"Sooner than either of us want." And it isn't home, Jess thought, but didn't say. He glanced behind him. "Captain Santi, Scholar Wolfe, this is Mr. Grainger. My father's trusted secretary and man of all work." He politely ignored the other man, because Grainger did, too. New, since Jess had been off to Alexandria. "Will we be walking?"
"Thank God, no," Grainger said. "We have cabs for you. Can only take four in each; how many do you have, then?"
"Nine," Jess said, but Brendan stuck his head over Jess's shoulder and said, "Ten," at the same time. As Jess shoved him back, Brendan grinned. "Anit's coming, too. She says a night off the ship would do her good."
"Ten," Jess said, and turned back to Grainger. "Is our father here?"
"Waiting at the house for you. Said you were to take my word for his until then."
"Meaning I can ignore it altogether?" Brendan said. "Excellent. Good work, Grainger." He turned and politely bowed Khalila up the path to the road. "Ladies first."
"Shut up," Glain said, and kicked him soundly on the backside. "We don't need your smarmy consideration. Just shift yourself and get out of the way."
"I'm starting to like you," Brendan called after her. The hand gesture she gave him was not encouraging. Brendan threw an arm around his brother's neck. "Come on, Jess. Smile. We're safe. We're home!"
This isn't home, Jess thought again. But he was starting to realize that maybe he didn't really have a home, except with the people he loved. And they were piling into the three steam carriages lined up on the road.
Back in London, his da had always favored modest transportation; he'd had his town house luxurious enough, but since he'd been pretending all his life to upper-merchant class, he'd never indulged in excesses.
That was clearly not the case anymore. The steam carriages were gleaming wonders of black lacquer and shining brasses, with the clockworks and hydraulics of the engines visible through transparent panes of thick, no doubt unbreakable, glass. Fit for kings and Archivists, Jess thought. He wondered how many rare books his father had sold to ink-lickers, to be eaten like so many delicious forbidden treats, to pay for them.
Dario had pushed on past Brendan to help Khalila into the carriage. The journey hadn't done well for her, either; she had a hungry, hollow look to her just now, and as Dario sank down beside her and took her hand, Jess was glad she had someone who cared so much. They'd had no word of her father, brother, or uncle, except that they were still in the Archivist's prison inside the Serapeum. Glain's family was safe. Thomas's had been moved, over their protests, to a remote mountain village, with considerable manpower protecting them, thanks to Santi's brother, and retired soldiers who still owed him debts.
Khalila was bearing her weight of fear and grief alone, and they all could see the strain of it on her.
Morgan stopped at Jess's shoulder and pushed her hair back from her face. The wind blew it in wild, shimmering strands. It had grown longer, and the heavy air had sent it into even thicker curls. He liked it. "I wish there was more we could do for Khalila," Morgan said. "It breaks my heart to see her so-withdrawn."
"I know," he said. "Me, too." Morgan had prospered at sea, as if she was drawing energy and strength from the vastness of it; she'd spent endless hours at the rail, watching the waves and the dolphins that raced ahead of the bow. She'd even put on some of the weight she'd lost in Philadelphia, regained curves beneath her clothes.
He offered her his elbow, and she took it with a crooked little smile. She'd tanned, sailing under the sun. It suited her.
She even let him boost her up into the carriage with his hands on her waist. It was the most contact she'd allowed since they'd boarded the ship. It had frightened her, what she'd nearly done to him outside Philadelphia. She'd wanted to be certain she was stronger, and more in control, before risking it again.
He'd hated every moment of that long, solitary voyage, and not only for the miserable hours he'd spent seasick.
Brendan piled in behind him and took the seat facing him, then reached out a hand to pull in Anit. Red Ibrahim's daughter shut the carriage door and tapped the roof as if she were born to the practice, as at home here as she was in the streets of Alexandria and the smugglers' markets below them. "Thank you for the hospitality."
"Surprised you're not staying with your ship and on your way," Jess said. "I'd think this diversion put you off schedule."
"A small delay. I am to pay your father my sincere respects," she said. "As you would if visiting my father's home."