Paper and Fire (The Great Library, #2) - Rachel Caine Page 0,7

for what?”

Ibrahim smiled, just enough to send a chill down Jess’s back. “A story for another time, I think. Please.” The man—Jess placed him at about forty, but he could have been younger, or even older—gestured to a small, dainty divan, and Jess sat. A young girl with straight black hair worn in a shoulder-length cut walked in with a tray of delicate coffee cups and a silver urn. She was maybe fourteen years old, petite and pretty, and smiled at Jess as she poured for both of them.

She took a seat on the divan at the other end from Jess, to his surprise.

“This is my daughter, Anit. The gods have smiled upon my house, and she is an intelligent girl who wishes to study the trade. Do you mind if she listens?”

“No objection,” Jess said. He remembered his father doing the same for him and his twin brother, Brendan, though he didn’t recall either of them having much of a choice. “It took quite a while to arrange to see you.”

“Yes, of course, and I mean no offense by my caution. Does your father, the excellent Callum, receive every stranger claiming to be in the trade?” Red Ibrahim handed him a cup so small it felt like a child’s toy in Jess’s fingers, but the coffee inside was sweet and potent enough to make his heart race after only a sip. “Or does he ensure his business’s—and his family’s—safety by being wary?”

“He’s a careful man,” Jess agreed, though he remembered his father ruthlessly risking him, and his brothers, without much thought for the consequences. His older brother, Liam, had swung from a gallows for the careful way his father did business. “He wants to obtain some information, and you’re the best positioned to have it at your fingertips. It’s a delicate matter, of course.”

“Of course,” Ibrahim agreed. “Naturally.” He waited with polite attention.

“Automata,” Jess said.

“There are no truly rare versions of Heron’s work, as you no doubt know—”

“Not interested in rare volumes,” Jess said. “We’re looking for books that describe the inner workings of the creatures. And how to disable them.”

Red Ibrahim was in the act of drinking his coffee, and though he hesitated an instant, he finished so smoothly Jess almost missed the reaction. Almost. Then he laughed, and it sounded completely natural. “Do you know how often this request is made, young Brightwell? The automata are the enemies of both smugglers and Burners in every city on earth! Do you not think that if such information was available, we would have obtained it and made an incredible fortune with it by now?”

“A unique treasure like that is more useful when employed strategically, for your own purposes.” Jess put an edge on his voice. “This is the most dangerous place in the world to smuggle a book, and yet you’ve made a career of it—an empire, of sorts. You’d make it a mission to have that information at your disposal.”

“No one can disable these creatures. It’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Jess said. “They’re mechanical creatures. They’re made. Someone knows their secrets, and secrets are always for sale to those who look hard enough. And if I know anything about you, sir, it’s that you would look very hard.”

“At everyone,” Red Ibrahim agreed. He put down his coffee cup with precise control. “What does your father offer in exchange for this gift of all gifts? Presuming such a thing exists at all.”

Jess tried to keep his face as calm as Ibrahim’s, his pulse as slow. He didn’t blink. “I have a copy of The First Book of Urizen by William Blake.”

Ibrahim’s expression was just as still. “There are eight copies of such a book in the world,” he said. “I would need something a great deal more rare. It is, as you say, precious treasure indeed, this information.”

“There were eight copies,” Jess said. “Six of them were purchased by ink-lickers, who ate them in some sort of sick ritual four months back. As I’m sure you already know. That leaves two: the one in my father’s vaults . . . and the one I have stashed here in Alexandria. Which can be yours, if you have what I want.”

“Ah,” Ibrahim said softly. “Now we come to it, I believe. What you want. It is not your father who asks. He’d never let you trade away such an important, valuable volume. He’s gotten along well enough without such information, despite the best efforts of the London Garda. No, I think it is