“Is impersonating him, I know. Garda?”
“The Garda have bigger problems than the Brightwells. Must be some Library spy. Welsh troops are burning through the city from one end to the other, you know, and half the city’s either running in panic or planning to join the Garda to fight. He’d been working on clearing the best pieces out for days.”
“We’ll have to find him.”
“I was working on it,” Brendan said. “I didn’t even know you’d survived, Jess.”
“I see you’re in full mourning.”
“Well, I didn’t fully believe it,” Brendan said. “You’re a bad penny, Jess. Can’t get rid of you. What happened?”
Jess explained it as briefly as he could. He didn’t want to tell Brendan about the disaster at the Black Archives quite yet. He couldn’t stomach talking about it. When he blinked, he could still see those books dying.
See himself watching them die.
“Your friends? Where are they?” Brendan asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t do the sensible thing and leave them.”
“They’re close,” Jess said. Funny. He trusted his twin just so far and not a step more. “Where should I take them?”
“The warehouse for now,” his brother said. “Mother’s carried off the family treasures with her to cousin Frederick. The warehouse is just a gathering spot for the men. The plan was that we’ll join them there once we have cargo on wagons and safely away. But now that Father’s gone, we probably should be gone from here soon, in case the High Garda come looking.”
“Brendan. About Neksa—”
“She’s all right?” His brother looked at him, and it was an unguarded kind of dread. Jess had hit rather harder than he expected.
“She’s fine. Brokenhearted, but last I saw, she was fine. You did a good thing, Scraps. Maybe you’re not so bad at heart after all.”
“Shut up before I punch you,” Brendan said. “Let’s go.” He hesitated, then swept Jess with a disgusted look, head to toe. “After you change and get rid of the lice.”
“This city,” Khalila said, “looks like something a madman dreamed up. Didn’t your architects ever hear of straight lines?”
Jess, looking at London with the eyes of experience, had to admit the girl had a point. The narrow, twisting streets, the blind alleys, the buildings jammed together on whatever plot of land had become available . . . it had no plan to it. Big Ben wasn’t as tall as he remembered; some of the newer buildings reached much higher, though they somehow still had a look of weariness to them. The golden gleam of St. Paul’s in the distance was the only thing Jess could think would have been easily transplanted to Alexandria. Everything else was uniquely . . . English.
“At least it means slow going for the Welsh,” he pointed out. “London’s probably the hardest city to conquer in the world.”
“Yet they are managing,” Dario observed. It wasn’t smug, just practical. He was watching the southwest, where the muddy glow of buildings on fire made the night shimmer. Jess could hear the sound of fighting, very dim and distant. Khalila gave him a glare. She still wasn’t speaking to him, not at all. “I hope this hiding place isn’t far.”
“Just up there,” Jess said. Their group kept to the shadows; other London citizens hurried by in the opposite direction, many carrying suitcases or bags full of belongings, dressed in thick layers of clothing to lighten their loads. “Stay out of sight of the Garda if you see any.”
They’d picked up the others a few blocks back, but now Morgan eased by Dario to take a place at Jess’s side. She took his hand and looked him up and down, then over at his brother. “Remarkable,” she said. “It’s hard to tell you apart.”
“Really?” Jess asked.
“Well. Not for me, of course.”
“That’s better. I wouldn’t like you mistaking the two of us at a critical moment.”
Jess adjusted his heavy burden of books. It felt larger with every step, or maybe it was just that he was growing tired.
“The fighting looks to be moving closer,” Santi said from behind them. “We should go as quick as we can. I’d rather not renew our acquaintance with our friends from Wales. They let us go once; I doubt they’d feel any obligation to do it again.”
“And we’re not even Library anymore,” Khalila said. “We’ve got the same protection as anyone else on these streets.”
“Welcome to the rest of the world,” Brendan said. “We rely on ourselves out here. Always have done, since the Library told us a book was worth more than we are.”
“But it is,” Khalila said quietly. “A book outlives us all.”
“That’s a legacy,” Brendan said. “I’d rather have a life, if you don’t mind.”
“Philosophy later,” Wolfe said. “Run now.”