Ink and Bone

Jess moved pieces until it became clear that Thomas’s automaton was going to trap him in four moves, and, marvelling at the eerie intelligence of the thing, he tipped his king.

All the pieces, even the ones that had been fixed to the sides of the board, glided back into place. The board lifted, spun opposite, and the automaton moved white this time.

‘You’re bloody brilliant, Thomas,’ Jess said. His throat felt tight with emotion, and he knew it was in his rough voice, too. ‘I hope you know that.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘Wait until you see what I have back home at Ptolemy House.’

‘I thought this was what you were working on.’

‘This? No. It is a toy. Elaborate, but a toy. What I have there is different.’ His grin faded, and suddenly Thomas looked completely serious. ‘What I have will change the world.’

It felt like freedom for the next six days; their wounds healed, and the six of them were much in each other’s company. They held a chess tournament, and took the Toulouse soldiers’ bets on machine versus student; invariably, they made a profit. Khalila played Thomas’s automaton to a draw many times, and won twice; Jess prized the one time he’d managed to force the machine to tip its king in defeat. Soldiers took a seat. Even Wolfe had a try, which brought the most heated betting of all, but he, too, went down to defeat.

Thomas, curiously, could beat it every time. ‘I know how it thinks,’ he said when Jess asked, which was as mysterious as it was maddening.

It began to feel almost benign, these calm days in the sun. When the doctor released him, Jess treasured the hours spent with his friends, individually or in groups. He began to wish it would just … go on.

And then, on the sixth day, Wolfe called them to his tent. It was a pretty blue-sky day outside, with a crisp turn of autumn in the air.

Inside that tent the mood felt like winter.

They entered together, the six of them, and found Wolfe seated at a camp desk with his journal open in front of him, and a pen marking the centre. He closed the book.

‘The escort arrives in the morning,’ he said. ‘Another trusted commander. Nic has seen to that. We will be travelling in armoured comfort back to Alexandria.’

The armoured part Jess didn’t doubt. The comfort was questionable. Khalila sighed and shifted, as if she could already feel the kinks in her back from the trip.

Wolfe looked tired, Jess thought. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that he didn’t remember seeing before. The man hadn’t put on Scholar’s robes for some time, and Jess had almost grown used to seeing him without them now.

But the robes were out today. They were neatly folded on a chest, ready to don.

It’s almost over, Jess realised. We’re going back. Back to what?

As if he’d read Jess’s mind, Wolfe said, ‘When we arrive, I will be summoned to the Artifex to give him my recommendations for your placements. It’s possible that I won’t return in time to give them out, but someone will deliver the scrolls if I am unable to attend.’

‘Unable, Scholar?’ Dario asked. ‘Or do you mean, prevented from returning?’ When Wolfe looked up, he shrugged. ‘It’s clear that you’ve got powerful enemies there. You’re even worried here.’

‘Sir,’ Glain said. ‘They don’t have grounds to punish you. You were sent to retrieve the books from Oxford, and you did exactly that. We will all support it.’

Wolfe acknowledged that with a very slight bow of his head to them. ‘It’s been my privilege to be your proctor,’ he said. ‘It comes as a surprise, I assure you, to say that; I am the most reluctant Scholar ever to be forced to take on a year’s class, and the least inclined to charity. So when I tell you I am proud …’ He shook his head, and smiled. It was a tight, private smile, a little rueful. ‘When I tell you I am proud, I mean it.’

‘Sir …’ Khalila hesitated, then plunged on. ‘What happened to Guillaume and Joachim wasn’t your fault. We all know that, and if they ask us, we’ll tell them you did everything you could. There were risks; we knew that. Life is risk. But you brought us through it. And it is we who are proud. Honoured.’

She inclined her head to him. Next to her, Dario followed. Then Glain and Thomas.

That left Jess and Morgan.

Jess bowed his head, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgan do the same.

‘Honoured,’ Morgan said. ‘Sir.’

Wolfe watched them for a long few seconds, and then opened his journal and picked up his pen. ‘Be ready tomorrow morning by dawn. Tota est scientia. Dismissed.’

He didn’t look up as they filed out, and when Jess glanced back, he saw Wolfe pressing pen to paper.

But the man didn’t write a word.

Di

It did give him a chance to study her as they ate. She didn’t seem to mind.

The food was better than Jess expected, or maybe his health was coming back; he ate with real hunger and savoured the lamb and fresh vegetables and crusty French bread. Wolfe and Santi were, at first, the only ones allowed wine. Santi had only a little, but Wolfe steadily filled glasses, emptied a bottle, then another. He called for a third, and glasses for each of the students. Dario applauded that. Khalila declined, but everyone else accepted.

As the wine was poured, Jess glanced up and saw Morgan watching him. The last night, he thought. Tomorrow, at dawn, it would be different. Tonight would be her last chance to run. He wondered if that was why Wolfe and Santi had so firmly blocked her between them.

Wolfe stood up, glass in hand. He didn’t seem quite steady. ‘Postulants,’ he said. ‘Your attention.’ He didn’t ask, he demanded, and they all gave it. ‘Guillaume Danton and Joachim Portero. Drink to them.’

They all stood, then, and toasted in silence, and drained glasses. He nodded, and they sat again, but he stayed on his feet.

Wolfe clumsily refilled his glass. ‘And a toast to all of you still here. Congratulations. You’re now in the safe embrace of the Library. Good luck.’ He threw back the entire glass at one long gulp. Santi sat back. He looked concerned.

Wolfe had to brace himself with one hand on the table, as if the room had tilted. None of them spoke. Jess had never seen Wolfe out of control before, and it felt deeply wrong.

‘Thank you,’ Khalila finally ventured. ‘You’ve taught us so much.’

‘Don’t thank me for risking your lives. You deserved better than that. Better than me.’ Wolfe refilled his glass, emptied the bottle, and signalled for another. Santi leant back to send Wolfe a look behind Morgan’s back, but Wolfe didn’t seem to notice. ‘I didn’t ask to be your proctor. Saddling me with your class was a kind of punishment. To teach me obedience.’

‘Wolfe,’ Santi said. ‘Enough. Sit down.’

‘No. Not enough.’ Wolfe slammed his glass down on the table with so much force the glass cracked up the side. A dining attendant, who’d come with another bottle of wine, deftly scooped up the damaged vessel and put another one in its place.

‘They’re no longer my students. No longer my responsibility. All that remains is for the Library to break their hearts, as it broke ours years ago.’ Wolfe levelled a finger at Santi. ‘Say I’m wrong.’

Santi stood up, put the cork firmly in the bottle, and leant close to Wolfe. ‘You’re drunk, and this isn’t the place or the time. If you don’t care about your future, think of theirs. Think of mine.’

Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Wolfe blinked and nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I’m … tired.’