And then he saw the figures starkly illuminated at the top of the city hall steps. Even at this distance, he recognized them: Santi. Wolfe. Morgan. Khalila.
And every one of them was being held by a guard.
"God, no," he said, and pulled Thomas to a halt in the mud. "Stop!" He dragged his friend off to the side, under the dark shelter of thrashing branches, and quickly dug from his pockets and bindings everything that Thomas had given him for the Ray of Apollo. "Make your way around through the side streets. If the mob's gathering here, you should be able to make it around that way, to the fields. Get to the barn near the wall. Wait for us, but don't wait too long. Understand? Brendan knows where we'll be coming through. Make a hole behind that building. Morgan's weakened the wall for you. It should work, but when we come, we'll be coming fast. Start as soon as you can."
"I can't just leave," Thomas said. He sounded reasonable. Jess wasn't in the mood for reasonable. He grabbed Thomas and shoved him in the direction he wanted him to go. It was like pushing one of the trees. "Jess. I can help you!"
///
"No. You're the only one who can open up our way out, and I can't risk you. I need you to do that. Go. Go!"
Thomas gave him one last, silent look, and then turned and went the way Jess had pointed. Away from trouble, for once.
Jess ran toward it.
Willinger Beck had come out from shelter now, and took his place on the landing next to the captives. He raised his hands and shouted, but Jess couldn't hear what he was saying over the roar of the rain and the crowd. And couldn't bother to care. His attention was on his friends. Think. Dario and Glain weren't with them. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, they'd slipped this trap, and that was good.
What was bad was that Jess saw no chance at all to free the rest of them, and he was all too aware that at any moment, one of the men or women in the crowd might glance at him and recognize him, and then he'd be up there, too, pinned and helpless.
You should go, Wolfe's imaginary, sour voice lectured him. Staying to witness our deaths is less than useless. Get out while you can. That was always the plan.
Imaginary Wolfe's advice was still crap, and he wasn't going to abandon them, any more than he'd abandoned Thomas back in Alexandria-and he'd thought Thomas might be dead.
The crowd was shouting, anger and fear smeared into a fog he could almost taste. He didn't know why they were so angry, but it didn't matter now. He cast a fast look around and fixed on one of Beck's guards lingering near the edge of the crowd. Jess faded back, and as he did, he picked up a fallen branch from one of the trees. Heavy wood. The guard was just in the shadow of a tree, and Jess circled around the trunk and came up behind him. He hit him hard in the back of the head and dragged him backward in the same instant, then hit him again to be sure he was unconscious before he stripped off the man's hooded coat and put it on. He relieved the man of two pistols and a knife. The coat smelled foul, but he hardly noticed; the hood kept his face in shadow and kept the rain off.
A bolt of lightning sizzled from the clouds to strike the statue of Benjamin Franklin on top of city hall, and a cry went up from the crowd. They took it as a sign, he supposed.
So did he. He pushed through the crowd as if he had the right. He was wearing the guns, the coat, the attitude of one of Beck's security men. No one stopped him.
He went right up the steps.
Khalila saw him first, and her eyes went wide; she was soaking wet and shivering, and her dress was clinging to her in ways that would probably make her blush, but she managed a very slight nod. He wanted to go to Morgan, but Morgan was next to Beck, and Khalila was at the end, easy to reach. He stepped up next to the guard who held her, pulled his hood lower, and thought about relieving the other guard . . . but that wouldn't work. The town was small. He'd be instantly recognized.
So he stood silently, tensely, and waited for his chance.
Beck's voice was still hoarse from Thomas's hold, but he managed a full-throated shout to carry over the booms of thunder. A trick of acoustics on the steps amplified him, though how many of the crowd could hear was anyone's guess.
"I hear your anger!" Beck shouted, and lifted his hands for quiet. Rain bedraggled him, like it did the rest of them, and gave him less of an imposing presence. He had mud on his shoes and trousers, and his glasses were beaded and blind with water. "My people! I hear it and I understand it! We knew better than to trust the Library, or any of their creatures, and that was my mistake! But it is a mistake we will rectify, now! Come with me and see for yourself!"