Paper and Fire (The Great Library) (23 page)

Troll seemed to be fishing for something, and Jess didn’t like it. He turned and looked at the young man directly to say, “I’m not a Burner, if you’re thinking it.”
But I knew some
. That was a secret the Artifex held in reserve, too. Guillaume, his classmate, had come from a Burner family;
his bereaved father had taken Jess prisoner in France. If the Artifex wanted to make it seem Jess had become an agent, it would be child’s play to make that appear reasonable. “No offense, sir, but why do you care? I’m a one-day-in recruit. You should shed me and get someone else, according to any kind of logic.”

“Not that simple,” Troll said. “Believe me, I wish it were.”

He moved off, stopping to check each of his squad members like any good commander. Jess didn’t know what to make of him. Or any of this.

He was still considering the ramifications of it when he realized sometime in the chaos of the Burner attack, his Codex had received a new message.

It was gibberish. He frowned at the text, and then a second later realized he knew this code. It was his own family’s highly secure emergency code, used only for the most urgent information. He’d memorized the keys to it when he’d been just a boy.

It read,
Your friend lives in the city of seven hills.
There was no signature, but one hieroglyphic bird sketched at the end of the code string. Not part of his family’s code at all, and it reminded him of the engraving on the ring that Anit, Red Ibrahim’s daughter, wore on a chain around her neck—the ring of one of her brothers.

The message was from her. His free gift of the information about the automata had done some good after all, because this was confirmation, at long last, that Thomas was alive.

And here, beneath Jess’s feet, in Rome.

From a speech by a masked Burner leader, given in the territory of America, 1789. Held strictly in the Black Archives.

You hesitate now to lift your hands and weapons against your oppressors? We have the eyes of nations upon us, all eager to see us break these chains and rise, stand firm, be free of this dire and smothering control that has, year by year, been laid upon us.

We have been told that paper in a binding, ink on a page, is worth more than the life of any man, woman, or child. We have been pressed into the service of this false idol we call Knowledge for far too long; we have forgotten how to be free of it, how to think for ourselves and believe we, in ourselves, are worth the breath we take, the land we walk.

I say it openly and plainly: the Library is a cruel and evil oppressor. For long have we pretended it is not so.

It is time, it is time, it is long past time to rise and take knowledge in our own hands, rather than have it dripped out in cautious doses by an institution long ago rendered moot and lame, cowering behind a wall of power.

We will prevail.

Rise! Though we die, though our stories are lost and never placed on the shelves of the Great Library, though we lose our lives and our very nation, we will never give up one great truth: a life is worth more than a book.

So be it, whatever may come.

S
anti’s lieutenant reappeared and called in Jess’s squad just as darkness took hold, though the Forum continued a brisk trade under the light of lamps. He was a bit sorry. Rome was just as lovely at night, with the glow of illuminated marble and household lights glittering from windows.

Though leaving the lions behind was a relief.

For the first time, Jess entered the Basilica Julia. They came in on the private side of it, away from the public Serapeum, and as they were led to the area where they were to eat and rest, Jess tried to place the corridor that Wolfe had described during his Mesmer session.
Has to be here,
he thought.
Wolfe could see the Forum from windows as he passed.
But instead of windows, they were led along a hallway that held alcoves and Roman statues. The way had to be hidden
,
he realized. Somewhere, behind one of these statues, there would be an entrance to a concealed hallway. Go left, it would take you to the Translation Chamber. Right, and a sentry automaton and a prison door.

He was so preoccupied with imagining it that it came as a shock when they suddenly arrived in the Basilica Julia’s common hall.

It was teeming with people—Scholars, assistants, librarians. The addition of Santi’s advance guard packed the place to bursting, but as the lieutenant led them toward the back corner, he saw it had been cleared for
them. Several long dining tables and a private alcove. He expected to see Santi and his officers inside, but it was occupied by an old, white-haired man with pale European skin, arrayed in the very finest of Scholar robes and a purple sash to show his importance.

The Artifex Magnus.

Jess went cold inside for an instant, seeing him; the last time he’d laid eyes on the man, he’d been hearing him talk about Thomas’s death.
The red right hand of the Archivist.
The old man, seated in a comfortable chair, conversed with two Scholars he kept standing, and, as Jess watched, one of them—a young Indian woman—bowed respect and moved away. She seemed thrilled to have been in his presence, and as she joined a table of others, he saw how they admired her.

As if she’d accomplished something noteworthy.

That made Jess want to vomit. It was all show. The Artifex was a cruel, power-hungry man who thought nothing of breaking and destroying anyone who threatened his power, but these poor innocents saw him as a mentor, a sponsor, a man of great scholarship.

