Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(9)

Wolfe had been watching him with concern, but in the next instant he was back to the sour, dour man who had once greeted his class at the Alexandria train station. A black crow in a black robe, distant and dismissive.

“Very well,” he said. “Keep up, Brightwell. We need to find Nic. He should be close by.”



* * *



—

Finding Niccolo Santi was an easy task. He was at the Serapeum, standing near the base while a crowd of runners took orders from him and left. His lieutenants—Jess’s friend Glain among them—waited patiently for their own instructions. There was a sense of calm, even in the chaos of people jockeying for position. Part of that was Santi himself, standing solid in the center of the storm and addressing himself to each person in turn with complete focus. He caught sight of Wolfe, Jess, and Dario as they emerged from the side garden and hesitated for only an instant before listening with full attention to the veiled lieutenant standing before him. He gave her a response, handed her a Codex, and saluted her with a fist over his heart combined with a bow. She returned the gesture and was off at a run.

Santi called a pause and pushed through the crowd to get to Wolfe. A quick embrace and he stepped back to study each of them. One second for each of them, and he said, “Jess? You look unwell. What happened?”

“I’ll get him to a Medica. Here,” Wolfe said, and handed over the sheaf of papers. “I’ll go through the rest of what I gathered for strategic use, but this is the key to the harbor defense. Fetch Schreiber; he’ll be most useful in this. It’s unlikely to function as intended immediately; it’s been so long since it was even rumored to be used.”

“My God, I never thought we’d find this,” Santi said. “I’ll keep Brightwell with me, if you don’t mind. I’ll have a Medica look him over.” He gave Wolfe a long, searching look. “And you? You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” Wolfe said. “I only got a mild dose of the poison. Jess breathed it deep. If you could see to his safety, I would be . . . relieved.” He paused and looked around. Something seemed to dawn on him. “Isn’t this the job of the new High Garda commander?”

“It is. The old High Commander stepped down. Don’t look at me that way. Someone needed to make order out of this mess. It’s temporary.”

“Command looks good on you,” Dario observed. “Perhaps you should keep the job.”

Santi gave him a quelling look. “Have you considered that not everything needs your commentary, Scholar?”

“Ouch,” Dario said, amused. “Let me think about it. Wait, I have. I disagree.” He was bright-eyed and smiling and chattering, but there was something fragile beneath it. Jess was too tired to wonder at it. He wanted to sit and close his eyes and forget that feeling of suffocation. Of surrender. “Perhaps Scholar Wolfe intends to put his hand up for the position of Archivist later today.”

“Me? Hardly,” Wolfe said. “I have rather a lot of enemies even on my own side.”

Santi’s grin came suddenly. “No one’s forgotten that. But you also have one of the best minds in this city.”

“Debatable. And you’re hardly impartial. I’m not meant to lead, Nic. Don’t be ridiculous.” He turned to Jess. “I’ll leave you in your commander’s capable hands. Rest. You’ve done well. And, Nic? Try not to get knifed in the back. You realize we have enemies masquerading as allies, don’t you?”

“I do. That’s why I’m here, to show that we are efficient, effective, and in control. I have troops moving to protect every critical security point in the city, and more roving squads to keep order in residential streets, and a special elite squad paired with automata to watch all approaches to the walls; the Russians have set up camp at the northeastern gate, and there’s no sign they intend to move on. I’ve got High Garda ships dispatched to the mouth of the harbor as a temporary blockade. Thomas is, I believe, finishing with his fitting out of the Lighthouse beam. I’ll send for him and have him tackle this information you’ve brought. It’s well beyond me.” Santi paused again and looked straight at Wolfe. “Let’s survive this day, love. And raise a glass at home.”

“At home,” Wolfe said. “Until then, keep yourself safe.”

“And you.”

This, Jess thought, was the love he wanted in his life: a love of equals. Loyal and kind. He wasn’t sure he had that yet. But it was something to aspire to.

That sent his thoughts spinning in Morgan’s direction, and he said, “Captain?” That drew Santi’s gaze back. “The Obscurists could help you distribute information more effectively.”

“Yes, Jess, we’ve already worked that out. The Scribe there is relaying every order to the records, and from there it is disbursed out to the officer in charge.”

That was when Jess realized that the statue sitting cross-legged on a plinth nearby wasn’t merely decorative. It was, in fact, an automaton, one with a metal tablet in one hand and a metal stylus in the other, and as it inscribed words on the tablet’s blank surface, they vanished into—he presumed—the Archives, where the Codex would then retrieve and distribute them as needed. All the orders would be coded with Santi’s personal seal . . . or, Jess supposed, the High Garda Commander’s seal, which was a role Santi now filled. The Scribe must have been tuned to Santi’s voice, because it seemed to be transcribing all his conversations . . . including this one.