Paper and Fire (The Great Library #2)(48)

Finding a Mesmer wasn’t hard; finding one who didn’t have ties to the Library was much more difficult, and, in the end, Jess had to settle for one, on the advice of smuggler friends, who was known for conducting under-the-table thefts from wealthy clients, some of whom he convinced to rob themselves and forget they’d done it. A gifted man, no doubt about it.

Just not a very nice one.

In person, Elsinore Quest was a rabbity little fellow who hunched his shoulders and ducked his head and almost never met Jess’s eyes. But when he did, Jess realized why. There was a certain steeliness to his gaze that would certainly have put some of his victims off too soon. Better to seem inoffensive and incapable of violence, particularly if someone wanted to entrust mind and will to you.

Quest kept up a steady stream of chatter on the carriage ride back, which was unbearably annoying, since all he talked about was the weather. It was typical for the time of year—warm and humid—and Quest seemed to think that it would be the death of him.

If only it were true, at least it would stop his endless droning.

“You understand what I’m paying you to do?” Jess interrupted, when he recognized the streets they were crossing. They were close to Wolfe’s house. “And what I’m paying you to forget?”

Quest’s flow of complaints shut off as if someone had closed a valve inside him, and he raised his gaze to meet Jess’s. The man was in his forties, most likely, with weathered, ill-kept, dry skin and graying, thinning hair, but his eyes—blue as the faded Alexandrian sky—were still vital and powerful. “Don’t worry about me, young master,” he said, and smiled. “I’ve forgotten more deadly secrets than you can ever imagine existed. One more is no bother, especially at the price you’re paying. Though I should point out—just for business purposes—that I sent a message off to a colleague about where I’d be and who you are. In case some . . . mishap occurs.”

In other words, he wasn’t a fool and he knew the risks. Jess nodded. He didn’t take offense. Everyone in the shadow trades had to watch his own back.

“Half now,” Jess said. “Half when you’re done.”

“Reasonable,” Quest said, and turned to look out the carriage window. The steam powering it puffed white and wispy behind them on the still, quiet night air; the streets were deserted, which Jess thought was a good thing. The fewer witnesses to Quest’s visit, the better. “Ah. We must be close.”

The carriage slowed, and Jess jumped out to offer the driver the standard fare of five geneih. Quest climbed down slowly, as if he was old and fragile, and shuffled after Jess to Santi’s door.

Wolfe opened it and stood aside. He was fully dressed now in a loose black shirt and trousers and boots. There was no sign of Santi, and the bedroom door was still shut.

“Elsinore Quest, Mesmer,” Jess said. “Scholar Wolfe, who’ll be your subject.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Quest said, and weakly offered a handshake. Wolfe ignored it until the hand dropped awkwardly back to Quest’s side. “We will need relative quiet. Ah, this corner chair will do. Please sit down, sir. Make yourself quite comfortable. It’s very important that you be quite comfortable and let all your cares fall away, let them blow away like sand on the wind . . .”

There is a certain strange rhythm to the man’s voice, Jess thought, and tried to pinpoint what it was that so unsettled him—and, at the same time, what soothed him. He’d already started his work, then. Odd; Jess recognized that the man had used the same tones in the carriage, during that endless flow of weather observations. Had Quest tried to use his talents on him? Had it worked? No, surely he’d have known if it had. Wouldn’t I? The doubt made his mouth go dry.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

Wolfe sank down in the chair that Quest indicated, and as the Mesmer pulled another chair close, Jess saw the bedroom door silently open. Santi stepped out. The captain moved to stand beside Jess and said, in a low voice that couldn’t have carried to Wolfe, “If this goes badly, I will stop it.”

“I know,” Jess said. “It might not even work—sometimes it doesn’t . . .” His voice faded because Wolfe had already closed his eyes. Quest’s voice dropped to a low, calm rhythm, and Jess couldn’t catch what he was saying now as he bent close to Wolfe. The Scholar’s head slowly tipped forward.

Wolfe raised one hand—or, at least, the hand rose. There was no corresponding shift of balance from Wolfe’s body, no sign that the movement of that hand and arm had been directed from a conscious mind. The rest of him stayed completely still.

Quest reached out and pushed on the top of the floating hand. It hardly moved at all. He nodded in satisfaction and looked over to Jess. “He’s ready. What do you want me to ask?”

That fast? Jess blinked. “Ask him about his time in the cells—”

“Wait,” Santi said. He sighed. “I hate that you’ve forced him into this, but at least we can spare him some agony. Ask him about being taken to prison, then ask about any time he was taken out of a cell. Nothing about what happened to him—only locations and surroundings. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Quest said blandly. “You’re looking only for where he was being held. I understand.”