Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(102)

“Yes, I see that,” Thomas said. “Zara—”

“Go,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . I thought he was the rightful leader of this city. But I was wrong. I was so wrong—”

“I have to leave you here.”

“I know.” In the next muttering thread of lightning from the clouds overhead, he saw her skin had gone chalky, her eyes almost luminous. “Tell Nic I’m sorry.”

She died before the next lightning bolt split the sky overhead, and Thomas slowly rose to stare down at her.

Then he picked up the precious cargo of Heron’s treasure, and ran.





EPHEMERA



Text of a letter from the Russian ambassador to the tsar of Russia. Available in the Codex after a twenty-year interdiction.


They’ve killed so many of us tonight. So many. And the old man has never come as he agreed with his magical inventions of Heron of Alexandria. You gave me the authority to prosecute this war.

Instead, I am ending it.

I am withdrawing our troops from this fight. Let the Great Library stand or fall as it may. We’re far from home, and we have lost far too many of our sons and daughters.

The High Garda, it was said, was weak. The city was complacent and soft.

Neither of these things are true, and we cannot win this war without destroying ourselves in the process.

I, for one, hope that the Great Library survives. It has fought hard enough for that privilege.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





JESS

Khalila was in danger. There was no discussion on whether or not to go, only how best to get there before it was too late. Dario was just . . . gone, moving so quickly not even Glain could get in his way. Wolfe wrote quickly in his Codex, but even as his stylus was moving, he said, “We can’t rely on security to stop the old man; he may still have allies inside the Serapeum, and he no doubt knows the place better than anyone.”

The odds of the Archivist having a secret way into the Serapeum were good, and Jess realized with a chill that no matter how careful Santi had been, he couldn’t know all the modifications and specializations the old man would have made during his reign. “His office is the most likely entry point,” Jess said. “He’ll have some way in and out that he kept secret. He could go in that way.”

“But Khalila isn’t using his office,” Glain said.

“Wasn’t,” Wolfe corrected her. “Now that she’s been elevated, she might. She was using a small desk in a storage area, and last I saw she was in a conference room with the Curia. But we don’t know what’s happened since.”

“Sir,” Jess said. “Send the warning to Dario. He’ll get to her and defend her to the death. You know he will.”

Wolfe glanced at him, then nodded and kept writing. “Yes. You’re right. But we still should hurry. This is his endgame, I think. And we don’t know what he’s got planned.”

“The old Archivist doesn’t have his Elites anymore,” Glain said. “We’ve killed most of them. So what could he possibly have left?”

“His pet Obscurist.” Morgan had been silently watching, but now she stepped forward. “Vanya Nikolin. He’s very good at staying out of sight. I’m not certain how powerful he is, but if he can assist the Archivist in any way, it’s by making him undetectable to most.”

“Can you find this Obscurist?” Wolfe asked. “If you can, then it’s very possible that we can find the Archivist along with him. If I know the old man, he’ll keep his Obscurist close and try to use one of the Serapeum’s Translation Chambers to escape once he’s done.”

“After he kills Khalila, and does God only knows what kind of damage,” Jess said. “We can’t wait for a transport.” And I’ll slow you down, he thought, and felt a surge of frustration and despair. It stung, but he had to be practical. He wasn’t well enough to run, or even walk. And they all knew that.

Morgan nodded. “Hands,” she said. They all looked at each other uncertainly. She rolled her eyes. “Stand in a circle and hold hands. I’ll get you inside the Serapeum.”

“Morgan,” Wolfe said. “Are you sure—” He glanced significantly at Jess. What he really meant was, Can he survive the trip?

And Jess wasn’t at all sure he could, but damned if he was going to say it. Not with Khalila’s life and the entire Great Library in the balance.

“Is there a choice?” Morgan asked quietly.

Wolfe didn’t like the answer; Jess could see that. But he held out his hands, and Jess clasped his left, Morgan his right. Glain stepped up and completed the circle.

Glain looked to her Blue Dog second, who was watching this with real worry. “Go straight to Lord Commander Santi,” she said. “Tell him we’re tracking the old man to the Serapeum, and Khalila is in danger. What are you waiting for? Go!”

“Sir.” He saluted.

Then the room dissolved around them in a flash of light, and Jess was falling, flying, flailing, in an ice-cold hell of darkness until suddenly it was done and he was collapsing to the floor. Translation. He hated Translation. And this time, he felt the damage it did to him, pulling at him in all kinds of horrible ways. It felt as if he was dying, as if he’d never draw in another lifesaving breath again . . . and he heard himself gasping over and over like a landed fish. Felt hands turning him over. Heard a confusion of voices smearing the air.