Paper and Fire

by Rachel Caine

  "It was more than that. I was running away from Dominic, too, that night," she said. "We both try to do the right thing, don't we? But no matter what we do, it keeps coming out wrong."

  He put his arms around her, and after a second of stiffness, she collapsed against him. He kissed her cheek, and she put her arms around his neck and held him tightly. "I love you," she whispered to him. "I never stopped, Jess--I want you to know that. I just--I just felt so alone here, and the only person I could blame was you."

  She loves me. She still loves me. That brought him a stunned kind of peace. "Forgive me?"

  She kissed him gently on the lips. Sweet and a little sad. "I did already," she said. "Now go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

  He was unexpectedly tired, he realized as he headed back to his room, but there was no chance to rest yet. Wolfe's door was open, and Khalila, Thomas, and Santi were in with him. They all looked up when he passed, and Wolfe said, "Brightwell. In."

  Jess took up a leaning spot on the wall. Wolfe paced, of course, as was his usual habit. Khalila and Thomas sat, quietly watching him. Santi poured Jess a cup of wine, and Jess took a sip before he asked, "So, what's this?"

  "This is us planning what to do," Santi said. "It's not going very well. Considering that no matter what we do, there's very little chance we can break free of this tower, and none at all we will get out of Alexandria alive if we do."

  "Nic."

  "There's no point in planning when we're too tired to think," he said quite reasonably. "Your mother's not likely to hand us over immediately, is she? Or have us knifed in our beds?"

  "No," Wolfe said. He kept pacing, hands restlessly tugging at his robe. "Hardly her style."

  "In that case, I have some news," Santi said. "Zara might not be a friend to me any longer, but I do have some in the High Garda I can rely on. I asked them to let me know if anyone matching Dario's description was captured either in Rome or elsewhere. There have been no arrests. He made it out of Rome safely, I believe."

  Khalila let out a trembling breath and whispered a prayer of thanks.

  "Glain's doing well," Jess said. "She should be strong enough to join us tomorrow."

  "Or will join us, anyway?" Wolfe asked. "Yes, I know the girl. She won't stay in that bed long."

  "And Morgan?" Thomas looked at Jess and raised his eyebrows. "She's all right?"

  "Yes. She's all right. I saw her to her room."

  "Morgan's in no danger at all here, at least not the kind we're in," Wolfe said. "Her problem is more desperate, but less violent. We have a day, two at most, before the Archivist himself arrives at the Tower, and once he does, my mother won't have a choice but to hand us over. She can turn the Artifex away. Not the head of the Great Library."

  "Then we need to leave," Thomas said. "Perhaps the Obscurist will send us away to safety?"

  "She says she will," Wolfe said. "I don't know if I believe her. My mother's ever been in pursuit of her own agenda. Sentiment doesn't often enter the equation."

  Like mother, like son, Jess thought, but had the sense not to say it. "Any other way out of here?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. If there had been, Morgan wouldn't have been here as long as she had.

  "It's possible," Khalila said slowly. "I've been researching the Iron Tower for months. I was doing it for Morgan, in case I could find any way to get her out safely. Just before we left, I found something strange in the records. Very strange. I took notes, but I didn't have a chance to verify the research."

  "And?" Wolfe asked, and she blushed a little.

  "Just a moment." She turned, and Jess thought she was retrieving something from a hidden pocket in her dress. Or under it. She handed over a single sheet of paper to Wolfe. "It's coded. Dario created the cipher for me. Do you need the key?"

  Jess gestured for the page, and Wolfe passed it along. Jess blinked. "When did he make the code for you?"

  "When? Just a few days ago. He said we'd be better off that way. Why?"

  Jess felt himself smiling tightly; how like Dario to do something smart and at the same time demonstrate his arrogance. "Because I recognize it. It's my family's code."

  "Don't tell me Dario's a long-lost cousin!"

  "Just an ass," Jess said. "He asked me about the code once. I told him it was unbreakable. So of course he broke it. And now he's using it. Idiot."

  "The contents?" Wolfe prompted impatiently. Santi, who'd said nothing, pushed himself off the wall he'd been holding up to stand next to them.

