Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(88)

There was already something different about her, Jess thought. Something stronger, and more dangerous, than he’d seen before.

“What’s in the case?” Brendan asked as she led the way to the back door of the temple.

“Keys,” she said. “To the kingdom.”





PART TEN





KHALILA





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE




Captain Santi, when he heard of the Brightwells’ escape, was grim but silent. It was Scholar Wolfe who lost his temper.

“And you didn’t stop them?” he shouted at the rest of them, and for a moment Khalila felt like a student again, caught short and feeling the burn of his contempt.

“How?” Dario spread his hands wide. “You know Jess. His brother’s just as bad. What were we supposed to do, sit on them? Tie them up?”

“If necessary!” Wolfe spat the words like nails and stalked away. Without his Scholar’s robe, he looked less majestic but more lethal, Khalila thought. A man who’d endured much and survived more. There was an edge to him that was honed almost to breaking. “Do you know where they’ve gone? Tell me it isn’t some wild plan to kill the Archivist.”

None of them replied to that—presumably, Khalila thought, because they all knew that was exactly what the two young men were about. Jess knew better, but he also was willing to forget that to protect his brother.

“There’s nothing we can do about them now,” Khalila said, and got the full, dark force of Wolfe’s attention. She didn’t flinch. “But there is something we can do, and it’s more important. We must get the Scholars, especially the Research Scholars, on our side. Most of them have to see how dangerous the Archivist has become; they only need some assurance that we are sensible to join us. Scholar, you know many of them, if not all of them. Which of them do you think we should approach?”

“I can’t approach anyone. I’m under an instant death sentence if they find me in the streets, or had you forgotten that?”

“No, I hadn’t,” Khalila said. “And you should stay here. I doubt the captain will allow you out of his sight again, in any case—”

“True,” Santi said. “And, no, Chris, it isn’t up for debate.”

Khalila hurried on. “But Dario and I . . . we are far less well-known. Scholar Murasaki has already arrived at the Lighthouse from Cadiz, and she is doing her part for us. Give us names. Let us go to the most influential of them tonight.”

“Not alone,” Glain said. “I’m your escort, and don’t bother to argue about it.”

“Why would I?” Khalila said, and smiled. “You see? We’re well protected. But we should do this, sir. Now.”

“You’ll be recognized.”

“Not here. Young women in hijabs are common. I’ll blend in. Dario—might have to amend his wardrobe, however.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Dario asked.

“You look like a Spanish noble.”

“I am.”

“And do you think there are dozens of them roaming the streets here tonight?”

“I get your point,” he said, and sighed. “I’ll change.” He paused on the way out of the door to look at Wolfe. “Scholar, she’s right. She usually is, of course. Give her the names. We’ll need every advantage if we intend to do anything meaningful tomorrow.”

Wolfe glared, and it was a hot enough look to burn stones . . . but then he stalked to a small desk in the corner of the library and took up a pen. “Give me a moment,” he said. “I’m writing individual letters. Hopefully, they will help open minds to what you have to say.”

It took half an hour, more or less, and Khalila helped slip each of the letters into envelopes and write the Scholars’ names on them. “You signed these,” she said. “You realize that if all this fails, these are proof you were bent on undermining the Archivist’s authority.”

“Do you really think that matters, if this fails? Proof or no proof, we’ll all be in the ground.” He paused and signed the last letter. “Khalila, if you let yourself be taken while you’re out tonight, it’s not likely we can save you. You might end up in the same jail I just escaped. You understand that.”

“Of course,” she said. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll be back.”

“Do that,” he said, and for an instant she was sure she saw something kind in his eyes. Something warm. Rare, to see such vulnerability in this man. “Well, at least you. Santiago and Wathen, now . . .” He handed her the last letter, and Khalila smiled and looked toward Glain—who seemed to be sleeping, and wasn’t, of course.

“Nice of you to think of me,” Glain said without opening her eyes or adjusting her relaxed posture. “I’ll come back just to spite you, sir.”

Dario was just a few moments later, and with him came the ambassador. “My esteemed cousin Alvaro would prefer it if we do not vault the fence and draw unwanted attention, like our thieving friends,” he said. “He’s arranged for a carriage. He’s also insisted on a disguise for me.” He spread his arms, and Khalila had to cover a laugh, because Dario was wearing, of all things, a Christian monk’s robe. “Should you be asked, I am Brother Ferdinand, a poor Franciscan monk.”