“You are not,” Khalila said, and looked down at her folded hands. “I confess, I already applied to the Artifex as well.”
“You what?” Dario turned on her with a stare, which she met squarely.
“Don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I am capable of just as much folly as you, you know!”
“I don’t want you to—”
“Dario. What you do or do not want applies to you, not me. I didn’t ask your permission, and I don’t seek your approval!” Khalila’s voice had taken on a hard edge, and Dario was the first to look away.
“Congratulations,” Glain said. “You’re both wildly independent, and now the Archivist has to be wondering why both of you would want to get close to him at the same time. Clearly, neither of you are cut out to be spies.”
“Forgive us—we didn’t grow up criminals and self-made adventurers!”
“Dario, you know nothing about me,” Glain said. She didn’t sound angry, just a touch amused.
“I meant the criminal part for Jess.”
“Yes, I got that,” Jess said. “It’s not a bad idea, getting close to the Artifex, but I doubt he’ll take either of you up on it. He’s not a stupid man.”
“Just a cruel one,” Glain said. “We need more. Much more than this.”
“What about . . .” Jess hesitated, then plunged in. “What about the Black Archives?”
They were all silent. He expected at least one of them to scoff, to dismiss them as rumor, but Khalila finally said, “I’ll look into it.”
“Carefully,” Glain told her.
“I know. I should go,” she said. “I have more work to do tonight. Dario?”
“Go on,” he told her. “I’m drinking.”
“I’m not,” Glain said. “Khalila, I’ll walk you back.”
Jess started to get up, but Dario kicked him in the shins under the table, hard enough to make him wince. “I’ll have a cup,” Jess said, and gave the other young man a sharp-edged smile. “See you later.” Glain and Khalila walked away into the early evening, and Jess stared at Dario. “Well?”
“Something for the two of us. I didn’t want them involved.”
“Why not?”
Dario shrugged. “It’s a job for two, not four, and I know Glain. She’ll push her way in if we let her.”
“And you don’t like her.”
“Well, I don’t like either of you, to be fair. But you’re the one with the skill I need.”
“Which is?”
“Smuggling,” Dario said, and gestured to the waiter. “That’s why we both need a drink.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jess said, and looked up at the tomb of Alexander the Great.
Dario hadn’t told him where they were going, or he’d have refused outright back at the café. Maybe the wine had lulled him too much, because he’d agreed to at least take a look. And now, here he was. Looking.
Next to the Lighthouse and the Serapeum, the tomb of Alexander was the single most recognizable structure in Alexandria . . . a memorial that had survived in all its original gaudy glory. It crouched in the center of the lush park square, looking exactly like what it was: an overdone tribute to an oversized legend. Marble clad, of course, with statues of gold at each corner on each of four levels. The other statues that lined each level were stone, or looked to be, at least—warriors, horses, gods. On top, Alexander’s chariot was drawn by mighty warhorses frozen in midcharge, and the boy king’s statue showed him as handsome and glorious as the gods themselves.
A pretty dark-eyed girl strolled past the two of them, and gave Dario a bright smile as she trailed a hand over the flowers planted on the path. The Spaniard smiled back and bowed to her, which elicited a giggle. Jess sighed. “Tell me we aren’t here just so you can peacock to the ladies.”
“It’s an added benefit,” Dario said. “I’m supposed to meet someone here who may have a book for us.”
“Meet who, exactly?”
“Am I supposed to ask for formal introductions when buying illegal things? I was under the impression it was more of a casual acquaintance.”
“Where did you meet this person?”
“I inquired,” Dario said. “I’m not without skills, you know. If you must know, he’s a sailor out of Rome. He said he has a stolen logbook from a prison there.”
“Every city has a prison!”
“This one is run by the High Garda. Not local police.”
Jess didn’t like it. “Do you know him at all?”
“No. Which is why I want you here, with your long history of . . . questionable things. I’ll pay for the book, you take it away from here, and we will all live to read whatever it is I’m spending a ruinous amount of my savings to get.”
“Dario, buying black market is not your strength. You should have told me. I could have—”
“There wasn’t time,” Dario cut in. “Are you going to help or not?”