Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(50)

“And, Dario? Is your cousin going to commit real troops to fight a real war?” asked Santi.

Dario shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

Not that they had much choice.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




The royal coach was, as might have been expected, luxurious, and large enough for twice their number; Ramón Alfonse dismissed all but two of his guards from the interior to make them comfortable, and offered water and juice. Dario looked over the selection with a frown. “Nothing more relaxing than that?”

“A king is offering you refreshment from his own hands, and you criticize? Really, Cousin. You haven’t changed at all.”

“I have. I no longer think that I’m the most important thing in the world. I’ve met people who’ve convinced me of that. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Oh, I am,” the king said, and poured a crystal glass full of orange juice at Khalila’s request. He passed it to her with a smile. The carriage they traveled in was so well insulated that she could only barely detect the hissing of the carriage engine and the sound of the wheels. No sense of motion at all. “We all thought that you’d never grow out of your arrogance, but we’d hoped you’d learn to point it in a useful direction. I suspect these friends of yours have helped.” A glass went to Thomas, who took it carefully in his massive hand. It looked like a child’s teacup in comparison. “You, sir, you are an inventor who understands the automata?”

“Yes.”

“And, if I heard correctly, who also can reproduce the written word using some sort of machine? Tell me, does it copy script quickly? I’ve seen automata that can do such things. A French inventor built one, but it was meant as an aide to scholars, and was slow enough that the Library felt it was of no particular interest.”

“They take this machine seriously. Once the letters are set on a tray, a page can be printed again and again, without limit.”

“Quickly?”

“Yes.”

The king’s eyebrows rose, and Khalila watched him take a long, meditative sip of his juice. “Well. I’d heard rumors, but this is the first confirmation. And does such a machine actually exist?”

“Yes.”

“Is it in use now?”

“Yes.”

“Then the dogs have been unleashed, and we don’t have time to waste. If I intend to stop the High Garda from using every Serapeum with a Translation Chamber as a potential invasion point, I need to act quickly to preserve the kingdom.” He drummed his perfectly manicured nails on his knee and looked off into the distance. “And, of course, we will require the plans for such a machine, in exchange for our assistance.”

His tone had shifted. So, Khalila noted, had the emphasis of his pronouns; she could almost hear the weight of them. This was the king of Spain speaking, not Ramón Alfonse.

Dario had missed it. “Cousin, before we give up anything—”

“It’s customary to call me Your Highness,” the king interrupted. “We permitted you landing and shelter. It aligns with our interests to support you in your quest to, shall we say, reform the great institution to which you owe your true loyalty. But this is not an exchange. Crowns negotiate only with crowns.”

“Which means?” Captain Santi asked.

“When great kings fall, the world trembles. Who is the Archivist’s successor, when you achieve your goal?”

“I’m no kingmaker, Your Highness.”

“You have no choice. And you must take that seriously. I don’t know your Scholar Christopher Wolfe. Would he be capable of holding the center in such a time of crisis? Of not only leading a Library caught in the throes of change, but dealing resolutely with the heads of every nation on earth? Because Spain will not come to the new Archivist as a supplicant. We will come as an equal. All the reverence and history the Great Library has behind it means nothing if it cannot defend its own existence.”

Santi was silent, and Khalila could see he’d never asked himself such a question. It took a long, charged moment before he said, “Wolfe is fully capable. But he will never want it.”

“Then who? Who leads the Library if you succeed? If you don’t know, your quest is nothing but disaster. The Archivist is a fixed star in the heavens. Remove him, and you had best install a great light to keep the sky from falling.”

“So says the king of Spain?”

“So would say a friend,” Ramón Alfonse said. “Sadly, a king has no friends once he takes the crown. It may be put aside from time to time, but a king is not a man. A king—and an Archivist—is a country.”

“There are tens of thousands of truly great Scholars still loyal to the true ideals of the Library,” Khalila said. “We will find someone, Sire.”

“No. You will not. There is nothing rarer than an honest politician, dear Scholar, and that is what you will need to prevent the greatest disaster of this—perhaps of any—age.” The king was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I think you began this effort of yours for noble reasons, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions, as the Scholars frequently quote. So be sure what you are doing. And be ready. Spain is an ally, to a point. But Spain will not fight for the same goals that you seek.”