Sword and Pen

by Rachel Caine

  She nodded, and hoped the warmth in her gaze was enough to bridge the distance.

  Dario straightened and headed for the door. The last soldier in the room was at the windows, cranking down the metal shutters.

  He was killed by a sphinx as it glided in through the opening, silent on its metal wings. It speared him through the chest with talons as long as an eagle’s, and flung him across the room in a spray of torn flesh and blood.

  Dario’s hand went for a sword that was missing from his belt, and then he drew his dagger.

  Litterae Vargas shouted, “High Garda! Defend the Archivist!” And the doors that had just shut flew open as they rushed in.

  Khalila had a knife that was already in her hand even before the shock hit her—shock that immediately vanished like mist under the sun, with determination and anger taking its place. They dare to kill here again. High Garda soldiers ran to her and surrounded her in a wall of bodies, and the Curia members dived for protection behind an overturned table—but the sphinx wasn’t coming for them.

  It turned its Pharaoh’s head straight toward her, and shrieked.

  Dario stepped out of the protection of the High Garda. “No!” Khalila cried, but she knew what he was doing, and why. I can do this. I don’t need you to do it for me. But that wasn’t true. When she was just Scholar Khalila Seif, she would have risked herself freely. But the same position that meant he couldn’t command her meant that she couldn’t order him not to protect her, either.

  He gave her a flash of a smile, cocky as ever, and she saw for the first time that he had blood in his hair, blood on his shirt—how had she missed it before?

  Then he was moving.

  He ran at the sphinx, dodged a swipe from a taloned paw, and then another. He buried his sword in one of the thing’s eyes, and as it lifted its head and let out another violent scream, he twisted in close and jammed his fingers up under the thing’s chin. Then he rolled under it, between the slashing paws, and curled into a ball with his hands covering his head. He was helpless if it hadn’t worked, if it turned on him . . .

  But it stopped, midturn, with its claws hovering a few inches above his body.

  Khalila didn’t dare breathe. She heard the hiss of steam, the ticking of the clockworks inside the automaton’s body.

  Dario opened one eye, saw the claws looming over him, and flinched.

  “Move!” Khalila snapped, and the soldiers stepped away from her. She ran to Dario, grabbed his hands, and pulled him out from under the dead automaton. Then up and into her arms. “What idiocy was that?”

  “Heroism,” he said, and gave her a shaky smile. “Pure heroism.”

  She only sighed. Then she stepped back, folded her hands together, and said, “Thank you for your bravery, Scholar Santiago.”

  He stopped smiling, but she saw the glow in his eyes nevertheless. He bowed deeply. “Archivist. I’ll be outside. Just in case there’s another chance to prove my worth.”

  He walked to the door, and a guard looked at her for a nod before he opened it for Dario’s departure.

  Khalila caught her breath on something that might have been a laugh, or a sob, or both, and turned to the lieutenant of the High Garda soldiers. “Please see to your fallen man. What is his name . . . ?”

  “Reyansh Bannerjee.”

  “I will personally inform his family of his sacrifice, and that he gave his life for mine.”

  “Yes, Archivist.” The lieutenant signaled his men, and four of them broke away to carry Reyansh Bannerjee—a man she had never known, a man with a life and a family and a reality now ended—away. I owe him my life. I will do him honor every day I must shoulder this responsibility.

  She’d only just caught her breath and retrieved her fallen dagger when a knock came at the door. Dario’s voice said, “Archivist? Scholar Wolfe is here.”

  “He may enter,” she said. “Members of the Curia, are you all right—?”

  “Fine,” Litterae Vargas reported, and helped the older members to their feet. “We’ll continue our business when you’re ready. Personally, I could use a drink.”

  Once they were out, Wolfe entered, and once she’d given permission the soldiers also allowed Glain, Morgan, and Dario to join them. Just her friends now, and for the first time she let her guard down. A little.

