"Two years," Dario said.
"Shut up," Glain said. "All night and half the day." As if it were taking her cue, the dull hissing of the transport's engine suddenly changed gear to a lower, more throbbing speed. "We're stopping to let Askuwheteau's people off from the second transport."
Thomas was in this vehicle; Jess could see him curled uncomfortably in the small space. Dario. Glain. His twin brother, who wasn't saying a single word. Khalila was close, and she offered her hand to him silently. He took it and squeezed. Santi was driving the transport, and Wolfe sat beside him.
There was no sign of Morgan. There was an empty seat where she should have been.
"Before you ask," Khalila said, "the doctor felt it was good to keep her in the other vehicle. But she will be moved here now. How do you feel?"
"Better," he said. It was true; he did feel better. He could draw a breath without coughing, and some of the feeling had come back to his burned hands.
"That's good, because the doctor wasn't going to let the two of you in the same cabin until you were," Dario said. "No idea why. Care to share?"
"No." Jess knew. He remembered the burn of Morgan's touch. The explosion of fluid in his lungs. She'd tried to help, and nearly killed him. "I'm all right."
"We're stopping," Glain said. She climbed past Jess, slid open the door of the transport, and hopped down before Santi had brought it to a complete halt. Jess had to blink against a sudden blast of daylight, and tried his balance once the vehicle had rolled to a stop with a hiss of steam. Not too bad. He jumped down and walked after Glain. Behind him, the others were coming out, too. Thomas was last, looking relieved to be released from confinement.
There was another transport directly behind them, and as Jess watched, Dr. Askuwheteau descended from the driver's position and slid open the side. One by one, his people came out. They'd all changed clothes, sometime since Jess had succumbed to the drugs . . . Most wore a mixture of plain cloth and soft leather. Askuwheteau wore the same patchwork coat he'd had in Philadelphia. He'd unbraided his hair to fall loose over his shoulders.
Seven survivors of a dead city. Three were children, but Jess couldn't judge how old they were. They were too thin, small for their ages. None of them said a word, not even Askuwheteau's housekeeper.
Askuwheteau tossed something to Captain Santi, who caught it out of sheer reflex. It unfurled in his hands. The Medica robe. "You saved us," the doctor said. "We don't forget. But we'll never wear the colors of our enemies again."
"Where will you go?" Khalila asked him.
"To our people in Boston," he said. "And we will tell what we know. What we saw. Within a week, there will be no safety for any of the Library here in this country. If the Archivist believed he could stop us by that slaughter, he doesn't know us at all. We will fight."
"We'll all fight," Khalila said. She took another step forward. She was wearing her black Scholar's robe, and it rippled like shadows in the breeze. "When you go to Boston, you will carry the word of what happened. You will become symbols of what the Burners will become-for better, or for worse. I beg you to think of that legacy, and the future we will share, because one day, we will be friends again, Dr. Askuwheteau. One day, the Library will meet with you in peace, and we will bury our dead together. We are not your enemies. The people in the Serapeums are not your enemies. Please remember, when you tell your stories, when you start your fires, that we saw your home, we saw the love you had for books. Remember that for each of us, that love is why we are here. Why we exist. And remember that we see you, and we grieve for you."
///
There was something mesmerizing about her in that moment, Jess thought; she seemed taller. Stronger. More real than ever before. It was impossible to look at Khalila Seif and not believe her, not feel the compassion that flowed out of her.
She bowed to the survivors of Philadelphia.
Askuwheteau stood there for a long, silent moment, staring at her. "You are my enemy," he said to Khalila at last. "But you have my respect. I will think on what you say." He picked up a small leather pack from the grass by his feet. "But you should go. Because if any of us find those wearing the sign of the Library here past tomorrow, I may not want to protect you. Anger is like the fires that still burn in my city. It will take time to die."
They watched them walk away in silence, until the Lenape and his small band of survivors were lost from sight, and then Khalila sighed.