Something to which they should aspire.

The Artifex looked up as the last Scholar left his presence, and his sharp gaze moved around the room, snagged on Jess, and stopped. He blinked slowly, then turned his attention to a cup an assistant delivered, as if Jess didn’t matter at all. Which, Jess thought, he likely didn’t. But the Artifex had recognized him. No doubt of that.

Jess found a seat with some of his Blue Squad mates, and they ate with typical High Garda speed. Even so, he’d gotten only a few bites before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder.

It was the squad leader, Troll. “Brightwell,” he said. “With me.”

“Sir?” Jess stood up.

“The Artifex wants a report. I want you with me.”

Troll turned and led the way across the room. Jess caught sight of Captain Santi; the captain sat at a table near one of the exterior walls and gave Jess and Troll a look as they passed that Jess couldn’t read at all.

The noisy room fell away. It seemed as if the Artifex sat in a bubble of silence, far from the others, though it wasn’t far at all, and then Jess was standing just a few feet away from him, from the man who’d coldly engineered the ruin of Scholar Wolfe, killed who knew how many, sent his best friend to a prison. And for what?

Power.

The Artifex’s bright blue eyes fixed on him.

Jess wanted to curl his hands into fists and beat the smile off of him, but he forced himself to stay still as Troll said, “Artifex, sir, you asked for a report on the Burner encounter outside. I’m pleased to say that we had no Library casualties, and no apparent civilian involvement in our response. Nine Burners died. Their information is being retrieved and forwarded to your Codex.” He turned toward Jess. “Brightwell is a new addition to our squad, and was the one to alert us to the Burner attack on our flank. He saved many lives today.”

It dawned on Jess that the Artifex hadn’t requested his presence; his squad leader was trying to
do him a favor.
Troll had no idea how wrong that was.

The Artifex’s cold gaze fixed on Jess, and that smile deepened. It looked real enough. “Well done, Squad Leader. You continue to show great promise, by all reports. I’m sure you will rise high in the ranks. Captain Santi has an eye for talent.” There was a slight change in his voice as he said Santi’s name, as if he couldn’t quite keep the distaste at bay. “Brightwell, Brightwell . . . Ah yes. You studied under Scholar Wolfe, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.” Jess had to force that out. His teeth ground together hard enough to hurt.
As if you don’t remember, you bastard.
“I was in his most recent class. The one you sent to the Battle of Oxford.”

No reaction from the old man. None. Even his smile stayed warm. “Ah yes, of course. Exemplary work, though the challenges were far beyond what we thought you’d face when we dispatched you there. Your class has proven quite exceptional.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Those of us who survived.” If the Artifex read that as a challenge, so be it. “You may want to have a look at the automata outside, sir. They might be malfunctioning. Seems like they almost attacked me. By accident, of course.”

“How unusual,” the Artifex replied blandly. “I’ll have my staff look into it. We certainly wouldn’t want any accidents.”

“Sir.” Jess nodded slightly, which was all the respect he could stomach showing the man. He didn’t intend to push his luck any further. But then the Artifex leaned forward in his chair, and there was a cold fire in his eyes that made Jess’s stomach tighten.

“Have you said hello to my new assistants?” he said. “They asked to be added to my research staff some time ago, and, of course, I could not say no to such excellent candidates once I realized their worth.” There was a vicious humor in the Artifex’s eyes that was meant only for Jess. “Friends of yours, I think.”

For an instant, Jess couldn’t think what he was talking about. Not Wolfe, surely, and Santi was here in his capacity as High Garda captain.
He’s insane,
Jess thought, and then he realized, as the Artifex gestured somewhere behind him, what the old man meant.

Jess turned, and Khalila Seif and Dario Santiago stood up from the table where they’d been sitting nearby. He hadn’t seen them there; he hadn’t been
looking
for them. Khalila gave him a tentative smile, but there was fear in her eyes. Dario—more handsome and well-dressed than ever—stepped forward and offered Jess his hand. “Brightwell,” he said. “Still just a recruit, I see. Nice to see you continue to keep to your natural level.” It was just the kind of insult Dario had always given him, but there was a warning flash in Dario’s eyes and his handshake felt painfully firm. “Maybe I’ll request you as a special guard detail when I go shopping.”

Even for Dario, that was laying it on thick, no doubt for the benefit of the Artifex. He watched them like a vulture from the comfort of his overstuffed chair.

“As you wish, Scholar Santiago. I’ll try not to accidentally shoot you.”

