Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(117)

“I have two fine sons to carry on for me. Do you think I’m worried, Captain Santi? Yes, I know who you are; I like to know who has influence over my son. Including you, Scholar Wolfe.”

“Stop this,” Jess said, and took another step toward his father—but not far enough to interfere with Santi’s aim. “I’m not some Brightwell asset. I make my own decisions.”

“Yet you come running to me for help.”

“I’m bringing you an opportunity you’ll never see again. It’s business.”

“And we thought you didn’t have the Brightwell heart,” Brendan said. He was smiling and his eyes were bright, and in that moment Jess knew his instincts had been right. He couldn’t trust his family. Ever. “We’ve got business for you to do first. Show us you’re trustworthy, and then we’ll look at this opportunity of yours. Or don’t, and we’ll kill some of your friends, if not all of them. Your choice.”

“Jess?” Santi said. “I’d like very much to shoot this man, but he’s your blood. You decide.”

“Don’t.” His heart was pounding and he felt sick to his stomach. The air still smelled of that faint trace of spices and old books that were so much a part of his childhood, but overlaying them now was the muffling scent of smoke. London was burning. So was his past. “What do you want from us, Callum?”

“Callum, now, is it?” Two years ago, his father’s glare would have cowed him. Not today. He met it with one of his own.

“It is,” Jess said. “I’m not going to call you Father anymore. Be grateful I don’t call you worse.” He turned to Santi and Wolfe. “You could kill them, maybe a few of the men, but they’ll get some of us, too. It’s not worth it.”

It took a long, tense moment, but their guns went down. So, unwillingly, did Glain’s.

“Good,” Callum Brightwell said. “Glad we sorted out our particulars. Come with us. We need the help of a Scholar.”




It was a long ride in an uncomfortable freight wagon to St. Paul’s, and while they rattled around inside the hard, empty space, Brightwell explained what he wanted. It was ominous and daring, and Jess could unwillingly agree that it might well be the chance of any self-respecting smuggler’s lifetime.

St. Paul’s Serapeum had long been an unattainable target, though it contained some of the rarest, choicest volumes on display. But in the growing chaos, with the High Garda fanning out across the city searching for Jess and his friends, it was as vulnerable as it would ever be.

“It’ll take a Scholar’s robes to get us past the Garda barricades,” Brightwell explained. “And a bright, shiny bracelet. Once you’re in the building, they’re busy boxing up things to send them to the Archives. A few liberated volumes might find their way clear with an enterprising thief in a black robe.”

“You expect us to help you rob the Library?” Santi asked. He looked at Jess’s father as if he were a particularly unpleasant sort of bug he’d found in his stew. “Are you completely mad?”

“You’re no longer part of the Library, is what I’m hearing. You’re on the run from it, like the rest of us poor criminals, so don’t play the proper High Garda captain with me. I could turn you in as easy as dropping a handkerchief. You’re lucky I’m generous, and you can be of some real use.”

“Nic,” Wolfe said. He was staring at Brightwell with flat, dark eyes, like he wanted to take a bite out of him, but his voice was calm enough. “I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t!” Santi shot back. “You’re too recognizable. One look at you, and you’re in the hands of the Artifex.”

“Of course it’s got to be me. You don’t have another gold-banded Scholar to—” Wolfe realized his mistake, but it was too late. Khalila held up her wrist, and her sleeve slipped down to reveal the gold bracelet. “No.”

“I’m not as recognizable as you, and there are plenty of female librarians wearing hijabs. I will be fine.” She managed a smile. “Of all of us, which one looks least like a thief?”

“No!” It wasn’t just Wolfe this time objecting; it was all of them, talking over each other. Khalila looked at Jess, who wasn’t objecting. He just nodded at her. She nodded back.

“Quiet, all of you,” she said, and opened her pack to dig out her black Scholar’s robe. It was a little wrinkled and worse for wear, but in the current conditions of London, Jess doubted anyone would notice. “Tell me what you want me to find.”

“Oh, use your best judgment,” Brightwell said with a deceptively kind smile. “Something lucrative and rare. Two at least. Three if you can manage it.”

“You’re not going alone,” Dario said, and grabbed his own robe from his bag. “Jess, weapon?”

Jess ignored him. Glain glared but silently offered a knife, and Dario nodded and slipped it into the back of his trousers, under the cover of the robe. “Once it’s done, we’ll meet you back here in the freight hauler.”

“Oh no,” Jess’s father said. “We’re all going in. While you steal the books, we will be opening a way out.”

“Way out?” Jess echoed, and then he understood, just before Callum pointed a thick finger at Morgan.