Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(101)

“So . . . we’re going to strike the Archives,” Tadalesh said. “Finally.”

“No.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve ever had to—”

“No,” she said. “We leave the Archives alone. I’ve made a deal with the Brightwells. There are cousins of our own going to their deaths in that arena today. And who cares about them? No one but us. We have one objective, and only one: rescue our people.” She smiled, but it was a chillingly cold sort of thing, and it matched the drying blood on her dress. “If the Archivist or any member of his circle of sycophants stands in the way of that, then I’ll pay a fortune for the knife, arrow, or bullet that takes them down. I’ll spend my father’s fortune to avenge him and to save his people. Is that clear? Profit can wait. Revenge comes first.”

Forgoing profit was almost certainly a completely new idea to the men and women Anit was speaking to; in Jess’s family, profit—or at least, avoiding a loss—had been central to every action taken. Loyalty had always been second on the list. From the glances among Anit’s people, he could see their experience was no different . . . but revenge was a powerful incentive. These same people had worked for Red Ibrahim for years, to be standing here. They had cast their fortunes with him. And even if loyalty came second to profit, it still finished ahead of anything else.

“If you take down the Archivist,” Jess said, “then I can assure you that the way will be clear to earning profits with those presses you’ve built in secret . . . and doing it legitimately. But only if the Archivist isn’t standing in the way of it.”

“And, of course, the Brightwells get a portion,” Anit said. “Since they developed the entire technology.”

It was useful for them to grab on to that; it explained the Brightwells’ presence here, and they understood business dealings just fine. They wouldn’t understand that this was personal for Jess, and now for Brendan, but Anit had given him a perfect opportunity to conceal that.

One by one, the lieutenants nodded. Tadalesh seemed the most reluctant; clearly, he’d been dreaming about getting his hands on books from the Archives for quite some time. But he finally agreed, and bent to look at the plans.

“Trouble will be getting in,” said one of them. “The main entrance will be well secured, and none of us has Library bands. They’ll have automata everywhere, not to mention High Garda.”

“Fewer High Garda than you’d think,” Jess said. “Word is, they’re staying in the compound.” At least he hoped that would be the case, that Santi had been able to convince his friends and fellow captains to refuse the orders. “And there’s another way in. I’ve been there. I know it.”

“Show us,” Anit said, and stepped back.

Jess put his finger on the door that led down to the oldest parts of the amphitheater and the unexpected modernity of the workshop; praise the old gods of Egypt, these particular corridors were solid concrete and timber, and they wouldn’t be moving like the ones in the Serapeum. “Get us in there,” he said, “and I can get you directly to the floor of the arena. We can get your people to safety the same way.”

“You’re sure? It looks sealed.”

“It isn’t,” Jess said. “And if you want weapons, that’s where they’re being made. New weapons. Deadly ones.”

“How do you know this?” Tadalesh asked.

“The Archivist showed me,” Jess said. “And I’d like to make it his worst mistake yet.”

A sharp sound rang through the room—a bell, ringing in the distance. They all looked up, as if to hear it better, but Anit was the first to react. “Someone’s forced the outer door. High Garda, most likely. Exits,” she snapped. “Scatter plan. Gather your people and head for the amphitheater. Bring weapons. I’ll join you in the street behind the main entrance.” She turned to Jess. “Can you get us through the perimeter fence? Take care of the automata?”

“We can,” Brendan said, when Jess stopped to think for a few seconds. “We’ll gather our own forces and meet you there. All right?”

She nodded. “I’ll take you to an exit. From there, you’re on your own. Good luck to you.”

“Good luck to us all,” Jess said. “Anit?” Her gaze caught and held his. “Thank you.”

He meant it for much more than just the help in escaping, and she knew it.

“It’s for my father,” she said. “And after this is done, we will talk about compensation.” Her smile was brief, and every bit her father’s. “After all, even family gets paid. Eventually.”





PART FOURTEEN





THE FEAST OF GREATER BURNING





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE




THOMAS

Working was what kept him steady, and so he spent the hours in the workshop of the Spanish embassy. It had been built by a competent engineer—he could see that at a glance; walking into it had made him feel at home in a way few things could these days. The smell of tools, oils, freshly lathed wood and metal.

“I hope this is to your liking,” said Ambassador Santiago. He stood in the doorway surveying the large room, and clearly not much familiar with the tools, presses, vise benches, and materials carefully placed for convenience. “My artisans use it, as do my soldiers. Is there anything you might need that you don’t see here?”