Thomas still hadn't moved from his deathlike stillness on the bunk. His gaze hadn't varied from the shadowed ceiling. "Then I don't give him the plans. I build the press first and prove to him it works," he said. "And Jess builds it with me. Along with Morgan, that gives us three Beck can't kill, and it buys us time."
"He'll accept that for you. Jess is just another pair of hands."
"I hate to say it, but Beck does need me," Jess said. "Not for my brilliant mind so much as his own survival. Have you looked around this so-called town? It isn't staying alive on its own merits; the buildings are half ruins, the people all but starved."
"A hundred years of unrelenting siege will do that," Santi said.
"And they don't survive on whatever meager crops they raise in here. At least, not completely."
Santi's voice turned contemplative. "I see your point. This town survives on smugglers getting them extra food and supplies."
"Exactly. And those smugglers will have ties that lead back to my family, one way or another. I'm more valuable for what I represent, once Beck knows who I am. I'm worth better terms and more supplies. Or the reverse, because if he kills me, he loses his flow of supplies."
"Nice for you," Dario said. "That last bit is particularly good. I mean, better chance of us escaping in the chaos, of course, if you want to volunteer as sacrificial goat."
Jess replied silently. With a gesture.
"Getting beyond these walls will be a much greater challenge," said Santi. "The walls have been standing for a hundred years-treated by an Obscurist, most likely, to withstand Greek fire and other, more conventional bombardment. Plus, there are no fewer than four full High Garda companies stationed around the walls of Philadelphia, and they're constantly on watch. My own company-" His voice broke a bit, as if he'd only just remembered that they'd abandoned everything to save Thomas, including his position as a High Garda captain, and so, his soldiers. "My own company spent a year here some time ago."
"About that," Dario said. "I'd have thought the impressive armed High Garda could defeat a few hundred Burners inside a half-ruined city in less than a week, never mind a hundred years."
"Standing orders from two Archivists back," Santi answered. "The American colonies have always been a powder keg of dissent. Burning Philadelphia could set the whole continent ablaze. Containment is the policy, with occasional bombardments."
"And I assume you had run-ins with smugglers."
"Of course. We caught hundreds of amateurs. Most were fanatics caught trying to fling supplies over the walls."
"Any of them ever use one of your ballistae?" Jess asked.
"What?"
"To throw supplies. I would have. Could get a lot over in a couple of quick tosses."
"Thank God you were not advising them." Santi sounded amused at that one. "Jess-I'm all for using your family's reputation, but don't push Beck too far. He might kill you just to make the point that he doesn't need your father's goodwill. He has an ego."
"You sound as if you know him," Jess said.
"I should-we study him. He's survived here, head of a desperate group trapped like rats, and he's kept order by being equal parts clever and ruthless. His math is very cold: he doesn't keep anyone alive, wasting resources, who doesn't gain him something."
Khalila said, "Scholar Wolfe, Dario and I can interpret the books we brought from the Black Archives; I know Master Beck was quite excited about those. Most of the books are in dead and obscure languages I doubt anyone else in Philadelphia can decipher. That might give us some protection, at least for a time."
"That still leaves Glain and Santi," Wolfe said. "And I'm not giving them up."
Glain groaned sleepily and said, "Would you all just shut up and let me rest? We're High Garda. We'll survive. Chatter when the sun's up, you wretches."
"Do you want us to sing to you?" Dario asked.
"I swear to my gods and yours, Dario. Shut. Up."
After that, it went quiet again. Some of them, Jess sensed, did go back to sleep. Not him. Not Thomas. Jess went back to a fingertip search of the cell, mind as white as a snowfield. His father had taught him how to look for hidden panels and triggers doing this, but the same principle served for anything you were looking to discover. It just took patience and focus.
From time to time, he glanced up at Thomas. The other young man hadn't closed his eyes. He looked . . . dead. But Jess had no doubt that the mind inside that skull was whirring at top speed.
Jess finally paused his search. He'd covered most of the cell, and his back was on fire, his fingertips raw from scraping them over stone. He sat down on the floor to lean against his friend's cot. "You all right?" He whispered it softly enough that it wouldn't wake Thomas if he were asleep.