Paper and Fire

by Rachel Caine

  Jess was still clutching his weapon in a nervous grip, but the man's quiet assurance made him feel a little ashamed of that. He angled the gun down. The Obscurist nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now sit down. There's tea."

  The garden room stretched high in an arch, but it wasn't open to the sun; light poured in from windows that circled the round walls, and from them Jess saw the familiar layout of the city of Alexandria--this time from a very great height. The only building that rose higher was the Serapeum, and he could see the tip of the pyramid stretching up another giant's reach above this place.

  The garden around him spread out huge and bursting with colors, and it gave him a sense of the incredible scale of this tower. He'd always known it was huge, but never quite this large.

  A city in its own right, surely.

  Jess sat down on a bench and poured himself a cup of hot tea from the waiting pot; his hands were steady enough to hold it now, at least. As he drank, Glain came through. She arrived unconscious, and blood leaked in thick drips from the sodden cloth of her uniform's trouser leg onto the couch. The Obscurist stood up, suddenly very tall and active, and went to her side. He pressed a silver symbol on his collar and said, "I need Medica here in the Translation Chamber. Now." He picked Glain up--and she was not a light burden, Jess knew--and moved her to a clear spot on the floor, then clamped a strong hand over the wound in her leg to slow the loss of blood. "You'll need to assist your other friends," he told Jess. "I'm Gregory, by the way."

  "Jess Brightwell, sir," Jess said. "Thank you." This all seemed so strange. He'd expected to arrive in a dark, forbidding world filled with angry soldiers ready to take them down, or, at least, in a place no better than the torture chamber beneath the basilica. But there was a kindly man and tea, flowers, and a Medica team hurrying now into the garden to tend to Glain. Maybe they had no idea they were welcoming fugitives, sworn enemies of the Archivist. Maybe word hadn't come here at all, and once it did, the bars would finally close in on them.

  He drank all the tea quickly, just in case. It was the first liquid he'd had in what seemed like hours, and he was severely thirsty. His uniform hung heavy with sweat and bloody from cuts. The one on his palm had split open again, and he took out his field kit and wrapped it in a fresh bandage. He was tying it off as Khalila came through. She seemed as dazed as he still felt by their new surroundings, and he got up to help her to the bench and pour her a cup of tea.

  "What is this?" she asked, as if she truly couldn't comprehend it. Her head scarf had come askew, and strands of her glossy, dark hair showed around her face. She dragged it off and repinned it without the slightest self-consciousness, as if he were family. He appreciated that. "Where are we? Is this the Iron Tower? I thought--"

  "You thought it would be grimmer," said Gregory, the Obscurist, as he got to his feet and came to them. "Well, you wouldn't be alone in that, I'm sure. But it is our home, and we make it as pleasant as we can. How many of you will there be?"

  "If we all make it through? Four more." Dario's loss seemed greater now, their decision to leave without him even worse. He knew that was what Khalila was thinking, too. He could see it in the miserable hunch of her shoulders. "Dario will be all right, Khalila. He's clever."

  "I know," she said. "And he does know Rome. He spent time there when he was younger. His father was an ambassador for Spain." Jess had always known Dario came from wealth and influence, but not quite that much influence. "I think, if he were in real trouble, he would go to the embassy. They would hide him, at the very least, and get him back to Spain, where his family could find him a safe place. But I think he'll want to find us again."

  "You mean, find you again," Jess said. "I doubt he gives a rusty geneih about my future."

  "You wrong him. You always do." He put an arm around her, and she sighed and relaxed against him, just a little. "I missed this. Being together. You've always been like a brother to me, from the moment I met you."

  "Ouch," he said, but eased it with a smile. "I never had designs on you, Khalila. I like being someone you can rely on, as much as I rely on you."

  "Jess. You don't rely on anyone."

  "I do," he said. "It comes as a surprise to me, too."

  Thomas came through, and was promptly and violently sick--no surprise, since he'd been struggling with so much, for so long. Gregory calmly went for a mop and bucket to clean up after him, and Jess and Khalila moved the boy to the bench, poured him tea, and helped him lie flat when it seemed he needed that more than the restorative. By the time they'd gotten Thomas settled, Wolfe arrived, then Santi immediately after.

