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Ash and Quill(17)

By:Rachel Caine


That was exactly what they didn't need to happen. Once the Great Library learned that Wolfe and his students had survived London and were trapped inside Philadelphia, Jess thought that would be a perfectly simple puzzle for the Archivist to solve: destroy the entire city. Kill them all in the process. Neat, and a dual benefit.

"Trading us to the High Garda wouldn't get you as much as trading with my family," Jess said, to head off the entire discussion. "I assume you know of my father. Callum Brightwell."

He saw the exact second when Willinger Beck's world shifted. The man's eyes widened, blinked. In that moment, he didn't look like a man who'd be good at any game that required a bluff. "Brightwell," he repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "Brightwell." That last repetition was weighted by a heavy varnish of chagrin.

"I see you know of him," Jess said. "I assume you work with smugglers to stay alive. Might be a mistake to get on the wrong side of one of the most powerful families for a stupid, preventable reason."

Beck's face went still, but red spots formed and burned high in his cheeks. Still, he wasn't a rash sort. He thought it out. While he did, Jess glanced at Thomas, who had raised his eyebrows and now quickly lowered them again. Surprised? Worried? Hard to tell.

Beck gained control of his voice. It sounded smooth, but the tension underneath was as sharp as sharks. "I didn't recognize the connection. I'm familiar with your illustrious father, and your very impressive brother."

Of course you are, Jess thought. "My illustrious father and very impressive brother got sold down the river by your people in London," he said. "My father won't be in a good mood. And he won't look kindly on any further insults toward his family."

"I never heard that he had a son in Library uniform. I wonder, are you really still considered part of the family?"

That struck, and cut. Jess smiled to hide it. "Oh, Callum Brightwell knows full well I'm in this uniform. I can promise you, sending me to the Library was his plan." Both those things were true. They didn't quite add up to the sum of the parts, but Jess saw Beck reconsidering his stance.

Beck went for a cautious half measure and said, "He's always been fair to us. Sympathetic, even. I think I can count on him to be consistent in his dealings with us, whatever your . . . situation."

"My father values two things above all else: his business and his family. He considers the two the same. If you harm his son-or my friends-I can promise you that he'll take that personally."


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Beck took his time thinking it over. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out, clasping his hands behind his back; with the soft light on his face, he looked like a flattering portrait of a statesman. Jess wondered if he'd done it for the effect. "I must do what is the best for my people, of course. Alienating the Brightwells might not be in their interest."

"That's good sense," Jess said. He wasn't averse to praising people when they said the bloody obvious, so long as it was in his favor. "My recommendation is to let me write and explain."

Beck ignored that. He stared out for another long set of clock ticks and then turned to regard him and Thomas with a sudden smile on his face. Far too wide. Far too warm.

"No, I think that I will write to him. No doubt the fact you are in residence here will make him a stronger friend to Philadelphia. And of course, I welcome the construction of this machine you're talking about. We can discuss some small privileges for your friends while you do the work." He turned to Thomas then. "If that is acceptable to you, Scholar Schreiber?"

That speech, Jess thought, was a bit of a wonder. An implication of hostage taking; in the same breath, a promise of favors; and as an apple polish on the end, lauding Thomas with his rightfully earned title. A title the Burners normally used as a term of scorn.

"No," Thomas said. Not a diplomat, Thomas. Blunt, earnest, and to the point. "For the price of humbling your pride and giving us food and trust, you get a weapon that kills no one, destroys nothing, and yet undermines the tyranny you claim to resist. A life is worth more than a book; that is your motto. We can make that a fact, not mere words."

In the silence that followed Thomas's words-slow, deliberate, powerful words-Jess imagined he could feel the world changing around him. It was subtle, but it was there.

He could see by the look in Willinger Beck's eyes that the man felt it, too. But he hadn't survived this long, against these odds, by being gullible. "I will provide you with supplies to build your machine, and food for you two, and you two only," Beck said. "Rations are dear here. The others need to earn their bread with useful work, and while I agree to leave the prison doors unlocked, there is no such thing as freedom of movement for any of you; you will go guarded, or you do not go anywhere. If your machine proves all that you promise, then you may earn additional rights. Not before."