  “You’re all right?” Wolfe asked her. At her nod, he continued. “We were told there was a threat to your safety. We came as soon as we could.” He cast a sidelong look at Dario. “Though I see he managed to get here sooner.”

  “I commandeered a carriage, and then I ran,” Dario said flatly. “Like the devil was after me. Where’s Jess?”

  “Resting,” Morgan said. “In the old Archivist’s office. He couldn’t make it the rest of the way. We’ll go back for him, but we needed to be sure—”

  “I’m fine,” Khalila said, and managed a smile. “And you, Morgan?”

  “Yes. I’m well enough. Do you know where Thomas is?”

  “No,” Khalila said. “The High Garda’s been on the hunt when they can, but . . . You don’t think something’s happened to him, do you?”

  “I think Thomas wouldn’t disappear at a time like this unless he had no choice in the matter,” Wolfe answered. “And he was last seen leaving the Lighthouse, on his way to the workshops—”

  Wolfe’s Codex shivered in its holder at his belt. So did Glain’s. So did Morgan’s. And Dario’s.

  And Khalila’s, too.

  They all opened them at about the same moment. Wolfe was just a fraction faster to the meaning.

  “It’s from Thomas. He says the Great Archives are in danger. The Archivist intends to destroy them.”

  For a blank instant, Khalila looked at him, waiting for him to give some order, and then she remembered. No. This was her duty, not his.

  “Who’s the best expert on the Great Archives available?”

  “There are special Scholars who maintain the collection,” Wolfe said. He was already writing in his Codex. “And a special company of guards dedicated to its protection.”

  “Summon the Scholars, if they’re not already inside the facility,” she said. “We’ll require their expertise. Do it on my authority.”

  She quickly wrote to Lord Commander Santi. I will need your troops stationed at the Great Archives to be under my immediate command. Secure the facility. No one goes in or leaves unless I grant permission. Kill anyone who attempts entry without my approval.

  Understood, Santi wrote back. The battle is winding up here. Russians retreating. I will come myself.

  She hesitated, then wrote, Hurry. We need you.

  Then she looked up and said, “Now. We all go. If the Great Archives are in danger, we can’t wait here.”

  Wolfe bowed slightly, and put his fist over his heart. A High Garda gesture. “In your service, Archivist.” She listened for any hint of mockery. But he was completely sincere.

  I am the Archivist of the Great Library, she thought. If only for this one night.

  But for this one night, the Great Library will survive. At whatever cost.

  Insha’Allah.

  EPHEMERA

  Text of a letter handwritten by Obscurist Alfred Nobel, kept and handed down to each Archivist in turn until the reign of Archivist Khalila Seif

  I am writing to give you a burden so great that our minds can scarcely grasp its significance. I am sorry, but you must read this, keep it, and share it only with your trusted Curia and the Lord Commander of the High Garda, all of whom must be sworn to secrecy in this matter.

  After much debate, we have installed four controls in the Greek fire system beneath the Great Archives. A saboteur might find the controls. To that end, we have taken a lesson from the writings of Great Heron, and carefully concealed what to do in the event of an unwanted activation of this system.

  The drawings b
elow show precisely what must be done.

  Do not fall prey to the trap we have set, or all is lost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JESS

  Jess looked down at the dead Archivist for a frozen eternity of seconds, and then fumbled the breathing mask from his pocket and dragged down breaths, as many and as fast as he could stand. It helped a little. Working out how to leave the library room took long minutes, but he finally found the switch that moved the god out of the way. The walk from the Archivist’s office to the formal entry area seemed to take forever—an endless hallway, and he moved on leaden legs.

  But he made it to the hub at the end of the hallway. From there, a steam-powered lifting chamber took him up to the fourth level of the pyramid. He stumbled out as soon as the doors opened on the right level. He wasn’t sure how much strength he had left, but there was no time to waste. He had to use it all.

