Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(49)

“No,” Santi said. “I don’t want to lead a foreign army against my own people. I’m trying to save the Library, not destroy it.”

“And where then are your troops? Besides these good people.” Ramón gave Santi an appraising look. “I am compassionate toward you, Captain Santi. I understand your point. But remember, regardless of who fights by your side, should you be successful, a new treaty may well be forged with the Great Library.” Ramón gave Santi an appraising look. “And for all your undoubtedly high principles, I believe you’re interested in saving someone in particular from the Library, first and foremost.”

Santi could hardly argue that point, but he didn’t let his expression show it. “The Spanish and Portuguese navies are the envy of the world, no doubt, but don’t you think they’ll expect you to use them? We need a better plan than an attack they can anticipate without getting out of their chairs. Your ships will be a vital part of that, without any doubt, but we need a much different approach if we want to win control of the Library without unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Well, I am no strategist; I leave that thorny problem in your capable hands, Captain. My job is to end the Library’s oppressive grip upon knowledge to the benefit of my people. That last part is the most important, of course.”

“Are you in communication with the Russian tsar and the emperor of Japan?”

“As it happens, I am. But I hardly think the lobby of the Cadiz Grand Hotel is the proper venue for that discussion. Come.”

The king turned and abruptly headed for the door. His soldiers didn’t seem at all surprised; a core of them closed ranks around him, but another part split off to rush up the stairs, and a third portion moved to take posts around the three of them: Dario, Santi, and Khalila.

One of the soldiers stepped smartly up to Dario and bowed slightly. “Don Santiago, His Highness Ramón Alfonse is pleased to see you moved to more secure and comfortable accommodations in Madrid. Please follow me.”

Santi said, “And if we don’t wish to go with you?”

The soldier was a thin-faced man, hardened, with eyes as lifeless as a doll’s. “Then, Captain Santi, you will be taken to more secure and less comfortable accommodations here in Cadiz. While I have no wish to kill you, I will obey the orders of my king.”

Khalila didn’t want the full focus of that man’s eyes, but she raised her chin and didn’t blink when she received it. “I am a Scholar. So is Scholar Santiago. Captain Santi is of command rank within the High Garda. You understand what you are doing, do you?”

“Spain’s recently declared its independence from the Library, Scholar,” he told her. “And that makes you a foreign refugee, at best. Don Santiago is welcome to travel with the king to Madrid, as are you, as his guests. But do not imagine wearing the symbol of the Library gives you any special consideration.”

It was no more than she should have expected, she knew that, but the vicious precision with which the man said it indicated years of pent-up resentment, a fierce satisfaction at a minor revenge. She felt a shiver go through her and hoped it was not something he could see. We didn’t think of the resentment. Or the glee with which people would view the Library’s vulnerability. Once the chill passed, she felt heat. Anger, building to fury. You will not destroy the Library. You will not.

“We’re happy to be my royal cousin’s guests,” Dario said. “Of course. Are we not?” His tone was butter smooth, but the quick glance he sent her and Santi was loaded with warning. They all knew Santi was on a hair trigger; the last thing he wanted was to become enmeshed in royal politics when every moment wasted was another his lover spent in a cell in Alexandria, moving fast toward execution.

But Santi nodded agreement, however hot the look was in his eyes. And in a moment, the guards returned from upstairs, leading Thomas and Glain. Thomas looked like he was in the mood to fight, but he calmed when he saw the rest of them standing unharmed. “What is this? They’re packing our bags. Such as we have, of course.”

“We’re going on to Madrid,” Dario told him. “It’s all right.”

But was it? This had the feeling of a trap closing around them, for all that they’d hoped for something like it. “Should we do this? Are we sure?”

“There are no right moves at this stage,” Santi told her. “Everything will go wrong. Egos will get in the way. Politics. Greed. We have to find a way through, whatever happens.” He took in a slow breath. “But you two would be far safer staying in Spain and organizing the unification of countries against the Archivist. You’re both natural politicians. Make them call for the Archivist’s removal, and the replacement of the Curia with new leadership, as a condition of signing a new treaty.”

“And you?” Khalila asked.

“Let me and Glain go on to Alexandria.”

“The days when one or two people could save those we love are long gone, Captain.” Surprisingly, it came from Glain herself. She looked calm, though she was watching the soldiers around them with sharp focus. “To cripple the Archivist’s power, you have to make people believe he’s vulnerable. That’s already started. Wales openly defied him, and they still conquered London and brought England to its knees; he threatened them for storming the Oxford Serapeum, but he couldn’t stop them, either. That hurt him, and this hurts him more with every country that declares its independence. We need to take advantage of it.”