Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(56)

“Now!” Dario barked, and shoved the doors open. He jumped out, and the rest followed. Mondragon didn’t like it, he could tell, but then, Mondragon was uncommonly smart. He was probably trying to work out what was happening and how the power had just shifted.

Dario didn’t give him time to think about it.

One of the Spanish spies had a spray device that directed a thin, intense stream of Greek fire onto the lock of the gate; it was a one-use device because it self-destructed as it was fired, and he dropped the empty as he kicked the iron gates open. They creaked back, and Dario heard the shouts and screams and gunfire even more clearly. The sounds came from within the main building, which was made of thick stone and had thin vents near the roofline but no obvious windows. The doors were shut, and when he tried them, they were still locked. He gestured, and the same spy who’d taken care of the gates used another of his ingenious devices on the door. The lock melted, and a boot on the doors slammed them open.

Inside was a war zone. For a moment, Dario couldn’t take it in, even though he knew what to expect; the sphinxes who guarded this place were ripping apart the men and women who had been set to hold it. Some of the sphinxes had already been destroyed or frozen in place; two were half-melted from Greek fire bombs, and as he stared, one of them clattered to a halt midattack and toppled over.

Blood dripped from columns, pooled on the floor, painted the walls in arterial sprays, and he shuddered involuntarily at the sight and smell of it. The stench of Greek fire coiled with the copper and set up a rolling nausea that he swallowed to contain.

There were three sphinxes still active, and at least twenty soldiers fighting them. After the shock passed, Dario snatched the rifle from the spy who was frozen next to him and began to methodically shoot targets. They were wearing High Garda uniforms, but that didn’t stop him. He didn’t let it, even though every face seemed to blur into someone he knew. Captain Santi. Glain Wathen. Jess Brightwell.

He killed as many as he could.

Mondragon’s men were firing now, too, and in a murderous half minute, all the soldiers were down. The ones who hadn’t died from the gunfire ended at the claws and teeth of sphinxes, and Dario turned away, sickened, so as not to witness that. He met Mondragon’s shocked stare. “What is this?” Mondragon asked. “What just happened?”

“You saved the Great Library,” Dario said. “And I’m certain you’ll be handsomely rewarded for that, too.”

The last muffled screams stopped, and the silence felt intense. Dario looked around. The two surviving sphinxes—one had fallen while he wasn’t looking—settled into a waiting crouch, and their eyes dimmed from hell red to steady gold. The slaughterhouse was abruptly at peace.

He went to the first intact body and unbuttoned the bloodstained High Garda uniform collar to reveal the tattoo. It was the emblem of the High Garda Elite, with the inscription nulla misericordia—no mercy. They’d given none, and been shown none. “The old Archivist’s High Garda Elite took over this place last night,” he said. “They planned to blow it up in the event the old man was killed or taken prisoner. The last contingency of the desperate.” He nodded to the back rooms. “You’ll find the real High Garda soldiers’ bodies back there.”

“Why didn’t the sphinxes protect the High Garda, then? Why go for the Elites now?” That question was from the spy who’d used Greek fire on the doors. He seemed nearly as sharp as Mondragon.

“The new Obscurist Magnus discovered this morning that the sphinxes here had been tampered with; the old man must have a captured Obscurist, or a rebel who’s working with them. The damage was already done, and he couldn’t guarantee that the sphinxes could kill all the High Garda Elite before the Elites decided to set fire to the Greek fire stores. Commander Santi needed a backup plan, and he was afraid asking his troops to fire on their own would be too much. So you were the perfect answer, Mondragon. Thank you.”

Mondragon could have killed him in that moment; they were both well aware of it. Mondragon’s gun was in his hand, and just to be certain everyone was clear about his position, Dario held up his right hand and, with his left, gave the rifle back to the spy he’d taken it from. Silent surrender. “You used us,” Mondragon said tightly. “Lambs to the slaughter.”

“Not a one of you is even injured,” Dario said. “And you are more wolves than sheep, if you’ll permit me to stretch the metaphor. But you can now safely go back to whatever your spymasters tell you to do next. Your role will never be mentioned. And the ambassador already knows of this brave action, and will reward you for it. It’s not in Spain’s interest to have this city in ruins.”

“We occupy this place now. We can keep it for Spain,” Mondragon said. Which was exactly what Dario had been afraid might happen. “Turn off the automata.”

“No,” Dario said quietly. “I will not. Shoot me and explain it to my cousin.”

“No need for that,” Villareal said, and stepped forward. “He told me the secret. I’ll do it.”

Dario pressed his lips together. He wanted to scream, to tell the man not to try it. He genuinely liked him.

He still kept his silence.

Villareal approached the first sphinx, and its eyes shifted from gold to warning to angry red. It came up out of its crouch.

He lunged for its armpit, and Dario averted his gaze. Not fast enough to avoid seeing the horror on the man’s face as he realized he’d been tricked.