Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(53)

He added a very plain, short dagger of Alexandrian design, and no sword; the lack of it made him feel a pang for the family blade he’d damaged this morning. He didn’t actually regret doing that; it had saved Jess’s life. But still. A loss. If he lived through this, he’d have to see about having it repaired.

Two steps away from the mirror he recalled that he needed to change his Codex. He’d purchased a new one and had it registered to the possession of a fictitious person named Bernado Allamante, an immigrant from Granada. It had been used, but only for entirely innocent book requests and innocuous messages. A clean tablet, so to speak. And one that wouldn’t betray his movements, should the High Garda choose to look into it.

He put aside his fancy jeweled Codex with regret. He’d grown up with it, and it was precious to him . . . but not as precious as his life. With any luck, he’d come back to retrieve it. If the Lighthouse still survived.

So much uncertainty.

He put on a plain Spanish leather hat to shade his face and disguise him from casual glances, and nodded at his reflection. He didn’t look like a nobleman anymore, but he was about to do the work of one. Bloody, terrible, cruel work that would cost lives. But that was why people acceded to royalty; someone had to do it. And it was cowardly to avoid one’s duty.

Deep inside, he knew he wanted to run from this. Grab Khalila and drag her off to live a quiet, anonymous life somewhere on a remote, peaceful farm, growing—crops of some type. He didn’t know how it worked, really, but it sounded like bliss to him at the moment. It seemed very real to him: Khalila next to him by a warm fire, children gathered around.

A normal life.

You and that beautiful woman will never be normal, he told himself, and settled his hat at a cockier angle. She’d never cooperate for a moment in a mad plan like that. You must accept that this is your destiny. And learn to like it.

The second part of it would be much harder than the first, but he came from a long line of people who had all done their duty . . . pleasurable or not. He sighed, shrugged, and checked his old Codex when it shivered with the arrival of a message. Finally.

His cousin Alvaro wrote back, Of course I understand fully that your primary loyalty must remain with the Great Library; Spain could ask nothing else. The code, however, said Iberia Warehouse, dock seven. Go now.

Dario took a deep breath and headed for the door. He’d almost reached it when he realized that there was one thing he’d forgotten, a thing so central to his life now that it seemed like part of his skin.

He opened his desk drawer, removed his gold Scholar’s band, and placed it gently inside. Let himself feel the loss of it, and all it meant to him.

You can still change your mind, something whispered. You don’t have to do this. Put it back on. Forget this idiocy.

Impossible.

He shut and locked the drawer, hid the key in his old Codex, and turned his back on all of it.

The Lighthouse security was extreme at the moment, but it was designed to stop and search anyone entering; he’d been subjected to that indignity on the way in. Going out, both the High Garda soldiers and the automata ignored him. Not a threat if he was departing. That was good. It also meant coming home, minus his Scholar’s band, which guaranteed him passage, was next to impossible.

It felt like a book closing.

He walked around the harbor’s long, sleek curve. All the fires were out, though smoke still curled up from one or two distant spots. The sun was shining, the sea shimmering brightly. Clouds still massed on the horizon, but the storm wouldn’t arrive for another few hours. Hopefully. The day felt unnaturally hot, and the air heavy in his lungs. As clean as Alexandria was, the docks always had a taint of rotten fish to them, and it wasn’t a pleasant walk . . . but it was a lonely one. Few had dared the streets after that bombardment, and fewer were out of High Garda uniform. The Scholars were all at work, he thought; the common folk were all hiding in their houses. It made him feel exposed and itchy, and the spot where his golden band had been seemed especially irritated.

He walked faster. Like almost everyone, he imagined, he spent much of his time gaping at the wonder of the automaton of Poseidon, risen from the sea to guard the entrance; it seemed impossibly large and threatening. The chain seemed like an impenetrable barrier, too. But he knew that the fleet out there would be considering new tactics. They might be down, but not yet departed.

Dock seven was on the far side of the harbor, and it was almost wholly deserted. The Iberia Warehouse was one of the smaller buildings, a long two-story structure of freshly painted white stucco with a tiled roof, and the seal of the kingdom of Spain embedded on the side. The door was locked, of course, but he tried it anyway; he knocked. No one answered. He knocked again.

This time, the door opened, and a hand pulled him inside, into the dark. The door slammed behind him. Dario put a hand on his dagger and turned, fast, to face the person who’d drawn him inside. The windows were shuttered, but a green glow kindled and showed him a tall young man. Eyeglasses that reflected the light in an eerie shimmer. “Codex,” the young man said.

“Who are you?”

“Codex.”

There were others in the shadows, and Dario caught the glint of steel and eyes. All right. He was outnumbered. He slid the Codex from its holder and handed it to the young man, who checked it and nodded. He handed it back. “We wanted to be certain you remembered. And your band?” Dario showed him the spot where it had been. He received another sharp nod. “Good. Well thought-out.”