  Jess stared hard at the couch, so hard he could feel a vein pulsing in his temple. Come on, he begged her. Come on, don't dally around. Don't let them take you!

  When Morgan's form coalesced in a red cloud of blood, bone, and muscle, he was instantly on his feet and moving toward her. By the time she was gasping her first breath, he was at her side. Holding her hand.

  She jackknifed up into his embrace with a horrible, choking cry and locked her arms around him like she expected to be dragged away. "No," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt. "No."

  He smoothed her hair and pressed his lips to the salty skin of her temple. "Morgan. I'm here. You're not alone."

  "You don't understand," she said, and her whole body shook with the force of her gasp for breath. "I can't do it again. There's no other way out. They'll lock me here for good, and I can't, I can't . . ."

  "Nobody's locking you in," he told her, and he meant it. "But we need to find out what the Obscurist wants from us. Trust me? I won't let you down, Morgan. Not this time."

  She shuddered and relaxed, just a little--enough that he was able to loosen her panicked grip on him. Jess helped her to the bench, the tea, and then turned to Santi and Wolfe, who were standing and talking to Gregory. Glain's leg had been efficiently bandaged and she was being carried off to a surgery for repair of the torn muscle and blood vessels; on the way out, Jess reached out to brush her fingers, and she gave him a brisk, almost normal nod.

  "You're in charge until I get back," she told him. It was half a joke, and half not.

  He nodded back. "Not sure what I'm in charge of," he said, "but I'll do what I can. Glain. Don't die on me."

  "Well," she said, and managed a weak, strange smile. "As long as it's an order, sir."

  As they carried Glain away, the Obscurist Magnus appeared from a staircase, trailing an entourage of more than a dozen others who all wore the golden collars of service to the Iron Tower.

  Wolfe's mother. She wore her age well and was beautiful in her own striking way. She also wore power like a crackling cloak, and Jess could feel the snap of it halfway across the room. Every head bowed as she passed, and even Niccolo Santi took a step back and nodded in tribute as she approached.

  Not her son, though. Wolfe stared at her as if she were a stranger, and said, "What is this? Are you planning to bargain with the Archivist? Use us as your chips?"

  It was a sharp observation. After all, the Iron Tower now had something the Archivist wanted very badly, and all neatly tied with a gift ribbon: Wolfe, Santi, the young rebel Scholars, and an escaped Library prisoner. Quite a lever, if she chose to use it to move the man who ruled the Library. And the Obscurist surely hadn't gained, or held, her position by being politically inept all these years.

  The Obscurist put a hand against his cheek. It was a contact that lasted less than a second, because he quickly stepped back. "Do you really think I would do that, Christopher? Do you think so little of me?"

  "No," he said. "I think so much of your sense of responsibility to the people in this tower. I'm a secondary concern at best. As ever."

  He couldn't have hurt her worse if he'd stabbed her, but it was visible for only a moment. Her expression stayed the same, except for a slight chill in her eyes. "Everyone in this tower is my family," she said. "You, of all people, know that. They're your family. You were born here. Raised here. And, yes, it hurt to send you
away, but you know why it had to be done. I've never stopped watching over you. I never will."

  Jess tried to imagine those words coming from his own parents and failed. He knew other families loved on that level; he'd seen it, like glimpses into a warm room from a cold street. But it was an alien thing to him, caring so much. He'd never experienced it until he'd--all unwillingly--begun to care about these people here in Alexandria.

  His . . . family.

  "You won't hide us from the Archivist," Wolfe told his mother, and then, after a brief pause, asked, "Will you?"

  "That would be impossible. I can delay him for a bit," she said. "Enough time to plan for what you will do next. I'm not the Archivist's creature. I know that everything you've done has been for the good of the Library's mission. For its soul. No matter how you feel about me as a mother, I love you as my son."

  Wolfe walked over to inspect something in the garden--mostly, Jess thought, to hide a sudden vulnerability. The Obscurist watched him with a gentle, sad expression, then turned from him to Santi and gave him a wan smile. "Nic," she said. "I'm sorry. Seeing you here means you've given up so much today. You've worked so hard to secure your place in the High Garda."

