Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(90)

And a green mist rising from the floor to curl around his ankles.

Heron’s statue turned and said, “You have until the clock turns to find the answer and earn your discovery.”

Thomas gasped for air against the constriction in his lungs, and looked up to see that the statue now held a water clock.

And the water in the top container was rapidly dripping into the bottom container.

Time was running out.





EPHEMERA



Message from the Archivist in Exile to Obscurist Vanya Nikolin, discovered by Obscurists and destroyed before delivery


It’s all going wrong. This storm has driven off the ships. The surviving Welsh and British have turned tail and intend to crawl back to the warm embrace of the Great Library. The Spanish won’t answer my messages.

To make things worse, my assassins have killed the new Archivist at exactly the wrong moment. Santi’s men are hunting down my Elites. I need out of the city, and to do that, I need cover; the Russians have agreed to provide that distraction at the northeast city gate.

I will have to abandon the riches of Heron’s Tomb. As long as Schreiber’s been inside, he’s probably dead, anyway.

As the attack proceeds, dispatch the automata to find Santi’s friends, starting with Christopher Wolfe. I want all of them dead, including the new Archivist if you can manage it. If not I’ll settle for Wolfe, but that must be done. Save Santi for last. I might yet find a use for him.

If he resists, I’ll happily slit his throat.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





GLAIN

She’d borne the visit to the Medica station with as much grace as she could, which was next to none. They’d cleaned and dressed the wounds left by the sphinx, and she’d been given leave to return to duty. The Medica’s stern warning that she’d almost lost her life didn’t much bother her. She was a soldier. Losing her life was an everyday risk.

Jess didn’t earn the same dismissal from his sickbed. He was livid, of course, and it scared her a little how adamant he was that he could function well enough to leave. The Medica—a big, burly woman who could have wrestled Thomas into submission—glared at him until he fell into a stubborn silence. “No,” she said flatly. “You’re not going anywhere. The damage to your lungs was bad enough before, I’m told; it’s worse now, and more effort will make it fatal in short order. Keep going, young man, and you will drown in your own juices. My orders are that you’re restricted from any duties whatsoever. No arguments or I’ll chain you to the bed.”

“You probably would,” Jess muttered. That earned another glare. “All right. I’ll stay.”

“And I’ll order more treatments,” she said, and turn to Wolfe, who lurked in the corner like a premonition. “Scholar? Can you stay with him and make sure he does as I say?”

“Yes,” Wolfe replied, and crossed his arms. He looked severe, dour, and utterly remote. “I certainly will.”

At least Glain thought she was leaving Jess in safety—as much as anyone had at the moment. As she nodded her good-byes to him and to Wolfe, she wondered if she’d ever see them again. So the nods turned, impulsively, into words. “Stay safe,” she said, and was astonished that she’d said it. She felt her cheeks turn hot, and gods knew she hadn’t blushed more than a few times in her life. She hated that it had happened now, of all moments. “Don’t die on me. I need you.”

“You’re the one running out to fight,” Jess said. “The worst I risk is an uncomfortable pillow. And . . .” He hesitated, and smiled. In it, she saw the old, cocky Jess. The one he ought to be now. “And I love you, too.”

She felt a horrifying tightness in her throat. Tears? No. She wouldn’t. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would,” Wolfe said quietly. “May the gods look after you tonight. I want you back in the morning. You’re precious to more people than you know.”

She nodded. Not able to speak. She escaped before she could betray what that meant to her, but once she was outside in the furiously pounding rain, she had to stop and let it sluice cold over her. There. No tears possible now. They were invisible.

She allowed herself the luxury of only a moment to let the emotion have its way, and then she caught a passing transport rumbling toward the northern districts. If an attack was still coming tonight, it would be there, from the massed infantry forces that had been sitting so quietly and waiting for the naval invasion that had never landed. The Russians had marched a long way to get here. She didn’t think they’d leave without a fight.

The High Garda presence was thick as the carrier approached the outer districts, and she jumped down and ran toward the northeastern gate, the one most likely to be attacked. That was where she’d find Captain Botha, she assumed, and her squad as well.

Botha, she was told when she encountered the first member of his company, was up on the ramparts. The walls of Alexandria were built in layers; the top was massively thick, but it was supported by inner rings that rose to various levels and provided ramps from one level to another. Botha, it seemed, had stationed his company on the top; they’d be in charge of firing down on any attackers rushing the gates.

And the Russians would be trying their mettle. She had no doubt. What she worried about was what else might happen in the confusion of the fight. She’d been in battles before; she knew how effective diversions could be.