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“What do we do now, Memphis?” Isaiah asked.
Memphis took a deep breath. He lifted the lantern. Its glow fell across the murals that had been painted on the road to freedom and shone what light it could into the long uncertainty ahead.
“One foot in front of the other,” Memphis said. “We keep walking.”
After Will had covered up the passage again, he marched into the library and up to the second floor. From his hollowed-out copy of The Declaration of Independence, he retrieved the files he’d kept on Project Buffalo. Most of it was there. Enough of it to be damning at least.
“I’m taking this to T. S. Woodhouse,” he announced to Sister Walker. “I’m telling him everything and letting him print every word. We have to stop this madness.”
“You think anyone will believe us?”
“We have to try.”
“There more files in here?”
Will nodded. “Upstairs. Tucked into The Federalist Papers.”
Margaret smirked. “You do like your gallows humor, Will.”
Margaret went upstairs, disappearing into the stacks, not wasting any time. It was so like her, and Will realized how much he admired Margaret. How much he needed her. She had been a true friend. She made him braver, always had. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude and love bubbled up inside him.
The front door opened and closed so softly that it might not be heard by a visitor. But Will knew the sounds of the museum as if it were part of his own body. He was alert. Ready.
“Afternoon, William,” Mr. Adams said as he and Mr. Jefferson entered the library. Mr. Adams touched fingers to the brim of his hat without removing it. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Will shot back.
Adams snickered. “And here it was I thought Margaret Walker was the spitfire. Speaking of, where is the troublesome Miss Walker?”
“Do you think Margaret Walker is foolish enough to stick around here?” Will said loudly on a laugh, hoping that his voice carried up to the stacks. Oh, stay hidden, Margaret!
“Sorry this isn’t a social call, William. We’re here on business. Now. Where are the files? We know you must have them. And where are Memphis and Isaiah Campbell?”
“Too bad you don’t have a Diviner to help you find the things you’ve lost,” Will said.
Jefferson backhanded him for it. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but it rattled Will nonetheless. Upstairs, he saw Margaret’s frightened face peek out from behind the stacks. Will wiped the blood from his split lip. He wished he had a cigarette.
“Now, now. Don’t be impertinent, William,” Mr. Adams said. “We’ll find them, with or without your cooperation. But with your help is a far better scenario—at least, where your health is concerned.”
Will nodded and walked slowly to the mammoth fireplace. “Cornelius Rathbone had this carved especially for the library. It actually has a name. It’s called the Fires of Knowledge. Did you know that?”
“Touching.” Adams had pulled a round of thin piano wire from his pocket. He wound the ends around each of his middle fingers.
Will reached down and palmed a handful of old ash from the fireplace’s unkempt hearth. It was gritty and stained his fingers gray. Around him, he could feel the ghosts of Cornelius and Liberty Anne. “‘It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done,’” Will said.
“That from Cornelius Rathbone, too?” Jefferson sneered.
“It’s from a book. Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities.”
“I don’t get it.”
“No. I don’t expect that you do.”
Adams tensed the wire between his fingers. “Where are the files and the Campbell brothers, William? I won’t ask a third time.”
“They’re long gone,” Will lied. “Your days are numbered.”
Adams grinned. “Not like yours.”
