Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(13)

“Does he?” he asked. “I’ve met the old Archivist. I guarantee you that he’d burn the Great Archives to the ground himself rather than lose his power. And we know he must have loyalists still working for him. Until we get him, nothing’s safe.”

“I’ll send word.”

“Promise?”

“Yes,” she said, and he believed her, though clearly she didn’t put much stock in the idea that anyone who’d lived their life in the Great Library could contemplate the unthinkable: destroying books. Even though she’d been there when the Black Archives had been obliterated, she still didn’t comprehend that heresy.

He could. The Archivist was the kind of man who’d murder his family rather than be rejected by them. And he’d destroy the heart of the Great Library for spite if he thought he might lose.

“All right. Then we move on to the next thing. Finding Anit.”

She sent him a skeptical, analytical look. “Are you certain you’re up to it?”

“Asking questions? It isn’t hard labor.”

“You’re pale,” she said. “And frankly, you look like you might drop in a strong breeze.”

He hurt; he couldn’t deny it. And he wanted badly to declare himself too weak to continue. But today wasn’t a day for coddling himself, and he shook his head. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “The Medica gave me a mask to use to treat my lungs. I’ll rest when this is done. Anit’s got eyes and ears everywhere in the city. If anyone can help us root out the Archivist and his allies, she can.”

“If she will.”

“She will.”

“Why?” Glain asked. “I’d think chaos among her enemies would be to her benefit.” Anit’s trade was the stealing, copying, and smuggling of books. And, yes, this did offer her opportunities, rare ones, but she needed a calm, orderly city to do her business well.

“Anit’s practical,” he said, and shrugged. “She’ll help us because she knows we’re better than the old administration. And she can earn some grace and favors.”

Glain looked revolted at the idea of owing favors to smugglers, but less than she would have when he’d first met her; she’d come to accept that for everything prohibited, there would be an endless stream of people willing to cater to those who still craved it. And controlling those people was far better than attempting, uselessly, to completely eradicate a supply without also destroying the demand. “Fine. Where do we start?”

They were now outside the gates of the High Garda compound, on the hill that overlooked the harbor and the city below. A good vantage point, this one, almost at the level of the three major landmarks: the Lighthouse, the Serapeum, the Iron Tower. From here, a good commander could see all the approaches and defenses and most of the city’s closed gates. Santi would be making his way here once he’d finished with orders at the pyramid.

It was going to be a long damned walk back to the Serapeum, and he felt a wave of weakness looking at it.

Jess pointed toward the docks. That journey he could manage. He thought.

Glain frowned. “Why the docks? No one’s working today. No ships coming in.”

“That’s exactly why. Her men will be idle and drinking, and that’ll be where they feel most comfortable. And most protected. So they’ll be easier to approach there.” Hopefully. Because Anit’s men were hers by inheritance . . . they’d been loyal to Red Ibrahim, but she’d killed her own father. He wasn’t sure of the allegiances just now. And if word had gotten around that Anit had killed Red Ibrahim to protect a pair of errant Brightwell boys . . . that would be dangerous.

Jess started for the path that led down the hill. Glain grabbed him by the arm. “No,” she said. “Transport is leaving right now. We’ll hitch a ride.”

“I can walk.”

“Save it.”

She was right: there was a High Garda troop transport rumbling through the gates, and it slowed for them as Glain flagged it down. He climbed in with a real, humbling sense of relief. The troops inside were all grim and quiet; he exchanged nods with many of them he recognized, but no one said anything. Glain signaled to the driver to drop them off at an intersection of roads that led variously to the docks, to the Lighthouse, and around the curve toward the heart of town; she didn’t help Jess down, and he was grateful for the trust. He wasn’t that bad off. Yet.

The Alexandrian docks—like most docks around the world—were not for the casual tourist. It was the one place in the city where Scholars rarely visited, and High Garda went only on business, so it was a natural haven for the less savory elements, particularly smugglers and thieves. The ships crowded together at anchor in the harbor were a vivid reminder of just how vast the reach of the Great Library really was . . . red-sailed trading ships from China, massive multideck vessels with dragon heads from the cold reaches of Scandinavia. Sleek Roman ships rubbed hulls with ships hailing from Turkey and Russia and Portugal, those of the island nations of the Caribbean with the continents of North and South America. As many seafaring, trading countries as existed did business here . . . or had. Now they were all trapped in the harbor, awaiting the outcome of the most dangerous game the Great Library had ever played. Bored. And frightened. It was a bad combination.

There was, of course, a heavy High Garda presence here to keep order, but by common practice they left the bars, taverns, and brothels alone.