Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(20)

“Yes, Archivist. Should your ships attempt to sail into the harbor, we are prepared to activate Heron’s Guardian to defend the entrance. Should you somehow overcome this barrier that no one has ever defeated, be aware that we now possess a weapon which can set wooden ships alight at a distance—or melt metal to scrap. Should you evade both of these defenses, you will be met with the full force of the High Garda and the automata that defend this city.”

Ambassador Parry didn’t blink. “You should be careful of your threats, Archivist.”

“Those are not threats,” Murasaki said. “They are advisories. It is our duty to defend this city from invading forces, however well meant their stated intentions. We do not require your rescue. And we will not accept it. You have my answer, Ambassadors. You may take your places as honored diplomats, or you may go back to your ships and leave. But there is no third option that does not bring disaster to you.”

“Archivist,” Santiago said. “You badly mistake our intentions. We are here merely to assist in your struggle—”

“Look around you, Ambassador,” Murasaki said. There was an edge to her voice now, and Khalila shivered at the sound of it. “We are not struggling. We have won. You may now retire to a room we will provide and discuss your options. When you are prepared to present a unified answer, I will listen.”

It was a clear, cold dismissal, and the ambassadors all exchanged looks. All deferred to Santiago, who gave a cool, studied bow to the Archivist and said, “We will discuss. My thanks, Archivist, for your time and consideration.”

She nodded. “You will be provided with food and drink,” she said, and Khalila immediately stepped forward. She felt rather than saw the Archivist’s glance. “Scholar Seif will guide you to your temporary accommodations.”

Khalila was trembling inside, but she kept her head high and face neutral as she led the party of diplomats and their guards out of the hall; she saw Dario watching, but he didn’t attempt to join her. She was thankful for that, in a way, though she would have liked his company. As long as Spain had a stake in this, his loyalties were mixed.

The party passed through the massive doors and into the outer hall; she led them up an interior stairwell to a large, airy room with an open side facing the ocean to catch the cooling breezes. Light screens blew in the breeze and prevented the invasion of flies so typical of this time of year. There was a long conference table of polished stone with a dozen chairs of Florentine design, and couches and chairs nearer the windows for the rest of the ambassadorial party. Seating enough—she saw that at a glance. What they lacked was refreshment.

“Ambassadors, I will see you are provided with food and drink,” she said. “You’ll be assigned staff should you have any special requests. Is there anything else I may do for you?”

“Scholar Seif, may I offer my gratitude?” Alvaro Santiago said. “I am pleased to see you well, Khalila. Are your friends all safe as well?”

“All safe,” she said, and smiled. Be on guard. He’s a clever one. “Our sincerest thanks for your assistance to our ragged party of Scholars, Ambassador.”

“Of course. It seems my assistance had a rather large impact. I am glad to see you well. And Brightwell . . . ?”

“He’s fine,” Khalila replied. I hope. “Unfortunately, his brother was lost in the struggle.”

“All wars have losses,” Santiago said, and she felt he meant more by that than a comment on Brendan’s death. “And all wars are destructive. You should remind your new Archivist of that.”

“I am quite sure she’s aware of it, sir.” Khalila nodded deferentially and left to order the promised refreshments from the busy Serapeum staff. Santi, she noted, had already dispatched soldiers to guard the room’s sole exit. She approved.

The pyramid’s middle level contained the staff services: cleaning and catering. Khalila headed there and found the area surprisingly understaffed; she sought out the beleaguered woman wearing the silver collar of a career servant of the Great Library and said, “Excuse me, but where are the workers?”

“They’re worried,” the woman said. She was a short, round woman with South Asian features, and a surprising number of scars on her hands. A chef, most likely. “Not sure everything is settled yet, and they don’t want to be caught in the middle of things. I can hardly blame them, to be honest. There’s panic in the city. They have families to look after. As do I, but my first duty is still here.”

Khalila started to fire back a hot reply, but then took a beat to consider. There was no point in being angry; the woman’s point was well made. Great Library servants were not all careerists; many signed on for limited contracts of a year, five years, ten. They had much to lose and little to gain in a conflict, and they weren’t Scholars with a stake in the outcome . . . but they still had priceless value. It took vast numbers of people just like this woman, and the ones afraid to appear today, to make the whole city run. She needed to keep that in mind.

“On behalf of the Archivist, I thank you for your faithful service,” she said. “May I ask your name?”

“Wadida Suhaila, Scholar.” Some of the weariness disappeared from her face. She straightened her shoulders. “I appreciate the recognition, Scholar.”

“Khalila Seif,” Khalila said, and gave her a small, formal bow. “I know you are overworked, but might I ask you to provide what refreshments are available to the Seventh Great Room? We have a grouping of ambassadors there, debating their next steps.”