Bookburners The Complete Season Two

by Max Gladstone

  “Unless we start learning to use magic better,” Asanti said.

  Menchú gave Asanti a sharp look. “I don’t know why we keep talking about this, going around and around the same argument. And if using magic well leads to becoming like Team Four, then I have no interest in it.”

  “Surely there is a way to explore how we can use magic to stop magic without dropping out of the world,” Asanti said.

  “In all our years here at the Vatican, we have seen nothing but lives ruined by magic,” Menchú said. “People sacrificing their humanity, or having their humanity taken away from them. I understand that we’re experimenting here. But I care about all of you too much to not speak up now. If the experiment continues, I’ll go with you. I won’t have you taking risks that I’m not taking. But I can’t say I support any of this.”

  “No?” said Grace. “Well, I can.” She looked square at Asanti. “Vito said there’s a way to fix me.”

  “What does she mean by that?” Frances said to Asanti.

  “I’ll explain later,” Asanti said.

  “No,” Grace said. “I’ll explain now. Frances, my life is literally burning away right now. There’s a candle in my bedroom. When it’s lit, I’m awake. When it goes out, I go to sleep. I slept for decades. They wake me up when they need me to fight. Almost only when they need me to fight.”

  “What kind of life is that?” Frances said. The words came out of her before she could stop them. Sal could tell from her face that she was horrified she’d said them. “Grace, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. You didn’t make me this way, and you’re not the one keeping me this way.” She glared at Menchú. “He is.”

  Her voice started to rise.

  “All this talk about wanting to protect us from using magic,” Grace said. “How can you be so selfish? You don’t think we’re already using it? Two of us have been possessed by demons—”

  “What?” Frances said.

  “—and my entire existence is touched by magic. My whole life. Not use magic? It’s way too late to talk like that. Are you going to tell me that we have it in our power to find a way to fix me and you’re not going to use it?”

  Menchú took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

  Grace seemed frozen. Her teeth were gritted. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Menchú took a step toward her, his arms out.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said. She turned to Asanti. “I couldn’t be happier right now that you don’t answer to him.”

  “Grace …” Asanti said. “There are … other things we need to explore first. Time is—”

  “Please don’t finish that sentence,” Grace interrupted. “If you tell me time is precious I’m going to tear this place apart so bad you’ll wish we’d never bothered to rebuild it.”

  “What do you want us to say?” Asanti said.

  “Nothing,” Grace said. “I’m glad that, finally, I know where I stand with both of you.”

  She headed toward the stairs out of the Archives. Menchú moved as if to follow her. Sal put a hand up.

  “Let me,” she said.

  As Sal left, she could hear the rest of them arguing below her.

  Is this it for us? she thought to herself. But she put it out of her mind. She had work to do.

  • • •

  Sal took her first couple steps out of the Archives very, very worried. Sure, Grace had a passport, a couple legal documents to ensure her personhood. But she had no property to speak of. She didn’t pay rent. She had no friends outside of the Vatican. No family. Sal knew that Grace could take care of herself, too well. If she’d just made up her mind to walk out and disappear, she could have. If she moved fast enough—which she certainly could—she could get her candle and be gone for good. What was another prayerful person on the grounds of the Vatican? Then she’d be out in the streets of Rome, or beyond, awake for as long as she wanted, until she found someone in this world she could trust, and go to sleep. Given what had just happened, Sal wouldn’t blame her.

  So Sal was relieved when the librarians working on the floor above the Archives knew where Grace had gone. Sal followed their pointing fingers out of the building, into the courtyard. She saw Grace on the other side of it, walking with purpose. Not trying to escape. Just angry. Sal ran to catch her.

  “Grace,” she said.

  Grace turned.

  “You just got a raw deal,” Sal said.

  Which was when Grace wrapped her arms around Sal, pulled her close, and cried.

  Sal held her. The two of them stood still as people flowed in a river around them, tourists with cameras, children with snacks, police officers and bureaucrats, all heading somewhere that seemed important to them. All oblivious.

