“Some tea for the Archivist, when you have time,” she said. “In the Receiving Hall.”
“Of course.” Another note, and Wadida snapped the Codex closed and replaced it in its holder. She hesitated for a second, then met Khalila’s gaze. “Scholar? If I may . . . Will we be all right?”
It was a simple question, but still hard to answer. Khalila settled for, “The Great Library survives. Always.”
She took her leave, and hoped she had not told the lie of her life.
EPHEMERA
Text of a letter from Ambassador Marta Kuznetsov to the Russian emperor Vladimir Nikolaev III. Archived in the Codex.
The newly elected Archivist, Scholar Murasaki, is not as skilled in diplomacy as was her predecessor, but she is most straightforward, which is a useful trait in unsettled times. If she survives this strife, she will guide with a steady hand, and perhaps avoid some of the abuses that lie at the feet of the former occupant of the office. She has demanded a full retreat of the ships at sea. I am certain you expected nothing else.
I do not recommend we comply. This is clearly an opportunity for Russia to advance upon the world stage as a partner with other nations. Should the worst—or best—come to pass, we will split Alexandria in parts, and of course we should seek to control the Great Archives and the books within it, though the Spanish will almost certainly defend that to the death. Peace is clearly not possible without some test of the new Archivist’s mettle and resolve; if she shows weakness or indecision, if we see that this city remains divided in its loyalties . . . then we have no other choice but to act in the interest of our crown and our people.
I am aware that the Archivist in Exile has placed a bounty upon the heads of many of those who engineered his downfall. This may be useful to us, whether we wish such a thing to succeed or to fail. I recommend that we say and do nothing, and see what strengths this New Alexandria possesses. And what weaknesses.
I remain, as always, your devoted servant, and await your instruction.
CHAPTER FOUR
JESS
The ancient sculptor who’d crafted the statue of Anubis in the temple—not an automaton, a work of carved stone, painted and gilded—had done an astonishing job of it. Jess gazed up at the god, whose head tilted down to consider the worshippers below. It stood on a golden plinth, one foot ahead of the other as if frozen in a moment of action. At each corner of the plinth sat a brazier producing pure blue flames that echoed the rich enameled ornaments of the god’s clothing and headdress. The space wasn’t vast in terms of floor, but it vaulted far, far up, and the god’s upper body was cloaked in brooding shadow. The strength and power of this place wasn’t mitigated by the small figure in priestess robes sweeping dust from the corners. Apart from the single priestess, the temple seemed deserted.
Jess knew better.
“Wait here,” he told Glain. She stood watchful guard as Jess moved toward the priestess, one hand on her sidearm. No doubt she, like Jess, had calculated the depth of every shadow and the potential for every avenue of attack and escape. And that was fine with him, so long as she stayed where she was.
The priestess wasn’t Anit; it was a plain young woman who watched him nervously as he approached. Jess stopped a respectful distance away and said, “Hello, Priestess. Are you in charge of the temple today?”
“I am,” she said. It was a good attempt at authority, though she was at least two years younger than he was. “How may I help you, soldier?” She looked past him at Glain. “Did . . . did you come for devotions?”
“To make an offering of faith. A gift for the temple’s maintenance, in memory of my brother.”
She almost staggered, she was so reassured. “A recent passing?”
“Yesterday,” he said. “In the Colosseum.”
“Oh.” She bowed her head. “Anubis will guide him on his way. Was he faithful to the gods?”
“Not to any god in particular,” Jess said. “But he respected Anubis the most, I suppose.” He had no idea if that was true, but he knew Brendan would approve even if it was a lie. “A thousand geneih in return for prayers for his safe journey into the afterlife. Where shall I make the deposit?”
“The al-Adena Bank,” she said. “Or you may bring it here and ask for the treasurer. He is not in today, but I am sure . . .” She trailed off. Jess allowed himself a small, bitter smile.
“I am sure tomorrow might bring those less hardy back to the temple,” he finished for her. “It’s a real sign of your faith that you’re here doing the work.”
“I believe the Great Library will continue, sir,” she said. “And Anubis will note my faithful service.”
“I’m sure he will,” he agreed. “But I confess, I also seek another power here. A quieter one.”
The priestess raised her head slowly and gave him a long look. “Who are you?”
“Jess Brightwell.”
“Brightwell.” The young woman had suddenly taken on a far different stance. She knew the name. “Welcome, cousin.”
“You work for her.”
“I work for my god,” she said. “But I am loyal to my friend, too. And careful of her safety, so you’ll be wise to hand your weapons to your colleague.”
Jess didn’t intend to fight, and he wasn’t in any real shape to in any case. So he drew his sidearm and kicked it to Glain, who picked it up. “Good enough?” he asked the priestess.
She nodded. “She mourns her father,” the priestess said. “She’s asked not to be disturbed.”
“As much as I wish to respect that, I need to talk with her. Can you arrange it?”
The priestess started to answer, but a voice from behind the statue of Anubis, deep in the shadows, said, “She can’t. But you can join me in our shared mourning.”
Anit stepped forward. The shadows, he realized, hid more than just her; he saw the gleam of three more sets of eyes behind her. She’d dressed in a red pleated dress, as traditional as the priestess herself, and with kohl around her eyes and henna mourning inscriptions inked on both her arms, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of the time of the Pharaohs. She seemed older, and it wasn’t just the makeup and clothing. She seemed to have aged years. Her copper skin looked richer, her hair a ripple of black silk left loose around her shoulders.
She was beautiful. It struck him hard, and he wished he hadn’t noticed.
“Anit,” he said. It was a ridiculous thing to say; she knew her name, and he didn’t need to sound so damned surprised. But he’d expected to find an unnaturally clever child, and instead, here stood a dangerous young woman.