  High Garda were everywhere, and as Jess approached they shouted at him to stop. He was forced to obey at the point of guns. He looked for a friendly face, found nothing but death staring back.

  “Archivist,” he gasped. “I need the Archivist—” He nearly fell, and braced himself against the wall. “Archives are in danger. Tell her.”

  “She knows.” Lord Commander Niccolo Santi’s voice came from behind him, and Jess turned to look. Santi was a terrifying sight: exhausted, red-eyed, smoke-stained, and his expression was absolutely bloody murderous. “Thomas sent word. He’s coming, too. Where have you been?”

  No point in wasting his breath explaining. Jess doubled over coughing, and fumbled for his mask. Took a couple of breaths and tried again. “The old Archivist said something about Archivist Nobel.”

  Santi grabbed Jess by the shoulders and stared at him, and Jess had never seen the man so shaken. “What did you say?”

  “He said—Nobel had never imagined destroying the Great Library, but he’d made it possible.”

  “Where is the old Archivist?”

  “Dead,” Jess said. “In his private library.”

  “Jess!” He heard Khalila’s shout, and he looked up and saw her pushing past the soldiers toward him. She was flanked by his friends, and he saw her expression shift when she saw him, but she didn’t ask him what was wrong. She came straight to the point, moving her attention to Santi. “Lord Commander, I’m glad you’re here. We believe the Great Archives are in danger. According to Thomas, who is on his way there.”

  “Something Jess just said made me realize he’s right. The old man has a way to do something unthinkable.”

  “That’s a word I’ve never heard you use before,” Wolfe said. “Nic, what’s happened?”

  “About to happen.” Santi took in a deep breath. “Khalila, you should have been briefed on this; Archivist Murasaki was, but there hasn’t been time to meet with you. The Great Archives have, for more than a full century, had a fail-safe system. It was installed by Archivist Nobel during his reign—a bluff meant to terrify nations into compliance at a time when many wanted to take Alexandria for themselves. In the event of an attack, should any nation seize control of the source of knowledge—it would be destroyed. Everyone would lose. Only the Archivist and the Lord Commander knew about this fail-safe.” He shook his head. “The awful thing is that it’s worked. It’s kept most countries from testing our resolve.”

  “That’s . . .” Jess saw the horror dawn in Khalila’s eyes, just as he felt it dawn inside him. “That’s monstrous.”

  “It kept the peace. It was never meant to be used, only as an apocalyptic threat.”

  “Nobel’s great secret,” Wolfe said. “There were rumors, but—they actually installed it?”

  “Yes,” Santi said. “A massive series of Greek fire sealed in tubes running beneath the Great Archives. Only the Archivist or Lord High Commander can activate it. Only the Archivist can stop it once activated.”

  “How?” Khalila asked tensely. “How can I stop it?”

  “You can’t,” Santi said. “Your name has yet to be written in the official record. You haven’t been fully confirmed. The fail-safe can only be countermanded by an Archivist written in the history.”

  “You’re missing the obvious. She only needs to be written into the official record,” Wolfe said. “Immediately. We do that, and this is over.”

  “We can’t,” Santi said. “It has to be done after a Scholars’ Conclave. She hasn’t had one.”

  “Does a formality matter now?”

  “No, Scholar, he’s right,” Khalila said. “The records can’t be amended. They’re locked. Unless Morgan can—”

  Morgan, Jess saw, was already trying. She was looking into a strange middle distance, eyes unfocused, and her hands were moving in odd patterns. “Give me your Codex, Archivist.”

  Khalila handed it to her. Morgan opened it, and patterns of shimmering, incredibly complex lines formed between her hands and the book. Part of it seemed to waver. Lines disappeared. But then it all just . . . vanished.

  Morgan flinched and dropped the Codex. Her hands looked red, as if she’d been burned by it. She gasped and pulled them close to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice shook. “I can’t. I’m not even sure Eskander can do it. That’s something . . . the protections on those documents were done by someone much more powerful than I am. Or ever will be.”