  "There's a hidden section in the Iron Tower. Several floors unaccounted for in all of the records that exist. What's above the garden level, where the Translation comes in?"

  Wolfe frowned. "Nothing. That's the top of the Tower."

  "No, that isn't true," Thomas said. His eyes turned blank, the way they did as he performed calculations Jess couldn't even fathom inside his head. "There must be at least four more floors above it. Possibly five."

  "Morgan would have found it by now. She's had nothing but time to look!"

  Jess sent Wolfe a warning look. "If Thomas says it's there, it's there. Perhaps we could hide in these hidden floors. Perhaps there's even an escape of some kind there."

  "Don't you think if there was a way upstairs, someone else would have found it by now?"

  Wolfe hadn't said anything, but he looked over their heads at Santi, who raised his eyebrows.

  "We can try," he said. "But I have a feeling that anything that's secret inside the Iron Tower may be a great deal deadlier than it looks."

  Jess slept poorly, even as tired as he was. All the day's events kept jumping through his mind, and the knowledge that Morgan was here, within reach, left him feeling restless. When he rose at the first light of dawn the next day, his first thought as he looked out the narrow, unbreakable window was, This is the last time I'll see Alexandria. One way or another, they'd either leave this place for good or die here.

  Not surprising to him that Wolfe and Santi were already up and dressed. Wolfe still wore a Scholar's robe over his plain shirt and trousers. Santi had put on his uniform. Khalila emerged just a few minutes after, fresh and lovely in a dark blue dress and head scarf.

  She smiled at Jess. "I couldn't sleep," she said. "You?"

  He shook his head. "I haven't seen Thomas yet. Maybe he's the late riser among us."

  But he wasn't. Glain was true to her word and appeared just a moment later, with Thomas walking at her side as she climbed the stairs. They were talking with an ease and animation that seemed vaguely surprising to Jess, given their circumstances.

  And then Morgan. She'd changed into a practical costume: trousers and a gray jacket. Against the plain fabric, her gold collar seemed far too bright. She'd pulled her brown hair back in a twist. All business.

  "The Artifex came to the gates just before dawn," she said. "I saw him arrive with soldiers. The Obscurist ordered him to leave. Very tense. I'm surprised there wasn't a fight."

  "There will be," Santi said. "Soon. He's not going to take no for an answer."

  "He won't have to," Wolfe said. "He'll send for the Archivist, and that's an end to it. And us." He nodded to Khalila. "We'll need to explore Khalila's information. Quickly."

  "About that," Santi said. "Wathen. How do you judge your ability to run today?"

  Quick on the uptake, Glain. Her dark eyes flashed around at each of them, and she raised her chin and said, "Whatever the day requires, sir."

  Santi nodded. "Packs and weapons. Our time's running out. Either we find a way out this morning or we fight."

  And our odds aren't good, either way, Jess thought. He reached out for Morgan's hand and her fingertips felt chilled in his. She knew, too. She had to know. This idea of Khalila's might be a useless effort, but it was all they had left.

  "Where are you going?" Morgan asked, and Jess explained it as quickly as he could. She caught on immediately. "Of course. There was something that always bothered me. The Obscurist would lock the garden entrance every few
days. I thought she was conducting secret work via Translation. I didn't think it could be anything else."

  "You've never heard of any hidden floors above it?"

  "No," she said. "Never. Not even a rumor."

  "Maybe they don't actually exist," Thomas said.

  "Then we'll have a nice garden stroll before we're taken out to be killed," Santi said. "I don't see any drawbacks."

  They took the strange moving room--it was, Jess learned, called a lift, which made quite a bit of sense, given its function--up to the garden floor, a floor that, he realized, could only be accessed by Morgan's hand resting on the panel, while other choices were clearly visible with switches. "Not everyone is allowed use of the garden," she told them. "Only the most senior in the Tower."

  "And you're one of them?" Wolfe gave her a look that said he clearly doubted that, and, of course, he was right.

  "No," she said. "I changed the script inside the elevator months ago. It thinks I'm Gregory. So far, none of them have figured that out, though they've found other changes I made. I suppose this is the last time I'll be able to use this one, too."

