Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(27)

“To the afterworld. The Archivist took me to see his tomb once, in the Necropolis under the city,” Wolfe said. “He built himself an absurdly large model Serapeum there to house his corpse for the afterlife, a pyramid built underground. Ten rooms or so. Big enough to make a temporary command center for him and some of his commanders, at least.”

The Necropolis. Jess steadied a little, because it was a place he’d only heard of, never seen, and he’d once been keen to tour it. The obsession of old Egypt was not death, but life; in death they’d been utterly sure they’d continue to live. Supplies, clothing, possessions . . . all of it went with them to the afterlife. A thousand years ago, they’d also begun building replicas of their homes in the Necropolis—smaller, but with all the familiar touches of their lives—so that on waking in the next world they would have the comforts of their mortal homes to orient them.

Leave it to the Archivist to build himself a massive pyramid instead of a modest miniature home. It reflected the size of his ego, and Jess winced at the wealth he’d looted from the Great Library’s treasury to shower on his arrogance. An emperor in all but name, Jess thought. “He’s living in a cemetery?”

“It’s quiet and private, safely underground, and most avoid it,” Wolfe said. “He’d have stockpiled all he needed there for himself and his loyalists. I’m sure living in a city of bones and corpses won’t bother him as long as it keeps him hidden from High Garda eyes. Out of respect, Santi wouldn’t necessarily think to include it in the door-to-door search.”

“Or he’ll leave it to last,” Jess said.

“Might as well do it for him, then,” Wolfe said. “I’m happy for you to remain here—I want to make that clear. This could be difficult. And dangerous.”

“Since when has that ever stopped me?” Jess managed a smile, somehow. “Or you, Scholar? You’re fresh out of a prison, your third in the last few years. Don’t tell me it didn’t affect you.”

Wolfe’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer immediately. When he did, it was to merely say, “Touché.”

“And Santi would kill me if he knew I’d let you go off on your own without me.”

“No, he’s quite used to me doing as I please, thank you. And we both know you aren’t worried about losing some chance of promotion. Your time in that uniform is temporary, we both know it.”

Jess had grown to recognize that, in the past few months; however much he liked the physicality of the High Garda, his ability to follow orders was—at best—suspect. Yet he had no special calling to be a Scholar, either, or even a librarian, as much as he loved books. He was just surprised Wolfe had seen it, too. “True,” he said aloud. “But we both have reason to find the old man. And Zara.” Zara, once Santi’s lieutenant, had thrown her lot in with the old Archivist. Jess’s goal now was to make her pay for that mistake. “I don’t want you walking out any door into the open. No one can protect you from a sniper with good aim.”

“Not very good aim,” Wolfe said. “He didn’t manage to kill Glain.”

“That reminds me. Why would anyone be aiming for Glain?”

Wolfe’s eyebrows rose and drew together in the same motion. “Perhaps they see her as an important force in the new High Garda,” he said. “Don’t you?”

Jess was immediately ashamed. He hadn’t adjusted himself yet to the idea that his friends, his contemporaries, were no longer ambitious students. They were now achieving. Khalila was rising ever higher. Dario was proving himself an effective diplomat. Thomas had always been a fiercely talented engineer, but now was recognized as something even greater. Morgan was the most talented Obscurist of her generation, and second in power only to the new Obscurist Magnus. Glain was likely to rise to the rank of captain, or even higher.

“You’re right,” he said to Wolfe. “They’re all exceptional. Everyone except me.” He smiled when he said it, just the way Brendan would have done. Self-assured and cynical. “My genius lies elsewhere. Or maybe I have none.”

Wolfe said nothing. Just studied him with that sharp, unsettling focus Jess remembered from what seemed like half a lifetime back now . . . the moment a black-robed Scholar had assessed a confused, nervous gaggle of students fresh off the Alexandria train. It almost felt familiar now, that silent study; it never stopped feeling intrusive.

“I wonder if it was your father who made you think so little of yourself,” Wolfe said, which was not at all what Jess expected. “Having met the man, I would believe it. But, Jess: don’t believe what the demons whisper in the corners of your mind. We all have demons. You are not to be compared against any of the others, or against your own brother. You are yourself. And if I had not seen genius in you, I never would have kept you in the class. I don’t coddle mediocrity.”

Jess felt pressure building behind his eyes, and willed the tears away. No. Not now. Not with him. “You certainly never have before.”

“Then take it for the approval it is.” Wolfe continued to watch him. Jess avoided his gaze and became entranced with the fish again. He heard Wolfe sigh. “Your young friend Anit swears there is a secret exit we can use. We’ll move at dusk. Until then, I want you reclining and resting and using whatever magic elixirs the Medica gave you. Understand?”