“I’m not,” she said, which was a tiny portion of a lie that she would have to make amends for later, but for now she couldn’t spend time on the explanation. “Thank you, Dario. I’ll let the Archivist know they’ve arrived.”
He nodded and stepped back, taking it for the dismissal it was. She missed him acutely, wanted to follow him and stand with him and hold his hand, but she stayed at her post and moved to whisper the news to Murasaki. The new Archivist nodded, a single inclination of her head, and said, “See them made welcome.”
Khalila told Santi, who signaled to his guards at the door. Inefficient, she thought. There were reforms to be made to this space. Perhaps the Obscurists could create some messaging system that would allow this process to be more effective. Or even more automata to secure this room.
It occurred to her then that not a single Obscurist had been here to take the oath. That alarmed her, set her heart to pounding heavily, and she took deep breaths to right its rhythm. They haven’t broken faith, she told herself. Obscurists traditionally did not leave the Iron Tower for such ceremonies; instead, the Archivist made a journey to them to accept their oaths. But Eskander, the new Obscurist Magnus, didn’t seem one to stand on such tradition. Perhaps there had been urgent things to be done and the Obscurists couldn’t spare the time.
And, just perhaps, Eskander currently held far too much power—almost as much as Murasaki—and didn’t wish to concede it. It was a worry. One that Khalila would have to resolve for herself, before a real threat emerged.
But for now, the only real threat was coming into the room.
She watched as the great doors swung open, and the ambassadors entered under the silken flags of their kingdoms. They were dwarfed by the majesty of the hall, even a hundred strong, but they carried themselves with the gravity and confidence of kings. They knelt as a body to the Archivist, who acknowledged them with a gracious nod and signal to rise, and then one of the ambassadors stepped forward.
She knew him. It was Alvaro Santiago, the onetime Spanish ambassador to the Great Library. He’d sheltered them in his palace, given them safety and support. But now he didn’t spare her—or his cousin Dario, for that matter—a single glance. His attention was solely devoted to the throne.
“Honored Archivist,” he said, and he had an orator’s soothing voice without a doubt. “I am Alvaro Luis Honoré Flores de Santiago, ambassador to the Great Library of Alexandria. On behalf of His Majesty Ramón Alfonse of the great and sovereign nation of Spain, I bring congratulations on your appointment to this important and necessary position. May God grant you wisdom and strength.”
“I appreciate your congratulations and prayers, Ambassador Santiago,” Murasaki said. “Though not the presence of your fleet beyond our harbor.”
He pressed a hand to his heart and bowed slightly. Very slightly. “The Archivist understands that with the chaos, the Kingdom of Spain felt it necessary to ensure the safety of the Great Library from incursions by other, less scrupulous nations. Change is necessary, of course, but change is also a moment of weakness. We brought our nation’s strength only to ensure a peaceful transition of power.”
“How very interesting. Such a noble cause, of course,” Murasaki said. “And yet, as you see, our Great Library functions as it always has done, without pause or—as you said—chaos. Your concern is appreciated, most certainly. But I assure you that we neither need nor have requested your intervention. My sincerest thanks to your king, but I must now demand that you—and all the nation-states allied with you who stand at your side today—withdraw your warships and go in peace. I would also ask that before you go, you swear to renew the treaties your nations swore with the Great Library.”
That woke some whispers among the diplomats. One in the front of the crowd said, “Your Majesty—”
“I am not a queen,” Murasaki said. “Nor an empress. I am merely the most senior administrator. Please address me as either Scholar Murasaki or Archivist.”
“Apologies. Archivist, we aren’t authorized to renew treaties that our monarchs and governments have rejected. The criminal behavior that the Great Library has lately engaged in fully justifies this, I believe.”
“Criminal behavior,” she repeated. “I trust you are referring to the actions of our prior Archivist, who did indeed exceed the power vested in him. He should have been checked by the Curia of Scholars, except that he handpicked his allies to support him in most cases. But the Great Library itself has committed no such crimes, nor has it violated the terms of any of the treaties that have been in effect with most of your countries since the time of Julius Caesar. We have removed the offending person from his post, and I pledge to correct all the wrongs that he has done. What more can be offered?”
“Perhaps it’s time the Great Library realize that we can manage our own affairs.” The man who spoke was English, Khalila thought. Possibly Welsh. “And we can build and maintain our own libraries to fit our own needs. There’s common talk now of a machine that can print thousands of copies of a document in a day. If true, the Great Library has outlived its usefulness.”
It was a bold, shocking statement. It was also true, in some sense. It was what Wolfe had known, and Khalila had come to realize: that for the Great Library to continue, it had to change. It had to adapt.
Murasaki smiled. Smiled. “If you believe the Great Library is not useful, then I assure you, Ambassador, you have not studied nearly enough history to understand the import of what you have just declared. We will change to the needs of the world, as ever. But what we offer is not simply books on shelves. It is commonality of scholarship and knowledge. Without it, the world could easily fall into darkness and chaos, without a shared culture or understanding. And that, we will not allow. If you wish to withdraw from the Great Library’s alliance, then you may do so. You may live in your small, dark corner and light a candle and pretend it is the sun; in time, you might even believe it. I certainly cannot stop you. But I will mourn for those you drag into the darkness along with you.”
Khalila caught her breath at the elegance of that cut. The ambassador’s face reddened, but when he opened his mouth to reply, Alvaro Santiago jumped in.
“Archivist, we may discuss treaties tomorrow, if you wish to do so. But today, we are gravely concerned for the state of this city and its vulnerability to attack. None of us can afford for the Great Library to be destroyed. So we ask your permission to enter the harbor, disembark our forces, and assign them to guard your most vulnerable treasures. Clearly, the Archives must be protected at all costs.”
“All costs?” Murasaki’s eyebrows rose. “You would advocate invading our city and taking ownership of our Great Archives to protect them? No, Ambassador Santiago. I am afraid that will not happen. We will protect the Great Archives, as we have for three thousand years. And no nation’s army will set its foot on the streets of Alexandria while I draw breath.”