  "With any luck, it's the last time you'll need to," Jess said. "Can you use the Translation Chamber?"

  But Morgan shook her head this time. "Not after I used it to escape last time. They'll have made sure to lock it off from me this time. But I'll check, just to be sure."

  When the lift slid to a stop and the doors opened, they stepped out into the lush, warm garden. It was deserted except for the flutters of butterflies among the flowers and a subtle hum of bees that drowsily roamed the room near a hive at the far end. The Translation couch and helmet occupied the central gazebo of the room, but outside morning stretched toward noon beneath a bleached-pale sky, and the dizzy patchwork of Alexandria heaved with motion in the streets.

  Eerily quiet here.

  "They might already know we've come here," Wolfe said. "Morgan, see if you can use the Translation equipment."

  It was immediately obvious she couldn't; as she came close to the helmet and couch, a low humming sound rose and spiked, and a harsh blue spark stabbed out toward her. She yelped and jumped back, rubbing at the spot on her arm where it had struck. It left a burn.

  "And that's our answer," Santi said. "Work quickly. Spread out. Find anything that might be a concealed staircase, a switch."

  They'd all been well trained in how to suss out hidden alcoves, floor tiles, concealed safes and shelves. Common practice among those who possessed book contraband to hide it from view. Scholars and soldiers learned how to pry those secrets out early in their training.

  But Jess had experience at hiding things, not just finding them. The Brightwell family expertise lent itself to a search like this, and instead of doing what the others were, he stood very still, looking around the large round room. Those who built this place weren't trying to hide something completely. They'd want it accessible. No Obscurist is going to want to grub around in flower beds, looking for a switch or a panel.

  He let his eyes unfocus and wander, and suddenly, he was looking at a statue. The largest statue, in fact, in the room: an image of hawk-headed Horus, from whose bowl flowed a continuous stream of water that snaked among the flowers and plants.

  Horus, God of Scribes. Patron of the Great Library.

  Jess grabbed Thomas as he passed and pulled him over to the statue. "Look for any kind of switch," he said. They both began running hands over the cool marble, and then Jess felt a scarab ornament on the arm of the statue give to his touch. "Here! It's here!"

  He pressed it, and above them something hissed. What had seemed like just another part of the ceiling proved to be a plate--the bottom of a black iron staircase that screwed down from the ceiling, turning so smoothly that it must have been powered by steam or hydraulics. The whole thing was silent enough that it seemed as eerie as a dream.

  "Incredible," Thomas murmured, and ran his hand over the smooth black railing. "We go up?"

  "We go up," Santi said. "But I go first."

  Jess hung back to take rear guard. The staircase turned in a tight spiral around a central iron core, and above him Thomas said, reverently, "Look at this. It's the same as the Iron Tower! No one remembers how this metal was created; it has the same properties as the Iron Pillar of Delhi, but--"

  "You must be feeling better," Glain said from just below him. "Since you're lecturing again."

  "Sorry."

  "Oh, don't be. I'm happy to hear it."

  At the top of the steps, Santi paused and said, "There's a door. No lock and no handle, so I assume it takes an Obscurist. Morgan?"

  She squeezed her way past the others to the top. Jess craned his neck, wishing he'd put himself farther ahead, so he could see what was going on. Someone has to bring up the rear, scrubber. He could almost hear Dario's mocking voice. When had he started missing Dario, of all people?

  It seemed to take forever, and Jess faced outward, toward the garden room. How long before someone--Gregory, perhaps--came looking for them? How long before he realized they'd gone missing and began to search? Not long, surely. He wasn't the trusting sort. I should be up there, he thought. I'm the one who's good with closed doors.

  But Santi did know best, after all. Above there was a hollow clunk, and Santi said, "We're moving!" Khalila, just ahead of Jess, glanced over her shoulder at him and gave him an encouraging smile.

  "Come on," she said. "At least we can brag to Dario later that we saw something he didn't."

  Jess backed his way up the winding stairs, training his weapon on the room below until the last twist hid it all from view. Then he turned and hurried up after Khalila, across a shallow landing, and toward a black iron door that stood open.