  “Want to talk?” Sal said.

  “Yes,” Grace said.

  They were quiet all the way back to Sal’s apartment. She unlocked the door and let Grace in first, then turned on the lights behind her. Grace walked slowly through the kitchen, into the middle of the living room.

  “Huh,” she said. “Not much different from your old place. Still feels a lot like my place.”

  “Neither of us have much,” Sal said.

  “Yeah,” Grace said.

  “The balcony’s the nicest part,” Sal said. She opened the glass door and they both stepped out, sat down on the plastic lawn furniture. Sal kicked her legs up and rested them on the rail. Grace planted hers on the floor.

  “You know,” Sal said, “I almost threw myself off this railing once.”

  “The Hand?”

  “Yeah. He didn’t make me do it, though. I wanted to because he was in there. He stopped me.”

  Grace shook her head. “Awful.” She looked away from Sal to ask. “What was it like?”

  “Having someone else at war with you in your brain? It’s hard to describe. I used to think it’s what people with multiple personalities might feel, or schizophrenics. But I don’t think that does justice to possession or schizophrenia.”

  Grace let out a little chuckle. “Probably not.”

  “What’s it like for you?” Sal said. “Hard to describe?”

  “No. Not anymore. It’s like falling for the same dirty trick, over and over. Every time I wake up, I wonder how much has changed. Sometimes it’s little things. People get haircuts. The seasons have turned.” She paused. “The longest one was the worst. Everyone I knew was dead. Like I’d only been asleep for a couple hours and a bomb had gone off and wiped them out. And ever since then, part of me is always expecting that to happen again. I’ll wake up and you’ll all be gone. The dirtiest trick ever.”

  She looked at Sal, and Sal could tell she was trying not to shake.

  “Today was a little like that, anyway,” Grace said.

  Sal reached out a hand and patted Grace’s shoulder. Grace let her. They sat for a while and didn’t say anything. In the alley below them, an old car roared by and sent up a plume of dark smoke that got them coughing for a half a minute before it dissipated.

  “I thought you said it was nice out here,” Grace said.

  “I said it was the nicest part,” Sal said. “I didn’t say it was nice.”

  Grace let out a small laugh.

  “You know,” Sal said, “I’m still the new kid around here. I know that.”

  “There’s Frances now,” Grace said.

  “Sure. But I’m still the new one too. I’m not in a position to defend them to you, or you to them. I know they can seem like terrible people sometimes. But I have to say, if I were you, I’d stay with them. With us.”

  “Why should I?” Grace said.

  “Because we’re the best chance you’ve got,” Sal said.

  “That’s not much consolation.”

  “I know,” Sal said. “Are you hungry? I have something in the fridge.”

  “No,” Grace said. “Sal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I stay here tonight?”

  Sal thoug
ht about it.

  “Sure,” she said. “There’s the couch if you need it.”

  “Thanks.” She turned away from Sal and looked out over the alley.

  “Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?” Sal said.

  “I’m planning on it,” Grace said.

  “You want me to tell Menchú you’re here?”

  “No,” Grace said.

  Sal took the hint and left her alone. She made herself a little dinner. Grace declined to join her. It got dark and the lights came on in the alley. Grace stayed out on the balcony. Sal left the glass door open and went to bed.

  When she got up in the morning, Grace was asleep on the couch. She’d taken those hours and made them hers.

  Bookburners

  Season 2, Episode 9

  The Village

  Margaret Dunlap

  1.

  The train chugged steadily northward, getting closer to the Swiss border with every kilometer Liam put between himself and Rome. He felt a little shitty that being away from the tensions of the Archives felt like a relief. But on the other hand, it was.

  The view out the window of the small passenger compartment grew steadily more hemmed in as the tracks threaded through the mountains, every twist and turn showing a new sliver of valley more picturesque than the last. All lost on Liam, who found his eyes drawn—as they usually were—to the deep shadows cast by the looming crags.