  Khalila took a deep breath and abandoned that hope. She cast about for an instant, then said, “Thank you for trying. Scholars, it has to be run by some kind of machine. Can the machine itself be stopped instead? Dismantled, perhaps?”

  Santi looked at her. “I don’t know.”

  “Then we’d better damn well try,” Wolfe said. He started to speak, then stopped and looked at Khalila. “Archivist?”

  “Yes. We must find a way inside, locate the machine, and stop this from happening. There’s no time for anything else, if Thomas and Jess are both right.”

  “Archivist, you can’t risk yourself—,” Santi started to say. Khalila turned to look at him.

  “If I lose the Great Archives, there is nothing left to risk,” she said. “I don’t intend to lose them. I’m coming.”

  Morgan said, “Hands,” and held hers out. This time, they didn’t hesitate, and Santi joined the circle.

  All together now. Together at the end of things.

  All except for Thomas. Where was he? What had happened to him? Jess hated not knowing. His friend needed help; that much was clear. And he couldn’t give it.

  Translation.

  Jess came through it alive, but he knew it would be the very last time he could endure it; his whole body felt twisted with the effort, and he resorted to his mask again to force air into his failing lungs. Morgan held his hand, and he knew she wanted to help him. He also knew that she couldn’t, not much. But maybe . . . just maybe . . . enough to get him through this.

  After this didn’t really matter.

  They stood inside the Great Archives. He knew this chamber; he’d been here before, a vast and vaulting space where he, Wolfe, and Morgan had ended up after Translating from his father’s estate. The beginning of this strange road they were running.

  “Well, this should be easy,” Dario said as he looked around at the incredible size of the place. Impossibly, he’d retained a sense of humor. “Please tell me there’s a simple off button.”

  “Quiet,” Morgan said. “Thomas is outside. I’m bringing him in.”

  And in the next blink, there Thomas stood—smeared with ashes and dust and blood, ragged as if he’d been in a fight with a room full of knives, loaded down with two massive cases. He staggered and caught himself on a massive pillar.

  “How—,” Thomas said, and checked what he was going to say. He looked at Morgan. “You brought me here.”

  “You were at the door, arguing with soldiers,” she said. “I just . . . moved things along.”

 
Khalila nodded, smile sparking wide. “You’re alive!”

  “Only just,” he said, and stepped forward to greet her—and then hesitated. “You’re wearing a crown. The Archivist’s crown.”

  As if she’d forgotten, Khalila touched it where it sat atop her hijab. “At the moment,” she said. “But I’m still your friend, and I’m happy to see you, Thomas.”

  Thomas nodded and looked at Wolfe. Santi. Glain. Dario. Last, at Jess. Jess felt something cold and knotted ease up inside him. They might all be doomed, but at least they were, for the first time in a while, together. And together, they were powerful.

  “We don’t have much time,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry. Zara said that the Archivist was going to burn the Great Archives. We have to prevent that.”

  “We know,” Wolfe said. “Alfred Nobel’s hideous fail-safe device. But we don’t know how to control it.”

  Khalila said, “Perhaps the old man didn’t actually activate it . . . ?”

  “No,” Morgan said. “He did. I can see the power gathering. But it takes time to charge.”

  “Like the Ray of Apollo,” Thomas said. “The batteries have to be charged before the process can begin. We can still interrupt it.”

  “How?” Wolfe demanded. “Where?”

  Morgan pointed at each of the four distant wings of the building. “It’s gathering at the entrances to each of those openings. There must be some central control at each point. Something to relay the power on.”

  Khalila had her Codex, and she read something from it. “The Senior Research Librarian of the Great Archives is unable to leave; he was injured and is in a Medica facility. But he confirms that there are four control points. There are manual shutoffs to each wing, in case maintenance had to be done. But he doesn’t know how to access them without opening a sealed document kept inside his office.”