Paper and Fire (The Great Library, #2) - Rachel Caine Page 0,19

Jess said. “Tell me it wasn’t you.”

The centurion’s face was hard to read, but he seemed more angry than guilty. “You’d better use that toy if you think I’d put baby soldiers at risk. Betrayed you how?”

“Greek fire. Real bullets. You heard it. That was no exercise.”

The centurion’s expression didn’t change, but something did around the edges of Jess’s awareness; a slight shift of his feet, tightness around his eyes. “Drop the knife, boy. Before my comrade gets upset.”

Comrade. Jess felt the movement at his back and knew the other soldier was there, ready to shoot.

“Tell me you’re not with them,” Jess said quietly.

“I’m not.” The centurion looked past him and nodded. “Stand down.” His gaze locked back on Jess. “You, too.”

There wasn’t any other play to make. Jess stepped back and put his knife away. He said, more quietly, “I need cobra antivenin for one of our squad. Get that, too.”

For a terrible second, the centurion didn’t move, and then he looked at the soldier behind Jess. “Send a message. We need Captain Feng.”

“Not Feng,” Jess said. “Santi.”

“Santi’s not in charge of this—”

“Get Santi!”

The centurion might not have believed him, but he was willing to play along for now. Jess thought there would be plenty of reprimands in his immediate future, but he no longer cared. And that, most of all, must have gotten through to the centurion, who abruptly nodded. “Antivenin is in my pack. Let me get it.”

“Don’t move,” Jess said. “I don’t trust you.”

“Boy, I could have got that knife from you like taking a toy from an infant,” the man said. “I’m getting the pack.”

With the pounding surge of adrenaline starting to recede, Jess figured the soldier probably could have taken him down easily, and he nodded. The soldier reached down, grabbed a field pack, and snugged it on. Then he took up his heavy black weapon—more powerful than Jess’s, and not loaded half-strength, for certain.

“Well?” he said, when Jess stared back. “Go on, then. You’re taking me inside. I need to assess the situation.”

“I’ll need a weapon.”

“Where’s yours?”

“I gave it to the Scholar.”

The soldier gave him a sharp look, then took out his sidearm and handed it over. “Shoot me and I’ll end you,” he said. “I’m Centurion Thabani Botha, in case I die.”

“Brightwell, sir.”

“Good. Now we’re mates. Move.”

Jess was still winded and hurting, but he didn’t protest; he just turned and led Botha back through the gates and watched the rooftops. It was eerily quiet now, no more shots coming their way, though the Greek fire still blazed away in a snapping fury. Looking at it now, Jess was shocked he’d managed to get around it, since it occupied all but a small strip of safety against the farthest wall. He and Botha squeezed past as quickly as possible. Once they were out, Botha said, with quiet grimness, “I wasn’t told there’d be a Burner simulation along with your confiscation assignment.”

“What if it wasn’t a simulation? Could Burners get in here?”

Botha didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t know, or maybe he just didn’t want to say. But Jess doubted that the enemy who’d attacked them was really part of the Burner movement. This came from inside the High Garda itself, he thought. Tariq had turned on them, after all. There would be questions to be asked in the wake of this, hard ones.

Botha put up a fist and Jess came to an instant halt. They were just at the corner, and Botha looked around, then back at Jess. His eyes had gone narrow and cold. “How many out there?”

“I don’t know. Just saw shadows on rooftops. Maybe ten?”

“Armed with Greek fire?”

“And guns,” Jess added, though he knew Botha hadn’t forgotten. He just felt a little defensive. He swallowed and said, “If you see any of my squad, watch them, too. I think some of them may be . . .” He trailed off, because he didn’t want to come right out and say traitors, but the implication hung heavy in the air between them.

Botha shrugged. “I always keep an eye on recruits. They might shoot me in a panic.”

Jess decided then that he liked the man. “Better follow me, then. I trust your aim, at least.” He stepped out into the street. For a second, he felt dizzy, waiting for the inevitable bullet to hit, but nothing did. Silence, except for the hiss of sand stirring in the wind, and the roar of the fire behind. The blaze that had kicked off the whole