Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(27)

“Cancer is a growth,” the Artifex replied. “Is cancer a good thing?”

“If you’ve come to debate with me, for the love of the gods, leave me to die in peace,” Wolfe said, and stretched on his bunk to put his face to the wall. “You’re a sick man in a sick, dying system. And something healthier must replace it.”

“Christopher.”

Use of his first name made Wolfe turn over and stare. “We aren’t friends. You don’t have the right.”

“We were. Once. Long ago. You remember. I was a mentor to you.”

Unwillingly, he did. And wished he could block it out. “What I remember is that you didn’t hesitate to send me into a trap when it benefited you. I nearly died.”

“It did benefit me,” the Artifex acknowledged. “And you, as it turned out. You came out of it covered in glory and awarded a Scholar’s gold band. Do you think that happened by accident?”

“I think I earned it,” Wolfe snapped, but suddenly he was no longer as certain as he sounded. The Artifex, even before he took the title, had always been a game player. “And it landed you the wealth you wanted, didn’t it?”

“It did, at that. Christopher, my point is that we have benefited each other before. We could do so now. All I need from you is information.”

“What, you don’t mean to torture it out of me this time?” Wolfe kept his tone dismissive and acerbic. “How generous of you. And unusual.”

“Torture didn’t avail us well last time. I see no reason to think it would be any better this time. So I offer you a bargain, and, Christopher, you’d best listen closely, because you will not get a better one.”

“Get it over with. I’m tired.”

If his contempt threw the Artifex off, it wasn’t at all visible.

For answer, the Artifex took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and slid it across the floor. Wolfe frowned at it, then picked it up and unfolded it.

Written on it in the Artifex’s hand was I will protect Santi if you take your own life.

It fair took his breath away, for a moment. But when he spoke again, his voice stayed steady. “And why would you want me to do that? I thought the Archivist had an entire elaborate execution planned.”

“Because I don’t trust you,” the Artifex said. “I don’t trust that you’re some helpless prisoner. I don’t trust that the Brightwells mean what they say. And I most specifically don’t trust that there is no plan to turn all this to your advantage. I believe that with you dead and gone, your students will lose their way, regardless of what orders they’ve been given.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Flattering, that you think I have such vast control. But it’s not much of a bargain, considering that you don’t have Nic.”

“Oh, but I do,” the Artifex said. “And I promise you, if you don’t accept this bargain, I will see that he suffers every torment you can possibly imagine in your place. I’ll even have you brought along, so you can see it firsthand. I know you, Christopher. And I know what will destroy you. Do the right thing. I will give you three days. If you aren’t dead by that time, then we’ll begin this terrible journey together.”

Wolfe balled up the note and threw it back through the bars. “Are we finished? Because I’m bored with your company.” His tone remained just the same, but there was a crack inside him, an earthquake shift of horror. Did he have Nic? Had the entire plan—whatever it could have been—come completely apart? It was all too possible. He rolled toward the wall without waiting for an answer, and the Artifex didn’t speak again. After a long few moments, Wolfe heard footsteps receding, and the burn of the glow went dark.

He lay there shaking in the dark, staring hard into it. He doesn’t have Nic. And he won’t. I know my little band of students better than that. Whatever plan is in motion, it can’t depend on me kneeling to the Artifex. Or dying in this cell.

He wished he could believe it. He slammed the heel of his hand into the wall, again and again until he felt the skin break and smelled hot blood, and cursed the moment he’d ever laid eyes on any of the students of his Postulant class.





EPHEMERA



Text of a letter from Obscurist Eskander to Obscurist Magnus Keria Morning. Not submitted to the Codex, and marked as private correspondence. Destroyed upon her death.


I have loved you for years. Half my lifetime now, I have known that there is no one else for me, and never will be. And I know that you are at peace with our life in the Tower, and I will never be.

But I swore to you long, long ago I would never break the seals of this place, never walk out of these doors and find my freedom . . . not if it meant more pain, more slavery, more destruction to the Obscurists I’d have to leave behind. My freedom would come at too high a price.

It’s strange that I now have to remind you of your own duty.

Keria, I know you are angry. I know you are raging; I can feel it through the walls of this tower. But no matter how deep your pain, how right your anger, if you strike at the Archivist and lose, imagine what will happen to these Obscurists you now have sworn to protect. Imagine how a shallow, predatory man like that, who values his own life above all others, will react. If you kill him, you might cut out a cancer . . . or simply spread it everywhere. All that holds the Great Library together now is belief. Shatter it, and we are all at risk.