyal to the Library. The Basilica Julia is almost as large as the Serapeum here.”

“You’ve been to Rome?”

“Once,” she admitted. “My family toured the Forum and other famous sites. It was overwhelming. I’ve never seen anything like it. To be honest, I would think we’d have a better chance of rescuing him from Alexandria than Rome.”

“Well,” Jess said, “it was just a reference, ages old. Might mean nothing. The Artifex could have him anywhere. Anywhere the Library has a foothold.”

It was a depressing thought, and silence fell heavy. A breeze blew cool off the water, ruffling Khalila’s scarf and dress, and Dario said, “We’re not
going to find him this way. The Archivist isn’t a fool. He won’t leave clues right out in the open. We have to dig deeper.”

“Where? It’s a large world, Dario.”

The Spaniard looked away, out toward the harbor, and said, “I applied for a position with the Artifex Magnus. We all know he’s the Archivist’s right-hand man.”

“You
what
?” Glain barked, and she’d gotten it out a bare instant before Jess would have said the same. “Are you
mad
?”

“Someone has to get close to him. Gain his trust. I can do that.” Dario shifted his stare back to each of them in turn. “I’m the best suited—bright enough to be useful; not enough to be a threat. I’m ruthless. I have wealth and excellent family connections. And I have a certain charm.”

“I give you credit for leaving that to last,” Jess said. It was a surprisingly accurate and unflinching self-assessment. He hadn’t thought Dario quite so insightful about his own gifts and flaws. “What about your post with Scholar Prakesh? I thought you were happy there.”

“I am. But I thought we all agreed: this is for Thomas. I assume I’m not the only one willing to sacrifice.”

“You are not,” Khalila said, and looked down at her folded hands. “I confess, I already applied to the Artifex as well.”

“You
what
?” Dario turned on her with a stare, which she met squarely.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I am capable of just as much folly as you, you know!”

“I don’t want you to—”

“Dario. What you do or do not want applies to
you
, not me. I didn’t ask your permission, and I don’t seek your approval!” Khalila’s voice had taken on a hard edge, and Dario was the first to look away.

“Congratulations,” Glain said. “You’re both wildly independent, and now the Archivist has to be wondering why
both
of you would want to get close to him at the same time. Clearly, neither of you are cut out to be spies.”

“Forgive us—we didn’t grow up criminals and self-made adventurers!”

“Dario, you know nothing about me,” Glain said. She didn’t sound angry, just a touch amused.

“I meant the
criminal
part for Jess.”

“Yes, I got that,” Jess said. “It’s not a bad idea, getting close to the Artifex, but I doubt he’ll take either of you up on it. He’s not a stupid man.”

“Just a cruel one,” Glain said. “We need more. Much more than this.”

“What about . . .” Jess hesitated, then plunged in. “What about the Black Archives?”

They were all silent. He expected at least one of them to scoff, to dismiss them as rumor, but Khalila finally said, “I’ll look into it.”

“Carefully,” Glain told her.

“I know. I should go,” she said. “I have more work to do tonight. Dario?”

“Go on,” he told her. “I’m drinking.”

“I’m not,” Glain said. “Khalila, I’ll walk you back.”

Jess started to get up, but Dario kicked him in the shins under the table, hard enough to make him wince. “I’ll have a cup,” Jess said, and gave the other young man a sharp-edged smile. “See you later.” Glain and Khalila walked away into the early evening, and Jess stared at Dario. “Well?”

“Something for the two of us. I didn’t want them involved.”

“Why not?”

Dario shrugged. “It’s a job for two, not four, and I know Glain. She’ll push her way in if we let her.”

“And you don’t like her.”

“Well, I don’t like either of you, to be fair. But you’re the one with the skill I need.”

“Which is?”

“Smuggling,” Dario said, and gestured to the waiter. “That’s why we both need a drink.”

“Y
ou can’t be serious,” Jess said, and looked up at the tomb of Alexander the Great.

Dario hadn’t told him where they were going, or he’d have refused
outright back at the café. Maybe the wine had lulled him too much, because he’d agreed to at least take a look. And now, here he was. Looking.

Next to the Lighthouse and the Serapeum, the tomb of Alexander was the single most recognizable structure in Alexandria . . . a memorial that had survived in all its original gaudy glory. It crouched in the center of the lush park square, looking exactly like what it was: an overdone tribute to an oversized legend. Marble clad, of course, with statues of gold at each corner on each of four levels. The other statues that lined each level were stone, or looked to be, at least—warriors, horses, gods. On top, Alexander’s chariot was drawn by mighty warhorses frozen in midcharge, and the boy king’s statue showed him as handsome and glorious as the gods themselves.