Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(81)

One of the soldiers skimmed back his hood and stepped forward. Lieutenant Tom Rolleson. Troll, to his friends. “I see you’ve had adventures,” he said. “Tell me all about it, Scholar.”

“Not here,” Wolfe growled, as he watched Glain help Jess into the carrier. Then finally accept help herself. Walking wounded, both of them. “What news?”

“Didn’t you see?”

“See what?”

For answer, Rolleson pointed toward the harbor, which was barely visible from this spot on the hill. Lost in darkness until a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and Wolfe realized what was missing. “Poseidon?” He felt a real stab of alarm. “The fleet?” He tried to look out to sea, but the rain was slanting from that direction, and he could make out nothing but mist and waves. “What’s happened?”

“Poseidon went to war and died for it,” Troll said. “The fleet’s dispersed. We’re safe at the moment, thanks to the storm. Inside, Scholar, this rain isn’t doing either of us good.”

He was right, of course. The relief of the warm interior of the carrier unleashed a wave of weariness that Wolfe pushed aside. He leaned forward and fixed Troll with a stare. “Why did Santi summon me back?”

“Sir, I don’t know,” Rolleson said, which Wolfe sensed was at best half-true. “But I know he wants you there now.” He banged on the partition, and the driver in front began to move the carrier on at a high rate of speed. The Necropolis was a fair distance from the Serapeum, but Wolfe supposed there would be little traffic. Who’d be foolish enough to be out in this rain?

No one, apparently. He slid back a window cover and looked out at the city as it flashed by. “Did the fleet attack again? Is that why Poseidon left position?”

Rolleson shrugged. “They tried to destroy it, and it took issue. We’ll have a job of recovering bodies from wrecked ships tomorrow. It was a shocking sight. I imagine the survivors will remember it a long time.”

“I imagine,” he agreed, and closed his eyes. “Quite a cost for all of us.”

“Still better than our supposed friends taking control of our city. You know that once that happens, we’d never get it back.”

Wolfe nodded. He knew. But he also knew what a balance this was. How delicate and imperfect. The Great Library seemed so ancient that few in modern times could imagine how the world would look if it fell . . . not even those who wanted it to fall. But it was always, always poised on the knife-edge of goodwill and strength. Disaster and daring. It was the gamble of it he loved, more than anything else: the pure will of those ancients who’d understood that without knowledge, there could be no truth.

He would die for the Great Library. Despite everything it had done to him, he would, without question. He just asked that it be as many years away as possible. He’d come very close the last few days. He could still hear the strangely gruesome crunch of the Minotaur twisting the head of the sphinx away from its body. The almost plaintive cry of the dying automaton.

Could have so easily been him, and he suddenly wished for peace, for the days and nights he’d spent traveling with Nic on the way to some dire crisis or other—days they spent talking, or not talking, making love or just lying together, reading. Playing a nightly game of chess, or Egyptian sennet, or the board games of ancient Ur. Something with history and meaning.

He’d underestimated how much peace meant to him. Never Nic, but the still, quiet moments . . . those seemed precious to him now.

Wolfe shook himself out of his musings and forced himself back to attention. The city seemed quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful. The storm battered at walls and towers and the sides of their carrier. The Serapeum, as they approached it, seemed to be a flowing fountain of water down all sides. The street was a river. Rain was rare here, and flooding nearly unknown, except for ocean-driven tempests like this one. Storms always shut the city down.

The carrier went underground to the High Garda’s stronghold below the Serapeum, and from there, Wolfe, Glain, and Jess took the main tunnel up to the garden level. He ordered them both off to the Medica and made sure they actually went before he proceeded with Rolleson. Security was tight, and their identities were checked, and checked again, at every level they passed. The grim silence of the sentries made Wolfe’s skin prickle.

Wolfe was directed to a conference room, and as the two of them entered the room he found Nic was there, gazing blankly into the distance. The sight of his lover’s face was like a beacon back to home, and he basked in it for an instant before he noticed the rest of those assembled.

That included the full Curia, or as many as could be spared; he didn’t see the Artifex Magnus, who must still be manning the Lighthouse. There was no sign of Archivist Murasaki, which was . . . curious. Only Khalila, her assistant, who stood silently at the corner of the long table. Slowly, the Curia rose to their feet. Wolfe stopped, staring at the scene. It made no sense to him.

“Nic?” he asked. His voice seemed odd to him. He was aware there was something in this room, something heavy.

“Archivist Murasaki is dead,” Santi said. His eyes were bleak. Shattered. Wolfe felt a real jolt of horror—not so much for Murasaki as for the pain he could feel radiating out of his lover like fever. “I failed in my duty.” He didn’t elaborate, which wasn’t like him; he just stated the fact and stepped aside with his head bowed. It was terrifying. Santi did not fail. Not like this.