Page 85 of The Book that Broke the World

Livira thought that with the chaos of the Escape’s attack, the distance she’d run, and the convolutions of the shelving, she’d done enough to win clear. So, it came as a terrible shock then when thirty yards further on she turned a corner and found herself face to face with two of Oanold’s men.

“Would you look at that, Bertat! It’s a duster.”

Livira could tell that under the human grime both were palace guards, with golden tassels still attempting to gleam on their epaulettes. Both had untidy growths of hair on what would previously have been shaven scalps. One greying, the other a drab brown. The pair had little else to set them apart. They could be brothers. The older man had a seam of scar across his forehead. The younger man had the same amused cruelty in his eyes that the king had. The other just looked hungry. Both appeared to be intent on recapturing the king’s prisoner and largely unconcerned about any nightmares stalking the aisles.

Livira turned to run but one of them got a hand on her shoulder and yanked her back.

“Hello, boys.” Malar had missed a dozen opportunities to arrive with perfect timing, but Livira forgave them all for his appearance now, walking unhurriedly along the aisle she’d just come down, his sword in hand. “I wouldn’t advise reaching for those ’sticks. You don’t have enough time.” He continued to approach, neither slowing nor speeding his pace, his arm at his side, blade lifted only enough to keep it from skimming the floor. “Draw steel if you like.”

The younger guard wrapped a thick arm around Livira’s neck. “Watch me snap her like a twig.”

“Snap who? The librarian?” Malar shrugged. “You’d think she might be useful in a library, but do as you feel best.”

“You don’t want her?” The older guard sounded puzzled.

“A bit young for me.” Malar sucked his teeth, eyes narrow. “Besides, I’m more the killing sort.” He brought up his blade. “I mean, I’ll stab you through her if you like, but it seems poor sport. You’d have more of a chance with a weapon in your hand.”

The younger guard, apparently feeling outraged at the challenge to his manhood or whatever it was that made people ready to gamble their lives on a sharp edge, threw Livira roughly aside and drew his blade, a shiny length of steel with a richly enamelled hilt, in keeping with his station.

“You too?” Malar tilted his head towards the older man in query.

“Do I know you?” the man asked.

“I doubt it.” Malar limbered up his wrist. “You may have heard of me, though. They call me—” Mid-sentence Malar lunged, skewering the younger man through the throat. A side swing half decapitated the older man with his sword partway drawn from the scabbard. “Malar.”

Malar held a hand out to Livira and pulled her to her feet.

“Not so fast.” A steady voice some way behind Livira.

She turned to see Jons about thirty yards back along the aisle, staring at them both down the gleaming barrel of a heavy ’stick. Sweat slicked his short dark hair to his forehead, and he stood with his feet apart, broad shoulders hunched around his aim, face red, eyes calm.

Close to his head a strand of smoke coiled upwards, the smoulder of the fuse that would ignite the chemicals whose swift combustion would drive the projectile forward. Fire amid the aisles!

“Fucksake.” Malar spat on the ground. “You can lose yourself in the library, they told me. Never see a fucking soul for days, they told me. And here we are with every Harry, Tom”—he yanked his sword from the second guard’s neck, aiming his gaze at Jons—“and fucking Dick, showing up like they’re taking stage cues.”

“You should run along, Malar,” Jons said, his aim unwavering. “King wants the girl. Didn’t say nothing about you.”

“I’m a bit old for running, Jons.”

“Just let us go.” Livira tore her gaze from the bleeding bodies at her feet. “He’s your friend. You helped save me as a child. Nobody knows we even met out here.”

Jons shook his head almost imperceptibly. “You’re the girl who opens magic doors. The king said so himself. I need a door even more than a square meal right about now. Got black devils in with us now, as well as the white ones outside.”

“I don’t know how to open doors,” Livira protested. “The Exchange is—”

“You won’t change Jons’s mind with words, Livira. Words hang on trust, and trust is hard to come by, especially when you’re pointing a ’stick at someone. Soldiers’re always getting fucked over with fancy words.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jons said.

“But you’re forgetting who I am, old friend.” Malar started to walk towards the man.

“Next step’s the one I blow your head off. I’m wise to your tricks, friend.”

Malar lowered his voice. “When he shoots, you have to run.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Livira was outraged.

“Then I’ll have got shot for nothing.” Malar kept on walking towards Jons. He raised his voice, addressing the man again. “You should wait until I’m closer. You won’t have time to reload.”

---