  Santi shrugged. "I always said, if it comes to a choice between him and the Library, I'd choose him," he said. "I love him. That means I protect him, doesn't it?"

  "It means everything. I'm glad you're all right. You're nearly as dear to me as he is." Her words must have offended Wolfe, because he gave her a black look and moved farther away. His mother's gaze followed him. Worried. "You took him into the basilica? What were you thinking?"

  "I had to bring him with us," Santi said quietly. "If I'd left him behind, he'd have been arrested and ended up dead, or worse. At least it kept him alive."

  "Perhaps, but it's certainly taken a toll," she said. "I can see it, though he's hiding it well. I hope time here can help heal that."

  Santi considered that for a moment, then said, in the same level voice as before, "Lady Keria, I respect you, but if you try to betray him in any way, I'll kill you. You understand? He's had enough pain from this place, too. And from you."

  He'd finally pierced her calm, at least a little, and her eyes--so like her son's--flashed. "Do you think it's easy, watching your son suffer while you stand by doing nothing? Don't you think I want him to understand--" The Obscurist stopped herself, let a beat of silence go by, and then said, "Very well. If I ever betray him again, or you, then by all means, kill me."

  Santi blinked, but said nothing. She managed to surprise him, Jess thought. And then the Obscurist's gaze turned to their little group: Khalila, Jess, Morgan, Thomas occupying the whole of a second bench. Morgan kept her gaze fixed down on her feet as the Obscurist approached, until the woman's fingers under her chin forced her head up again. Morgan didn't flinch, and she didn't look away once their eyes had locked, even while the Obscurist reached for the silk scarf around her neck and tugged it loose to reveal the fish-pale skin of her throat.

  "Incredible," the Obscurist said. "I've never met anyone with your power or your blind foolishness. If you think it gives you some kind of invulnerability, you don't understand the stakes."

  Morgan slapped the Obscurist's hand away from her scarf. The collared guards nearby tensed, hands closing tight around knives, but the Obscurist gave them a shake of her head. "I won't be caged up here! I won't be made into some slave--no, worse than that. Some mindless part in a machine, replaced when it breaks."

  "You're far more than an automaton," the Obscurist told her. "You're worth more than most people who will ever be born on this earth, Morgan. Archimedes taught that of all the five elements, quintessence is the most rare, the most valuable, the one that transmutes the ordinary into the extraordinary. We are quintessence. It's a divine gift, and like all gifts, we must use it for the Library's greater glory."

  Jess wanted to push her away, but it was--oddly--Khalila who spoke in that moment, clear and calm as glass. "Archimedes said mathematics reveals its secrets only to those who approach it with pure love for its own beauty. But the Archivist has no love for knowledge. He wants only power. You are the club he swings to get it."

  "Archivists come and go," the Obscurist said. "The next will be better. You're no more than children. You can't possibly understand."

  Jess glared at her. "We aren't children, and you don't need Morgan. You have a tower full of your quintessence already."

  "Not like her." The Obscurist touched Morgan's cheek, and Morgan jerked away, eyes burning with anger.

  Khalila stood up. It was a swift, controlled motion, and although it wasn't threatening, there was a cold look in her eyes that made the Obscurist's focus shift.

  "You are Scholar Seif, if I am correct."

  "Yes, Obscurist Magnus."

  "I have heard great things of you. And I have a name. Please call me Keria."

  "I would not presume to be so informal. But if you touch Morgan again, if you try to take her away and lock her up, then you'll have to kill me. I won't make it easy."

  "Yes," the Obscurist said. "I can see that. You, Jess? Are you also determined to be foolish?"

  "It's my finest quality," he said blandly. Her smile had the power of a lightning strike.

  "So I see. We'll settle Morgan's status later. For now, permit me to offer our help to the young inventor," she said, moving to Thomas. "Don't fear, Thomas. We'll see you are well cared for here."

  "Hypocrite," Jess said. "You knew where he was the whole time. As Scholar Wolfe said, we're all just pieces on your game board. You'll sacrifice any of us to get what you want."

