Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(52)

But he was already collapsing as he said it.





EPHEMERA



Text of a Codex message manipulated from within the Iron Tower to be hidden from observation, addressed from the Archivist in Exile to Callum Brightwell


Mr. Brightwell, I deeply regret the loss of your elder son; it is a great pity that the boy sided with his misguided brother instead of obeying your instructions, and if I could have saved him, I would have done so.

I have attempted, without success, to deal with your so-called cousin, Red Ibrahim’s child, to negotiate a safe exit from the city; she has refused me completely. I hope you will be more reasonable, and will find a way to either prevail upon the girl’s good will, buy her cooperation, or remove her and replace her with someone more willing. My work cannot be done here in a city that is both hunting me and under attack from outside forces. I plan to raise an army of my own to retake Alexandria and bring order back to the world, but I cannot do it from within these walls.

I will spare your younger son as part of this bargain, of course. And you may have your pick of the Great Archives on the day I triumph.

Advise me of a plan and the deal will be made.


Reply from Callum Brightwell, hidden from observation


Don’t bother. You’ve promised me enough favors and ransoms that I should own the Great Archives, and the Great Library itself, four times over. If you’re still lingering in Alexandria and not dead on a gallows by the time of my son’s funeral, then I may yet hold you to account and get some value out of you.

Touch my other son and die.





CHAPTER NINE





DARIO

The first thing Dario did, after being released from Santi’s zealous soldiers, was go back to his room in the Lighthouse to dress. It meant passing burning buildings with crews of firefighters, wounded being treated, familiar and beloved spots damaged by bombardment. That one there: his favorite shop for little cakes. There, the café where he drank morning coffee.

It made him angry and unsettled, and being shadowed by Santi’s High Garda afflicted him with a rare dose of caution. He wondered what orders Santi had issued. He trusted the captain—no, Lord Commander—with his life for the most part, but in these unsettled times . . . well. Everything had become chaotic. Even the normally predictable Niccolo Santi.

Coming back to his room always made Dario feel warm and safe; it had a good view of the harbor and it was spacious and had plenty of room for his work desk and clothes closet. He stopped at the desk first, sat, and wrote in his Codex. He addressed the message to his cousin Alvaro Santiago; there was no indication that it would be reviewed by sharp-eyed Obscurists and High Garda, but he was certain it would happen. So he began with an entirely heartfelt entreaty to stop the bombardment of the city, invoking family loyalty as much as he felt would be appropriate, and after that, he used a particularly ornate curl of his pen. It was the signal, in the language of Spanish spies, to switch to a clever code, one devised by a mathematician who’d refused to study at the Alexandrian university or have anything at all to do with the Great Library. He’d been a rebel, that one; his writings were interdicted and difficult to find, even with a Scholar’s clearance. But generations of Spanish diplomats had used his particular code, and as far as Dario knew it had never been cracked. The virtue was that it was not the words themselves that mattered, but the height and embellishment of each letter. It demanded precision on the part of the writer, certainly, but if executed properly it could be a nearly invisible and undetectable way to convey hidden information.

So while he wrote, My loyalty is entirely to the Great Library, as you must surely know; I have been granted a gold band and a lifetime appointment, and this must direct my actions moving forward, he knew that what he was actually conveying was My loyalty is to Spain, and I seek an opportunity to speak with you. Send instructions. He used the code only sparingly, for simple things like this, and he knew his cousin was sharp enough to spot it. Whether or not Alvaro would believe it, or comply, was another matter entirely. But it was possible. At the very least, Alvaro would want to explore the idea that they had a well-placed asset within the city . . . and one with the ear of the new Archivist. And her new assistant, he thought, and felt a flush of shame at what he was doing. Khalila might understand; she was, like him, a child of politics. But at the same time, he was very much afraid she might not.

He knew where his duty lay, and he could not apologize for it. He, of all of them, understood the fragility of the Great Library and the might of the kingdoms that surrounded her on every side. The only thing that had protected the ancient city was the legend, the glittering fa?ade that covered rotten timbers.

But even that had tarnished now, and the only thing that could save this place was to make accommodations. Adjust. Adapt. Make Alexandria useful to the world in ways it had never been before. The Great Library could no longer command the unquestioned obedience and awe of the world, but it could make itself safe. And he would see to that.

Whatever others thought of him in the end.

He bathed and ordered food from the kitchens, only to find from the harassed copper band who delivered his meal that the circumstances of the day prevented anything heated. He settled for the bread, jam, and cold-press coffee, though not with any good grace, and went to choose his clothing carefully.

Brightwell had always accused him of being a peacock, and, yes, to be sure he liked rich fabrics and fine cuts, but today of all days advertising his royalty was inadvisable. He had in his stores a plain set of clothing, purchased secondhand; it was still decent quality, and very clean, and once he’d put it on he looked no different than any other Alexandrian. When he finished, he stood before the mirror and checked himself with exacting eyes. He’d put away all his jewelry, with the exception of his family signet ring; that, he turned inward so all that showed was a plain gold band. It was vanity to wear it, but, well . . . he was vain. The shirt, vest, trousers: all correct. The boots were a bit too good, but he imagined this alternate Dario Santiago had aspirations to better things, and besides, they were comfortable. He’d be wearing them for a long time, most likely.