Dario kept reminding him that this was a game of chess, and he was annoyingly right.
Alvaro was watching him expectantly. Anyone else? he signed, and Jess shook his head. He had few enough people to trust now, and the tighter the circle he drew, the better. Not even Alvaro could get into the Iron Tower.
When you speak to Red Ibrahim, remember to say that I am Brendan, Jess replied, twisting his fingers around the spelling of his brother’s name and nearly botching it, but the meaning must have come across because Alvaro nodded briskly, stepped forward, and offered his hand for a silent shake. The ambassador inclined his head at a precise, regal angle, gave Jess a smile that was a copy of Dario’s confident/arrogant expression, and walked directly to the door. When he saw Jess’s frown, he smiled even wider.
The Archivist relies too much on his Obscurists. There are alchemical scripts all over this house. Every word you say will be transcribed into the record. Remember that. I’ll have people watching the door at all times. They’ll convey a message if you sign to them. Trust no one else.
With that, he opened the door and strolled out, bold as brass. Jess walked as far as the entrance but remembered the bracelet on his wrist, the one he couldn’t remove. They’d tethered him in place quite effectively. Alvaro had no such restriction.
Jess watched him calmly walk away, and within a few steps, men glided out from the shadows and corners to surround him. Alvaro had an expert personal guard, one that many kings would envy.
There was no sign of the promised watchers from the Library. Perhaps they’d been drawn away, or bought off.
And what now?
Jess had no answers.
He waited for half an hour, then an hour. He lit the chemical glows throughout the small living space and examined every corner, drawer, and inch of it before he poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen tap and sat down at the table. There was a Codex provided, and a shelf of Blanks. At the very least they’d given him that. He could request any book from the Archives, and it would be mirrored into the Blank, and he’d have something to read.
Except, of course, that Brendan probably wouldn’t do that. Brendan didn’t read for pleasure, only for purpose. In many ways, it was going to be the most difficult part of carrying off this impersonation.
Jess compromised and called up anything on the subject of censorship. The first entry was an obscure treatise written by a Scholar named Liburn on the absolute necessity to restrict the reading material of the general public—apparently, too much reading, and reading too widely, could cause people to aspire above their station. Women, especially, were considered vulnerable to an “excess of learning.” It was a rank piece of ignorance. He thought about Khalila Seif and the crisp opinion she’d have on that, and shook his head as he wiped the text and tried to think of something else, anything else, that his brother might read.
While the page of the Blank was clear, a curious thing happened: a new section of handwriting appeared. He didn’t notice at first; he was intent on searching through the list of approved texts on the Codex. But when he glanced over, he immediately recognized the hand that had written the words.
She didn’t give her name, no doubt in case anyone else should see this, and he had no idea at all how she was able to make her message appear not in a Codex, where it properly should go, but in a Blank, where as far as he was aware, it ought to be impossible.
But then, the impossible was just another challenge to Morgan Hault.
The paragraph read:
You can’t write back to me; this communication is one-way only. I pray you have the chance to see this. Don’t worry, it will only appear once and fade in an hour. It’s the best I can do with the time and tools I have. I am well, and, yes, wearing a collar, and I like it no better than you’d expect. I hope that in a few days I might be able to make contact with the man we discussed. He is our best hope. I am monitoring the Codex of the Archivist’s assistant; her security is far lower than her master’s, which is how I know how to find you. I will watch out for any danger and alert you in the same way as this. Keep a Blank with you at all times. I love you.
That was all business, until the last sentence, and the simple declaration of it stopped him cold for an instant. He’d sold her into slavery in the Iron Tower as part of this terrible bargain, and he’d never forget that. If anything went wrong . . .
Stop, Jess told himself, and closed the Blank. He kept his hand on it, as if he were holding her. Morgan is strong. She’ll survive.
Now he just had to keep his end of the bargain and stay alive, too.
EPHEMERA
Text of a letter from Khalila Seif to her father, undelivered
Beloved Father, I pray this reaches you, and that Allah’s infinite mercy has found you first, and freed you from your imprisonment.
This is my fault, though I take comfort in knowing you would never have had me do anything but what I have done. The actions I’ve taken have been taken from love, loyalty, friendship, and pure respect for the mission of the Great Library, which I know you also cherish.
It seems impossible that such pure things could have led us to such a dark place, but as you once told me, when you fight evil men, good intentions can’t protect you. But the fight must be made, and I am making it.
We have a plan to save you, and with faith and prayer and hard work, I believe it will succeed. I hope I will do you honor in this.
Please tell my brothers that I pray for them as well, though not as much, because they would be the first to tell me you deserve prayers more. And send my love and grieving regrets to my uncle for the loss of Cousin Rafa. He was betrayed by the very people he trusted without question, and that, more than anything else, tells me that we must win this fight even if it costs my life.
Inshallah, I will see you soon, Father.
PART TWO
KHALILA
CHAPTER THREE
The clouds were the color of lead and pressed flat on the horizon, erasing the line between heaving sea and sky. Khalila stood at the railing and watched the oncoming storm. She was aware of the wind whipping wildly at the long lilac dress she wore and was especially glad of the extra hairpins she’d put in her headscarf, which she’d wrapped carefully and tucked beneath the neck of her dress. It held in warmth, which was a blessing from Allah, because the gusts had an edge of pure ice to them that worked its way through any small opening to bite at her skin. Far too cold out, so far from the safety of land.
A weight settled around her shoulders, and she shot a grateful smile toward the young man who’d brought her a heavy coat. It smelled of thick sweat and wet sheep, but there was no denying its insulating power. “Thank you, Thomas,” she said, and the German nodded and leaned on the railing. That almost made them of a height. He seemed calm, but she didn’t trust it. Thomas, of all of them, had been the most devastated by the betrayal of the Brightwell family that had landed them aboard this ship; he couldn’t reconcile it. In Thomas’s rather innocent world, family was always to be trusted, and he counted Jess—and by extension Jess’s twin, Brendan—as a true brother.