  “Relax,” said Sal. “You look like you’re waiting to get shot.”

  Liam wrenched his attention away from the view and over to Sal, who now appeared to be sitting on the seat opposite him. Well, more like hovering. Since the Ricci Circlet they’d picked up in Shanghai had been fully integrated with the Orb, Asanti and Frances had found a way to use it as a sort of virtual holographic communications system. Liam wasn’t sure how he felt about a magical device sending visual information directly to his brain, but given the way that electronics tended to go haywire around magic, it was better than being out of touch entirely. Still, it didn’t help his nerves that the image projected to his mind’s eye couldn’t quite keep up with the jouncing of the carriage, or that Sal’s butt oscillated between floating a few centimeters above the vinyl cushion and sinking past it.

  For all kinds of reasons, Liam forced his eyes up to meet Sal’s face. “For all I know,” he said, “I am sitting around waiting to get shot.”

  “I thought the Network was all eager to have you back when you saw them in Shanghai?”

  “That was before Christina took a magical Taser to the brain.”

  “Please. Like they’re going to hold a grudge against the man who was their bro-grammer in chief back in Sweden.”

  Liam sighed inwardly. Sal was particularly proud of that little bit of wordplay, and he wished she would let it go already. “Next time,” he said, “you can be the bait.”

  Sal rolled her eyes. “Don’t be paranoid. Grace is on the train. The tracks are being covered by Team One, and Sansone has her people keeping tabs on everyone even remotely associated with the Network. According to Asanti: ‘This is the biggest inter-team operation the Society has put on since the Crusades, and look how that turned out.’ End quote.”

  “Not reassuring, Sal.”

  Sal’s turn to sigh. “Sorry. My point was that the entire Society has got your back on this one.”

  “Assuming everyone isn’t too busy stabbing each other?”

  Sal made a “little bit” sign with her fingers.

  “How pissed about this is she?” Asanti had wanted to run the op with Team Three only, as they usually did. Part of her strategy that Liam termed “Operation: Everything Is Normal, Honest.” Menchú had gone around her to Angiuli, believing that a negotiated exchange of goods and information with the Network needed to have the support of the entire Society. Especially since the team was essentially planning to try to pull a fast one and send a bug back to infiltrate the Network.

  Sal’s expression spoke volumes. “She’s pretty pissed. Thinks it shows a lack of faith in her abilities.”

  “Since her last plan nearly had us all marooned in the eternal present of the spotless mind, can’t say that I blame Menchú for being cautious.”

  Sal shrugged. “Point is, when Christina shows up for the exchange, she’s going to have more Vatican eyes on her than if she had an audience with the Pope.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean, ‘If Christina takes the bait?’”

  Sal reached out to smack him, but her hand passed harmlessly through his shoulder. Liam smirked. Sal scowled.

  The train pulled to a stop at a tiny mountain station, and Sal turned to talk to someone Liam couldn’t see. With her attention elsewhere, she briefly popped out of existence. A moment later, she was back.

  “Sorry about that. Menchú says that was the last stop before the rendezvous.”

  “Was Christina on the platform?”

  “No.”

  “Not a great sign.”

  “She might have boarded earlier, like in Milan, where she could get lost in the crowd.” Liam knew Sal well enough to feel the tension in her voice, in spite of her effort to hide it. Or maybe he was experiencing a side effect of pseudo-telepathic communication through the Orb. Not reassuring, especially if it read both ways.

  “Got a text from Grace,” Sal reported. “There’s a man she doesn’t like the look of coming toward your compartment. Showtime.” She shot Liam one last grin. “You’re going to do great. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  Liam ignored her.

  “See? Just like that.”

  Liam didn’t say anything, but he thought shut up as loudly as he could in her direction. The Orb link left no electronic signature. The only way the Network should be able to notice something was up was if Liam did something moronic like talk to thin air.

