Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(107)

“I expect no less. Hasta luego, my friends.”

And then they were gone, disappearing into the shadows of the columns, and when Glain advanced to follow, she found the whole entry hall deserted. By the time she reached the back doors, she found them locked and the convoy already moving away. For a rich, spoiled royal, he knew how to move with military precision and speed; she had to grant him that much.

Botha joined her at the windows and said, “I assumed we should let them leave without starting a fight. Was I wrong?”

“Not that I know,” she said. She shot a glance toward the lieutenant’s calm, unreadable face. “Do you think—”

“I don’t think,” he said. “It’s not useful before the fight. Only during it.” He turned, and Glain followed a second later, as the others came into the room. “Sir. We’re ready. The High Garda Elite carriers can hold fifty, if we’re friendly, but the rest of the company will have to be on foot.”

Santi nodded. “The Blue Dogs, the Harpies, Shadow Team, and Mars One for the vehicles. Arrange them as you prefer. Split the company into four units. Stay away from the main routes. Third and fourth units are covering fire. Use the heights.”

“Sir.” Botha saluted, and said: “You’ll be in the vehicles?”

“Yes,” he said. “All of us. Glain, Thomas, and Khalila in one, me and Wolfe in another. And, Lieutenant? Library engagement rules. You don’t kill unless you must, but if you must, you get it done. Protect the Scholars and librarians down on the killing floor. Let us handle the rest.”

Glain opened her mouth to protest, then shut it with a snap. Santi’s orders were precise and calculated. He wasn’t mounting a High Garda rebellion. He was showing that they were committed to the Library’s principles. And that was noble.

Just very possibly suicidal.

Glain claimed herself a proper rifle and a healthy supply of ammunition from the armorer, who was loading up the extra guns and supplies in the rear of the carrier, and as she crowded into the carrier with Khalila and Thomas and the door hissed closed, she thought she ought to by all rights be afraid. They had little chance, after all. The might of the Great Library was against them, along with history, tradition, and her captain’s own scruples.

She met Khalila’s eyes as the carrier rattled through the streets, speeding toward the amphitheater. Held up her hand. Khalila clasped it. Then both their hands were swallowed up by Thomas’s.

“Together,” she said.

“Together,” they both echoed.

The Blue Dogs—Glain’s squad—howled. The Harpies let out their weird, unsettling, keening cry.

It was war.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT




JESS

“Down,” growled Tadalesh, when Jess inched up to peer over the edge of the roof. “If you want to gawk, go stand with the crowds on the road.”

“Any sign of Elites?” Jess ignored Anit’s lieutenant and got his own good look. The street below seemed clear.

“No. The Elites are inside the fence, and that way.” Tadalesh jerked his sharp chin toward the main street, where the procession was pouring in toward the amphitheater. It was almost finished; the Scholars and librarians had gone first, a parade of fluttering robes conducted in silence. Then a tall, stalking row of automaton Egyptian gods, the largest of which—Horus, easily identifiable even at this distance—carried a huge, sharp sword. The Curia—the heads of the Library’s major disciplines, including the Obscurist Magnus—were proceeding now, and with them, under a huge cloth-of-gold covering, the marching honor guard of Elites, with the Archivist carried on a sedan chair in the center of the pack.

There was no cheering. Nothing but silence from those gathered along the route. Jess wondered if the Archivist felt as uneasy about that as he did.

That was when the dragon, coiled around the Serapeum, let out a shriek that seemed to shatter the sky, and Jess saw the flash of solid beams of light slice into the thing for just a flash before they cut off.

Thomas. Thomas built a Ray of Apollo. No, more than one; that much was clear as the dragon launched itself into the air and began to clumsily beat toward the source of the attack. It had lost its grace, but none of its power.

And then the ray weapons flashed again, and pieces rained from the sky. Scales the size of troop carriers. A sheared-off wing, spiraling to slam through the roof of a building. And then the head came loose, and the whole terrifying automaton slammed down into the ground with an impact that Jess felt through his entire body before the sound of it rolled over them. The Greek fire inside the thing began to burn in pale green flames, and for a second Jess couldn’t process what had happened. Then he had a mad impulse to shout, to leap to his feet and punch the sky in triumph.

That had been an impossible task, and Thomas had done it.

“Your friends?” Tadalesh asked.

“Yes,” Jess said.

“You think they will sell us those guns?”

“No.”

Tadalesh shrugged. “Maybe we take them, anyway.”

“Maybe they kill you first,” Jess said. He rolled over on his side and gestured to Brendan, who climbed down from the roof and joined the massed hundred or so men and women Anit had assembled. They were a hard rabble, and heavily armed. He liked the discipline and rules of the High Garda, but for some things, a gang of thieves was just . . . better.