Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(70)

“An attack,” Mwangi said. “Companies are responding.”

“What kind of attack?” And how had anyone gotten into the Iron Tower? Obscurists could enter and leave, but anyone else coming in required specific credentials. She hadn’t checked the Iron Tower, but she knew Salk’s list would have covered the automata downstairs at the ground level, and there were none higher, not here.

Or were there? She couldn’t remember if Gregory had installed one in his opulent office, the one that Eskander had refused to use. But if so, that door was locked and couldn’t be opened by anyone except the current Obscurist Magnus.

“What’s happening down there?” Morgan asked, but she asked it on the move, running for the stairs; it would be faster than the lifting chamber. “What kind of attack?”

“Obscurist, stop!” Mwangi ordered, but Morgan didn’t obey. She kept running. “There are two traitor Obscurists! Please stop, I can’t let you go down there!”

Morgan came to a sudden halt at the landing and looked down. There were two of them; they had already set the sole automaton guardian ablaze with Greek fire, and it was melting into a horrifying skeleton as she watched. The High Garda were shooting, but the two Obscurists—young men, both of them—had some kind of alchemical protection in place. She caught her breath as she saw one of them throw a glass bulb toward the sheltered High Garda soldiers. They saw it coming, but there was nowhere for them to go.

Morgan reached out her hand and hardened the air around the globe. She lowered it gently to the flagstones, then, with a puff of air, rolled it quietly back toward the Obscurists. The one who’d thrown the globe was still staring where it should have landed, waiting for the virulent green flames to erupt and set the soldiers alight . . . and he didn’t notice that the globe he’d thrown was bumping toward him until it bumped his boot.

He drew back his foot to kick it away toward the High Garda.

Morgan couldn’t let him have a second try at killing more people. She quickly denatured the components inside the globe, and by the time his boot hit it, it was filled with nothing more than sludge that would leave a stain but couldn’t burn if they put a match to it.

But there was something else; she could feel it. Something shrouded in Obscurist formulae, something not right here.

Then she saw it, an apparently abandoned bag sitting in the exact center of the floor on top of the mosaic seal of the Great Library. It looked anonymous, but inside . . . She struggled to understand the complex whirl of formulae waiting to be triggered. That one would create a violent updraft of wind, something strong enough to reach through the central open space of the Iron Tower all the way to the top. The layer entangled with it ensured that fire burned hotter, a simple enhancement used in Artifex forges.

Beneath that was a bundle of Greek fire bottles waiting to be broken.

The last layer, the trigger layer of commands, was a single word that would crush the bottles.

Morgan realized with a wave of sick horror that what was intended here was mass murder. With a single spoken phrase, these two rogue Obscurists would unleash a whirlwind of Greek fire that would spiral up through every floor, trapping innocents in an inferno from which there would be no escape. The High Garda’s denaturing powder wouldn’t be enough.

She had to stop it before it started.

One of the two men opened his mouth, and she saw the feverish light in his eyes. This was it. He was going to ignite the bomb.

She used the same trick they’d used on her. She had no prewritten scripts to help her, but she didn’t need them; she’d spent years perfecting the ability to hide, and that meant hiding any sounds that might betray her, too. She could play the same games.

He shouted, “Tota est scientia!” The motto of the Great Library, used as a weapon.

But she’d already stilled the air around him, and the sound never left his lips. He was effectively mute.

He tried again, and again, looking desperate now, and when he realized it was useless he fixed on her with pure hatred.

He threw another Greek fire bomb at her, and she fought the urge to panic. No. Stand. You have to keep him silent!

While maintaining his imposed silence, she reached out to catch the glass globe as it fell toward her.

It was the only thing she could do, and it was a horrible risk; if she fumbled, she’d burn. If she cracked the glass in her terror, she’d burn.

But she caught it like a dropped egg and held it in her trembling palm for a long few seconds until Sergeant Mwangi rushed over, grabbed the innocent-looking thing, and lobbed it with deadly accuracy back at the two Obscurists.

They were not prepared. One of them attempted the same catch, but it fell between his outstretched hands, struck the pavement at their feet, and splashed liquid in a thick pool around them.

Then they burned.

“Put them out!” Mwangi shouted, and turned to Morgan as the squad rushed over with denaturing powder. One of them seemed like he might live. The other, by the time the powder was applied, was a blackened, burning nightmare.

She realized with a flinch that she was still imposing silence on him, but when she released her hold on the air, he didn’t scream.

His throat was too seared to make the sound.

“Obscurist?” Mwangi grabbed her arms as she wavered. “Obscurist, are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, but it felt awful and hollow. She turned away to avoid Mwangi’s glance. Tears burned in her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back. I did what I had to do.