Sword and Pen (The Great Library #5)(95)

“What are you doing?” Glain asked. She didn’t think Morgan would answer, but she had to ask it.

“Repairing her,” Morgan said. “She’s not meant to do this. Her mission is to protect the Great Library, not to hunt down Scholars. I’m sending her where she needs to be.”

The lion slowly closed its jaws, and blinked, and its eyes faded to yellow. Still unnerving, and Glain didn’t relax until it let out an ear-splitting roar, turned, and ran in the direction of the northeast gate.

Morgan had already turned toward Scholar Wolfe. “I’m glad you’re safe,” she said, and then looked at each of them in turn. Glain didn’t like the shimmer in her eyes, or the feeling she got from her. Too . . . hot, somehow. Too full of energy, like power was about to burst out of her. “Scholar . . . the Obscurist who made these changes is still working for the old Archivist. I can track him. We need to stop him before he does something worse.”

“He probably already has,” Jess said. He sounded exhausted. “Do you know him? Who he is?”

“I can find him.” She nodded. “He’s close.”

“What about the old man?” Wolfe asked. “Surely he can’t be far away, either. He can’t Translate out; Eskander’s cut that off from him. Santi’s blocking his way out from any of the other gates. His only chance at escape is through the chaos at the northeast gate.”

“So he’ll be close to the battle and looking for his chance,” Jess said. “Or creating one if he can.”

“Likely,” Wolfe said. “We need to find him. Let’s finish this.”

“Khalila’s offered us resources,” Glain volunteered. “We should take advantage of that. We don’t know who’s with him, or how many guns he’s got on his side. We need to find a spot and lure him into it. If we engage him in the middle of the High Garda army—”

“Confusion,” Jess said. “She’s right, sir. We need to draw him to a place of our choosing, and be ready.”

Wolfe looked to each of them, and finally, to Glain. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll place it in your hands, Wathen. Don’t disappoint.”

She touched her fist to her heart. “My pleasure, Scholar.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure he’ll fall for anything that comes from me, sir. Perhaps you could draw him in?”

“Probably not. He’d automatically assume it was a trap,” Wolfe said. “I can’t think of any of us he’d believe . . .” His voice trailed off, and though he didn’t finish the thought, Jess did.

“Oh, I think you can,” he said. “Because I’m thinking the very same thing.”

And as if he’d been conjured up out of the rain, Dario Santiago rounded the corner and said, “Dios, what did I miss?”





   EPHEMERA


Inscription on the wall of the Great Archives of Alexandria


In this place we burn the lamp of knowledge that never goes out.

   We light the world.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





JESS

“You shouldn’t be here,” Wolfe said to Jess, while Glain wrote in her Codex and Morgan spoke to Dario. “I told you to stay in bed, boy. And you promised.”

Jess shrugged. “Glain was in danger. Staying flat on my back there accomplishes nothing. Being upright with you might.”

“The only thing it will accomplish is to get you killed.”

Wolfe’s voice was severe, but Jess didn’t miss the pain hidden under it, either. He knew Wolfe was worried. But there wasn’t any point. The entire Great Library could collapse before dawn; the Russians could prevail at the gate, could rumble through the streets in their armored carriers and crush the High Garda. The Iron Tower would close its doors, and so would the Serapeum and the Lighthouse and the Great Archives, but how long would that hold if Alexandria itself was taken? Eventually, the Great Library would have to submit. The city’s residents wouldn’t put up a fight; no one had ever trained them how. It had never been necessary.

He decided to be honest. Just with Wolfe, who he thought already knew. “I’m not going to make it, Scholar. Dying in a bed . . . that’s not me. Getting killed for something worthwhile is better than dying alone. At the worst, I might buy you time to do what’s needed.”

Wolfe’s expression flickered, but Jess didn’t know what was underneath that mask. Anger? Anguish? Maybe both. “And what’s that, in your opinion?”

“Kill that old bastard,” Jess said. “Don’t take him prisoner. Don’t let Khalila tell you that justice must be impartial. She’s right, but this is an exception. We’ve seen what damage he’ll do as long as he draws breath.”

He meant it. And he was honest enough, too, to know that part of the reason he said it with so much conviction was his own rage. He was hungry for revenge. And sick that he hadn’t taken it out on Zara, who’d deserved it. Mercy was the effect of his friends, dragging him kicking and screaming into being a better man.

Jess didn’t really think their good influence would last, in the end. He had too much of his family running through his veins, too much of his father’s twisted, stunted outlook rubbed into him like a stain. It would take him a lifetime to unlearn it all. And here he was, barely eighteen, and dying, and all he could truly do was make one last mark. In a very real way, he thought, he’d already died in the arena with his brother.