“Only on purpose, eh? You haven’t changed, scrubber. I suppose that will do for a fond reunion. I have work to do. Scholar Seif?” Dario gestured to the table where they’d been working and took his seat with a thump. He made a fine show of ignoring Jess altogether.

Khalila walked toward him. “It’s good to see you, Jess. You’re well?”

“I am. You?”

“Very well. I . . . had no idea you’d be here.”

“I could say the same of you,” Jess said, and what he really wanted to ask was,
Was it your choice?
But he couldn’t. And, besides, he knew.

“The work being done here in the basilica is truly exciting,” Khalila said. “Dario is studying the very pillars of history, you know. It is a field that has always interested me as well.”

Everything interested Khalila, which was one of the lovely things about her. “I’m glad you find it rewarding.”

“Oh, I do. The basilica is amazing, isn’t it? So much history. Rome’s roots go deep.”

“The feet of its moldy old gods may go deep, but I still prefer Alexandria,” Dario said, without looking up. “Rome’s too damp for me, and too chilly this time of year. Like living in a tunnel. Khalila, we have work to do. I’m sure Jess needs to . . . patrol. Clean his gun. Something equally important.”

Khalila turned on him to give him a sharp look. “Dario. He’s our friend.”

“He’s High Garda. Not our level, dear lady, if he ever was,” Dario replied. “Let the scrubber be about his business. You’re under no obligation to be nice.”

Troll suddenly stepped up to Jess’s side, then moved past him to lean over Dario’s shoulder. “Did you have something to say about your feelings toward the High Garda, Scholar?”

Dario looked up, and his natural arrogance came out in a smirk that
Jess wanted to punch. “The High Garda has its place,” he said, and looked pointedly at Troll’s boots. “That place is not here, blocking my light.”

“Perhaps you should allow my assistants to proceed with their tasks,” the Artifex said, and sat back. He picked up his coffee once more. “You’re dismissed, both of you. Thank you for your service.”

Troll snapped a salute that wasn’t at all necessary—the Artifex wasn’t generally entitled to salutes—and strode away. Jess followed, minus the honor; he wasn’t about to give the man more credit than he was due, even if it was interpreted as an insult.

“Unbelievable,” Troll said. “Did you hear that?
‘Thank you for your service’
—as if he cared
.
He didn’t even reprimand that arrogant puppy Scholar. You came through postulant class with Santiago? Impressive. I’d have thrown the smug bastard off a bridge halfway through the first day.”

“I’d have helped,” Jess said. “He’s smart, though. Worse, he’s clever.”

“The other one seemed nice enough.”

“Khalila Seif is the smartest person in this room.”

“A good friend to have, then. Not to mention attractive,” Troll said. “You wouldn’t mind if I struck up a conversation?”

“I wouldn’t. Dario might.”

“I was afraid of that. Too bad. Killing him would wipe out my good conduct today.”

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Jess said, but his mind was elsewhere. That display from Santiago had been classic, but it had also been out of place; the young Spaniard hadn’t given him that particularly sour reception since their first days with Wolfe. They weren’t exactly the best of friends, but they weren’t enemies. Or, at least, they hadn’t been when last they’d spoken.

Either something had changed for Dario or Dario was trying to tell him something. Dario and Khalila, working together.
Had they planned to be here?
No, surely not, or Khalila would have found time to warn him. The Artifex made it sound as if they’d asked to be added to his staff,
but somehow, Jess doubted that; they’d applied, certainly, but he’d heard nothing of either being accepted. They’d been given no choice, and no time to tell anyone.

Rome’s roots go so deep,
Khalila had said, and veiled it in a cloud of compliments. Dario had added his own clues:
The feet of its moldy old gods.
And
tunnel.

Maybe, just maybe, they were trying to tell him they’d found something. A way into the prison.

Jess sat down at the squad’s crowded table, but he hardly saw their faces or heard the chatter. His thoughts were far away, locked on possibilities. On an insane and desperate possibility.

We’re all here now except for Wolfe and Morgan,
he thought. Thomas’s rescue was almost within their reach. If Khalila and Dario really had discovered a way in, that was all they needed—an advantage. Get Thomas, get out, disappear.

Glain was staring at him from across the table, clearly worried. She waited for a few moments, smiling and talking to others, and then moved to a seat next to him when one became vacant. She bent close and said, “I saw. Khalila and Dario.”

“I think they may have information that can help with Thomas—”

“Jess. We’re all here
because he wants us here
,” Glain whispered. “The Artifex can’t touch Wolfe directly because of his mother, but us? Getting rid of us will isolate Wolfe. Destroy him.”

She was right. He’d been looking down the wrong end of the telescope.

This wasn’t a chance for them to rescue a friend.

It was a threat to kill them all.