  The door to the compartment opened and a thin, stringy man with a slouch born of too many hours in front of a keyboard entered and pulled the curtain closed across the door. Liam didn’t recognize him, but he definitely wasn’t Christina.

  Sal hissed. “It’s Opie. That guy tried to fry my brain at the Market Arcanum.”

  Liam gave the guy, Opie, an up-nod that Sal would hopefully interpret as an acknowledgment. “Where’s Christina?” he asked.

  Opie let out a snort. “Please. As if Christina would walk into such an obvious trap.”

  Liam had just opened his mouth to say, “You did,” when—with a loud, low whoomp sound—the train hit a mountain tunnel. The windows went dark.

  A second later, the lights in the compartment died.

  Liam heard Sal say, “Shit, something’s wrong.”

  In a flicker of light from outside the train Liam got a flash of Opie coming at his head with a burlap sack. Liam lunged toward him. Opie was a skinny guy; he could take him. But just as he felt the man’s shirt beneath his fingers, the world went black.

  • • •

  As soon as Sal heard sounds of a struggle in the compartment, she pulled her attention out of the Orb and back to the Archives.

  “They’re grabbing Liam. Tell Team One to go in. Now.”

  Only years of training kept Sal’s voice at a crisp, businesslike clip, betraying none of the fear that had pierced her as soon as Opie had stepped into the compartment. Menchú instantly relayed the call to Grace, Shah, and Team One. After that, all they could do was wait. Sal felt each heartbeat screaming at her: Too late, too late, too late.

  She tried to push her concentration back into the Orb to re-establish her link to Liam. But when she caught hold of the thread that had bound them, all she came up with was a thin line stretching to nowhere.

  • • •

  Grace prowled the train—now stopped in the middle of nowhere just shy of the Swiss border. She ignored the muttered and not-so-muttered complaints of the restive passengers, forbidden to move about the train as much as the train was forbidden from moving forward. She caught glimpses of Shah and the others from Team One, posing as Italian
border guards, combing every inch of the train inside and out. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust their competence. But if Grace was going to have to make the report that they had lost Liam, she needed to be sure for herself.

  Grace had raced to Liam’s location when the call to abort came in, but had found only an empty compartment, no sign of him, or the man Sal called Opie.

  An hour later, it was clear that somehow both men had vanished as completely as a late spring snow.

  Grace’s comm crackled and Menchú’s voice fell gently into her ear.

  “Anything?”

  Grace forced herself to stop walking. To be calm even if it was the last thing she felt. I don’t lose my people. “No sign of Liam. I told you we couldn’t trust the Network.”

  On the other end of the line, Menchú sighed. “We’re going to have to start the train. You can ride on with it to the next stop and then come back if you want to take the time for yourself, or hitch a lift back now with Team One. Your call.”

  “If it’s my call, don’t move the train. We still might find something—”

  “Not an option.” She could hear Menchú’s fatigue through the scratchy connection. “We’re about three minutes away from an international incident with Swiss Rail, and Angiuli’s out of favors.”

  “Swiss punctuality.” Grace managed to spit the observation like an insult. Usually, she had great affection for a culture so devoted to keeping time, but at the moment she was too frustrated to be internally consistent.

  Sensing this, Menchú’s voice gentled even further. He was being so careful with her lately, sensing her hurt and frustration with him. It made her want to scream. “You’ve done everything you can, Grace. Come back.”

  Grace cut the connection without acknowledgment, not caring whether Menchú interpreted it as assent or defiance. He knew she wouldn’t run, couldn’t, not for any distance or for long. Like a bird of prey trained to the falconer’s fist, the light in her window would always draw her home.

  Grace found Shah and trekked back through the mountains with Team One to their extraction point. As they approached the waiting van, Shah broke the group’s defeated silence. “Mission debrief when we get back to base. I want after action reports from everyone so we can figure out what the fuck just happened.” She turned to Grace. “Technically, you’re not in my chain of command, but you’re welcome to join us.”