  Behind him he heard another hiss, and looked back to see the staircase moving again, this time spiraling back into the ceiling. Counterweights. It had been only their weight on the staircase that had kept it down after the initial descent. The design reminded him of Heron of Alexandria and all the marvelous bellows and gears that had driven the wonders of the temples in the early days of the Library.

  Khalila had stopped in the doorway, and Jess stepped up beside her and stopped as well. He couldn't help it.

  A vast, circular Serapeum spread out in front of them, but not like any he'd ever seen before. The Library's daughter facilities were always, always orderly, clean, well maintained.

  This was like the ghostly wreck of one.

  The Black Archives rose in a hollowed-out tower within the tower, ring after ring of shelves and cabinets crowding every available level, with an ancient, dusty flat lift on a track that must have been designed to spiral up from one level to another. The number of books, scrolls, tablets . . . it was staggering and chaotic. The smell of the place overwhelmed him--old paper, mold, neglect. A thick, choking patina of dust.

  It made his father's warehouse of contraband in London, the largest that Jess had ever heard of, look like a modest rural shelf. There had to be tens of thousands of volumes here--no, hundreds of thousands, if not millions. The books had long ago overflowed the shelves, and towering stacks of them leaned against corners and tottered atop the bookcases themselves. The shelves, Jess realized, were thickly stacked with multiple layers of volumes, too.

  Without even meaning to, Jess took a step inside the hidden tower, then another, as he tilted his head to look up. The levels of shelves reached up and up, spiraling to what seemed like infinity. This isn't the Archives, he thought. This is something else.

  Wolfe's voice was hushed as he said, "The Black Archives. I don't know what's worse--the number of things they've kept from us or the incredible hubris of the idea."

  The Black Archives. A story, a rumor, a fable. The place where the Library kept everything too dangerous to circulate, too damaging to allow out to the public.

  How could so many books be dangerous? And by whose standards?

  Khalila walked to a shelf, reached for a book. Morgan got there fast and grabbed her wrist before s
he could touch the leather spine. "Wait," she said. "There could be traps or alarms. Before you touch anything, let me look first. That goes for everyone." In truth, she looked shaken. So did Wolfe, for that matter. Even Santi kept turning in place, staring in shock and a mixture of wonder and horror.

  Traps. The word finally penetrated Jess, and he swallowed. There could be traps on books. Jess tried to comprehend that and failed. The scale of the place continued to overwhelm him. So many books abandoned here. Criminal works walled up to die.

  They waited while Morgan made the rounds of the shelves, looking, occasionally brushing her fingers across a shelf or a case. Finally, she said, "It's safe. You can touch them now."

  Khalila took the book from the shelf. Her voice trembled as she read the title. "Generation of a Magnetic Field by Use of Electric Currents," she said. "Hans Christian Orsted, 1820." She put it back and pulled another. "The Law of Reciprocity of the Magneto-Electric and Electromagnetic Phenomena and Applications for the Reversibility of Electric Generators. Heinrich Friedrich Emil Lenz, 1833."

  Wolfe moved around the shelves, not touching, just looking. He said, "This whole level has to do with applications of electrical fields. Heat, light, machines--all powered by electrical fields. These are things that I've only seen here within this tower. I thought it was an Obscurist's trick, powered by alchemy. It isn't. It's something engineers discovered centuries back. And they kept it from us."

  "But why?" Thomas's eyes had gone very wide. He went to Khalila's side and pulled more books, searching the titles. "Why would they keep these amazing things from us? Can you even imagine how bright the world would be if we had these lights? What about using this electromagnetic phenomenon to power trains or carriages? Could it be better than steam? Why would they--"

  "Because someone, when this work was first submitted to the Library, decided the very idea of it was dangerous. Uncontainable." Wolfe's voice sounded weary, and angry. "They looked into that future and decided it couldn't be controlled, and, above all, the Library wants control. Look around you. Look at what the Library kept from us. We all knew it was true. Thomas and I, we both have experience of what they won't allow to be known."

  "The press," Thomas whispered.