  She had the same severe look as Wolfe, when she wanted to use it. "Do, please, tell me what my plans are, young man. I'm sure it will be very informative." He could just hear Wolfe saying that, in exactly the same tone, and though Jess didn't mean to, it made him laugh. Bitterly.

  "Oh, leave them alone," Wolfe said without turning. "I know exactly what your plans are. Mother. And I can promise you, we won't cooperate in the least."

  There was a breathless silence for a moment, and then the Obscurist walked away, toward the stairs where she'd entered. "Gregory will see to your accommodations," she said without looking back. "Morgan. Your collar will be replaced. It has to be done, so please don't injure yourself resisting."

  Morgan stared at the woman's back as if she wanted to plant a knife in it. Her hand gripped Jess's again tightly. He was lucky it was the one without a bandage.

  Gregory walked over to stand in front of the two of them and said with a calm smile, "Now, let's be reasonable about this. You can either submit gracefully or submit when you lose the fight, and your friends end up suffering for it. All right?"

  He held up his hand, and another Obscurist moved forward to put a wooden box in his palm. When Gregory opened it, Jess saw it held one of the golden collars. He felt Morgan's bone-deep shiver of revulsion and took in a slow breath. "You don't have to," he told her. "Just tell me the word."

  "No," she whispered. "It won't do any good, Jess. I don't want any of you hurt."

  Morgan stood up, closed her eyes, and stayed very still as Gregory clasped the collar around her neck and the symbols on the golden surface shimmered and shifted, and the latch just . . . disappeared.

  Morgan sank down again beside him as if all the strength had drained out of her, and he put his arm around her waist. "Easy," he whispered to her. "I'm right here."

  He turned his head and was suddenly, intensely aware that she was here, next to him, real. Being separated for months hadn't dulled the impact of her presence on him, or--he thought--of his on her. A burning wave of hot and cold swept over him, and he thought, I can't let them have her. I can't. It had been different before, but here, seeing the mute, horrible misery in her eyes and the defeat . . . He understood how much she hated this place, rich and splendid as it seemed to be. He didn't altogether understand why, but there was no denying it.

  Gregory casually poured himself another cup of tea
from the pot, sipped, and made a face. "Gone cold," he said. "Too bad. You know, Morgan, you'd do well to be cautious. Keria Morning is the most powerful woman in the world."

  "I don't care who she is," Jess said. "Morgan is coming with us when we leave this place. And we will be leaving."

  Gregory laughed so hard, he slopped tea from the side of his cup. "You, boy, are one to watch. I might watch you end very badly, but at least it will be a good show." He put the cup aside. "Come on. I'll show you to your quarters. The good news is that there is plenty of space here, so you each get your own room."

  "What's the bad news?"

  "I wish I could even begin to guess the extent of it." Gregory sounded dry and uninterested, but Jess couldn't imagine that the man wasn't some kind of important personage within the Iron Tower. He did notice that as they stood up, Morgan kept tight hold of Jess's hand, and moved quickly away from Gregory as soon as the chance presented itself. She doesn't like him. That's telling.

  "I hope Glain will be all right," Khalila said, as she helped Thomas up.

  "She's in good hands," Wolfe said, turning in a storm of black robes to stride back to them. "The Tower gets the best of everything the Library has to offer."

  "Except freedom," Morgan said. He turned to look at her, and she dropped her gaze.

  "Except that," he agreed.

  Gregory said, "Come on, then," and led the way out.

  Jess supposed he shouldn't have been astonished by the interior of the Iron Tower, but he was, and felt as much of a bumpkin gone to market as he had on his first day in Alexandria.

  The tower's central core held rooms. The garden room and Translation Chamber--which sat atop everything else--stretched across the entire expanse from side to side. Beneath that, stairs wound in a flat spiral around the outer walls of the tower, and Jess could feel the warmth of the Alexandrian sun radiating through the metal skin--muted, but not completely gone. Nevertheless, it was cool inside, an artificial sort of coolness that puzzled him, until he felt a breeze from a grate blowing unnaturally cool air. He mentioned it to Thomas, who nodded. "It's like the heated air we use in the winter," he said. "Here, heat is as much the enemy as our cold."