Page 115 of The Deadliest Candidate

Fern stood wearily and went over to Dr Essouadi. The older woman had closed her eyes, and her head was resting against a cushion propped against the back of her chair. Her chest rose and fell a little too fast, and there was a flush in her cheeks, as though a fever simmered deep within her. Fern placed her hand on the older woman’s shoulder, and Dr Essouadi sat up with a start.

“Ah, Miss Sullivan. Are you alright? How are your arms?”

“Good, thank you. Thank you so much. Areyoualright, Doctor?”

“Yes… yes.” Dr Essouadi nodded, but her eyes were wet, and her lips trembled. “Ravi wouldn’t have done any of it if he had any other choice.”

“I know,” said Fern, a lump in her throat. “Perhaps they’ll take it into consideration, when they bring him to justice, perhaps—”

“Justice?” Dr Essouadi shook her head. “The Reformed Vatican wouldn’t know justice if God himself descended from the heavens to teach it. If the Library give Ravi to the church, the church will devour him.”

“And if they surrendered him back to his Emperor?” Fern asked.

Dr Essouadi met Fern’s gaze. Both women were silent.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Fern said eventually. “And about your health. I never knew you were unwell.”

“Death is the one enemy we can never outrun,” Dr Essouadi said with a wry smile. “I’ve been running a long time, Miss Sullivan, and I’ll keep running until I’m caught. I ran all the way here, hoping Carthane would hold the answers I seek.”

“You might find them yet,” said Fern.

Dr Essouadi nodded, but her eyes became hazy and faraway, and she spoke almost too quietly for Fern to hear.

“Or I might find something else altogether.”

And Fern remembered, for the first time since she’d been pushed into the pit, the Astronomy Tower and what she had found there.

Fern was summoned thefollowing day to Professor Farouk’s office. She’d slept fitfully, Inkwell plastered steadfastly to her side, and only with the help of the medication Dr Moad had given her. She awoke to a letter of convocation and felt almost nothing at all. She had missed the third assignment, and she hadn’t even managed to save Emmeline. Mistake after mistake—and now it was time to face the consequences of those mistakes.

She entered Professor Farouk’s office with a sense of finality.

She was somehow surprised to find that the Grand Archivist’s office was a wide chamber full of daylight and fresh air. Tapestries hung from the walls, their edges flapping in the cold breeze drifting from the open windows. Glass cabinets of astronomical equipment flanked a wide fireplace above which stood a large painting of Copernicus gazing at a sky full of stars.

Professor Farouk, in a blouse of white silk, sat at her desk sipping a cup of tea. She looked up when Fern entered and pointed to a small felt couch across from her desk.

“Sit, Miss Sullivan, please.”

She took a small porcelain teacup from a silver tray behind her desk and poured Fern a cup of tea, which Fern took with some gratitude. She had awoken with a sore throat and a pounding headache, and even though the pain in her arms had abated thanks to Dr Essouadi’s help, she was aching all over.

“It’s been a difficult last few days, Miss Sullivan,” Professor Farouk said. “And you’ve been through a lot. How are you coping?”

“Fine,” said Fern. “I feel alright. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Farouk. “I understand the choices you made, Miss Sullivan. They say a lot about you, and I admire you for having the strength to make such choices. I hoped I would be in a position to give you your grade for the third assignment, but of course, you missed it.”

“I know,” said Fern, though she did not apologise.

She did not regret her decision, no matter how pointless it had been.

“Fortunately,” said Professor Farouk, “my peers and I were lucky enough to arrive in the Carthane underground just as you were in the midst of your channelling spell. We were all impressed by your performance, deadly and desperate as it may have been. We all assumed you had notes and research prepared?”

“Of course,” said Fern, thinking of all that work, wasted.

“We would very much like to see this research of yours, regardless of the third assignment being concluded.”

“Of course,” said Fern. “I don’t expect any favours.”

“No, indeed, and you shall receive none.” Professor Farouk’s tone was firm. “We considerallour choices with great care, Miss Sullivan. We have no choice, you have seen for yourself the lengths some are willing to go to in order to secure a position in Carthane. Safekeeping the Library is our life’s work. Every decision we make is calculated to serve the Library. We make our choices on the grounds of sound academic work, for wearelibrarians. But above all, we serve Carthane, and in turn, we expect our candidates to do the same.”

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