The Lighthouse rose in a stacked spire toward the heavens. It had looked large at a distance, but it was truly massive—and, more than most things he’d seen in Alexandria, it had the look of ancient wear. It had been rubbed by so many hands and shoulders that the corners at the base to the height of his head were almost rounded away. The stone steps leading inside dipped in the center, the mark of hundreds of thousands—if not millions—of feet.
Jess began the long trip up the winding stairs. There was a steam-powered lifting device in the center, but it seemed slow and crowded, and he didn’t altogether trust mechanical things today. By the time he reached the twenty-second floor, he was only a little out of breath. Brutal as it might be, the High Garda’s conditioning certainly worked.
He rapped on the closed door, balancing the boxes in one hand, and heard a muffled voice invite him to enter. He stepped in, closed the door, and put the stack of pastry boxes on the desk, careful to avoid any of the loose pages littering the top.
Then he looked up into the wide, startled eyes of Scholar Khalila Seif.
She was just as he remembered, as if the months had never passed: pretty, composed, modestly dressed in a loose floral-patterned dress beneath her sweeping Scholar’s robe. Her pale pink hijab lay neat and perfect and framed her face to accentuate her large brown eyes.
After that shocked, frozen stare, Khalila let out a girlish squeal and launched herself around the desk and into his arms, hugging him with a ferocity that was surprising for a girl her size. “Jess! It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”
“Bringing breakfast,” he said, and gestured to the tower of pastry. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Did you think they starve me? Or are you expecting a famine?” She swatted at him with a small, elegant hand and pushed him toward a pair of chairs near the windows. Her view was of the city of Alexandria, and it was spectacular. Seabirds glided at eye level, while the streets and buildings climbed up the hill around the harbor. The giant structure of the Alexandrian Serapeum dominated the sky, along with the black, rounded gloom of the Iron Tower. She ignored the sights. Her smile was full of delight, and she leaned forward toward him with her hands clasped together in her lap. “Whatever are you doing? Really?”
“I wanted to see you,” he said. It was true and it was untrue at the same time. Khalila was a friend. A brilliant mind. A rising star of the Library. When they’d all been together in Wolfe’s class, she’d been as much a part of the team as any of them, and more than some, but now . . . now she was fast-tracked to the highest levels of scholarship. One day, she’d rise to greatness. Power. Maybe even fill the chair of the Archivist.
If he didn’t get her killed. I shouldn’t do this, he thought. I’ll ruin everything for her. Everything.
But he knew Khalila well enough to know that she’d find out, and when she did, she wouldn’t thank him for that protection.
Jess slowly reached over and took one of her hands in his, and said, in a very low voice, “Is it safe to talk here?”
“Yes,” she said at the same quiet level. “They don’t monitor my conversations. Still, we should be careful. And fond of you as I am, you should not stay here long.”
“I know,” Jess said. “I’ll be brief.” There was, he realized, no easy way to tell her; the shock wouldn’t be kind. Better to do it in one go. “I have proof that Thomas wasn’t executed, as the Archivist told us he was. There’s every reason to believe Thomas is still alive, in prison.”
Khalila’s smile faltered, then died, and her dark eyes fixed on his for so long and so silently that he wondered if she’d really heard him. Then she stood up; walked to the door with brisk, firm steps; and turned the lock. “That will put on a privacy signal. My assistant could arrive at any moment,” she told him. “I shouldn’t wish for her to hear this.” Her voice sounded completely normal, as if he’d told her that there might be rain in the afternoon, or that the price of saffron could go up in the markets. “I would ask how you are taking this, but I think I can guess.”
“You seem very calm,” Jess said.
Khalila turned to face him. Tears glittered in her eyes, on the verge of falling. “Do I? Who told you he might be alive?”
“No one,” Jess said, and told her a shortened story about the illegal book and his confession to Wolfe, Santi, and Glain. “Santi’s worried we’ll all do something stupid now. To be fair, he’s probably right about that.”
She crossed back to her chair and sat, then absently dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. A few blinks, and the tears vanished, leaving a hard, luminous shine. “And you believe this? You’re sure?”
She was asking him to be logical, not emotional. Jess took a moment to order his thoughts. “Devil’s advocate? It’s exactly the kind of ruse the Archivist would love to try,” he admitted. “And maybe he’d be careful enough to make me work for months to lay hands on this information. So I’m not completely sure, not yet. We might never be completely sure. Maybe we’ll have to take a chance.”