Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(73)

“No,” he said, and took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid we may inherit it, anyway.”



* * *



—

She left him asleep on the couch and went to find Archivist Murasaki. The older woman was standing in the conference room that had so lately housed the fleet’s diplomats; it seemed large, silent, and lonely now. The vast windows offered a view of the bay and the storm that swept black clouds ever closer from the north. The winds were already blowing. The storm wasn’t far off now, and the ships out there would have to make a quick decision: seek shelter, or attempt to ride out the weather. “They’re too close together,” Murasaki said as Khalila came to join her. “When the storm hits, they’ll be their own worst enemies.”

“You’re thinking of allowing them harbor.”

“No. I’m thinking of asking the pasha of Tripoli to allow them emergency shelter. I don’t want unnecessary deaths on our conscience.”

“They’re our enemies,” Khalila said.

“Until recently, with the exception of France in exile, they were signatories to our treaties. Partners in our great work. If this is handled properly—and it must be—then they will be our allies again. We can’t war with the world if we intend to also teach them, Khalila.”

That, Khalila thought, was a difficult thing to achieve: saving one’s enemies from their own folly. But she nodded. “Shall I send a message to the pasha?”

“I’ll do it,” Murasaki said, and sent her a sudden, warm smile that lit her serious face in wondrous ways. “I’m not yet settled in my throne to the extent I can’t wield a pen for myself.” The smile lingered, but it dimmed. “I’ll also send messages to the respective governments, urging them to order their captains to safety.”

“I can help with that, Archivist.”

“I have other work for you,” Murasaki said. “I am concerned for the Great Archives. It’s the most vulnerable jewel of this city, and I am not satisfied that we have secured it completely. I would prefer some plan to protect that information more thoroughly. Message the Curia and present the problem. I want plans and suggestions in the next hour.”

“Yes, Archivist.” Khalila was already taking out her Codex and marking down the names of the Curia. As she wrote, she said, “Perhaps you should consider the invention that Thomas and Jess created? Not for this crisis, but for the future. Surely having additional printed copies of the work would help preserve it in case of . . . disaster.”

“Heretic,” Murasaki said, but gently, and with a stroke of humor. “Well. The world is changing; that much is definitely true. And we can either change with it or be left behind. I will evaluate this machine of theirs and see how the Great Library may use it to our advantage.”

“You won’t try to suppress it?”

“Here is where I part ways with prior Archivists. Progress will come. It is our job to be sure we remain of use even as it overtakes us. No. Suppression is not our policy, not while I am Archivist.”

That woke a wild streak of hope inside Khalila, a feeling that the world was, at last, cracking open. Changing into something new.

If they could survive to see it.

She finished her rapid message to the Curia, and by the time replies began to appear, the Archivist said, “The pasha indeed offers shelter to the assembled navies. I am sending this information to Ambassador Santiago. I hope they are not stupid enough to remain.”

“Maybe they won’t be,” Khalila said. “But also, maybe they’ll try for our harbor.”

“Against Poseidon? And the anchor chain? That would be folly.”

“Even Poseidon can’t withstand sustained Greek fire bombardment,” Khalila said. “And if they decide to go that direction . . .”

“Then we will fight them,” the Archivist said calmly. “The Obscurists have other automata that we haven’t shown them yet. Between that and the storm, I do not think they’ll like their chances.”

But she was wrong.

As she and Khalila began organizing the room for the arrival of the Curia, the Lighthouse siren sounded, a dire wail that vibrated up Khalila’s spine like a poisonous snake. They both rose from where they sat, and the Archivist looked at Khalila for a long, frozen second before they both turned to look out to sea.

The fleet was coming.

They weren’t running after all.

The first Greek fire hit the Poseidon automaton glancingly on one shoulder; the metal god simply brushed the fire off, and though the skin beneath was a little darker, it seemed undamaged.

But the next volley hit it squarely in the center of its body, multiple ballistas targeting at once, and the fire clung and glowed hideously in the growing dusk. It was beautiful in a way, the explosions, the green flames outlining the sea god, but it was also deeply terrifying to watch their most visible, most ancient defense under attack.

But the automaton wasn’t without its open offensive capabilities. Poseidon lifted its trident and threw it directly at the ships; the massive weapon smashed through three of them like toys, speared three more on its points.

The sheer devastation was horrifying, and Khalila covered her mouth to hold in her gasp. She couldn’t see the blood, the torn bodies, the dead and drowning, but she knew it would be appalling. Violence at a distance was still horrific, and should be felt just as deeply.