“Irene!”
The world slipped sideways. She felt him catching her as it all went dark.
* * *
When the lights came on again, they did so slowly and blearily, through a haze of smoke and a drift of odd smells. She was propped at a strange angle, her skirts carefully draped to hide her ankles. The back of a sofa dug into her shoulders and her head was tilted to one side, hat still pinned to her hair. Someone had pushed a cushion under her cheek. It was horsehair. It prickled.
From under her eyelashes, she could make out a room that had been forced into ruthless order by someone who believed in making large piles of things. Books. Documents. Clothing. Glassware. A dreamcatcher in Lissajous lines of wire and ebony spun in the window, turning slowly in a drift of breeze and fog. The walls were also crammed with books, and someone had hung paintings and sketches in front of them and piled small objects on top of the shelves. The place was crammed with . . . with stuff. She was surprised there was room for her on the sofa.
Her hand ached less now. Someone had slathered it in something wet and wrapped it in bandages, and it lay like a foreign object in her lap. She twitched a finger, stifling a scream, and was pleased to see that it functioned.
“Irene!” Kai said from behind her, far too loudly. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” she murmured, “but please don’t shout.” She pulled herself upright and managed to knock the horsehair cushion to the ground. “Sorry. Where are we?”
“In my rooms.” Peregrine Vale stepped forward. “Mr. Strongrock brought you here an hour ago. Miss Winters, you have been the victim of an appalling assault. Do you feel well enough to speak?”
Irene put her undamaged hand to her head. “I’m so sorry. I have a dreadful headache,” she said, not entirely untruthfully, “and I don’t know what’s going on. The last thing I remember is touching this door-handle which was booby-trapped . . .”
“It was some sort of electric shock,” Kai said helpfully. He went down on one knee next to her, looking up into her face. “I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to try to get somewhere safe while we worked out what to do next, Irene. The only person who I was sure we could trust was the Earl of Leeds here—”
“Please,” Vale interrupted, “call me Vale. The title is unimportant. What is important now is locating and arresting the fiends who set this lethal trap.”
“Well, I . . .” Irene tried to think what to say next. “I . . .”
Vale held up a commanding hand. “Say no more. I am aware that Mr. Strongrock here is your subordinate.”
“Oh,” Irene said.
“It was blatantly obvious,” Vale went on. “Your signals to him in the restaurant, your ability to handle yourself in combat, and his unwillingness to speak while you were unconscious—these all made it quite clear that you were in command of the mission. Miss Winters, I realize that you have your own agenda, but I ask you—I appeal to you—to trust me. I believe that our aims are congruent. I think we can help each other.”
“Then Kai’s told you . . .” Irene let the sentence trail off meaningfully. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. The man was a near-total stranger to her. However impressive his skills were, and while he fitted the character type of nobleman, so he should understand the principles of noblesse oblige well enough, there was still risk. There was always a risk. She was supposed to be manipulator, not manipulated.
Her hand hurt. It was distracting her.
“He has told me nothing,” Vale said, and Kai nodded in agreement. “He turned up in a cab on my door-step with you unconscious in his arms, and he asked for shelter until you were awake again.”
Irene pushed straggling tendrils of hair back from her forehead. She didn’t have to feign pain or confusion. “I don’t think that we’re the only ones keeping secrets here, Mr. Vale. The attack on you last night was too deliberately timed to be coincidence.” It was a guess on her part, but it hit a mark; his eyelids twitched very slightly. She looked up at him. “I think there’s more to all this—the murder, the theft of the book, Belphegor—than just a simple crime of greed. When we met last night, you referred to ‘thefts of occult material.’ This isn’t the only book that’s gone missing, is it?”
Vale threw himself down into another armchair. “You’re correct, Miss Winters. Oh, sit down, sit down, Strongrock. To be frank, I need people that I can trust. The Fair Folk have contacts at every level of society. My enemies have even more. You two are strangers in London, and though you have no apparent links to the Fae, you have nobody to vouch for you or speak in your favour. I may have reasons to believe that you are reliable . . .” He frowned. “No. Leave that for the moment. I will explain my part in this affair, and then perhaps you will explain yours.”
Irene looked down at her hand. She wished she could rip off the bandages and see just how bad it was—surely not a permanent injury? It was that infernal urge that came with any injury, wanting to see how it “looked” every minute of the day, as if she’d actually be able to see it getting better or worse. And if it did get worse, if she’d damaged herself for life? She couldn’t stand the thought of being crippled . . . but investigating would have broken the flow of Vale’s confidences, and she needed his information. “Please,” she said softly, looking up from her hand and trying to stop herself from fiddling with the bandages. “Please, do go on.”
Vale interlaced his fingers. “When I introduced myself as the Earl of Leeds, it was accurate enough, but it is not a title that I care to use often. The dark associations of the city of Leeds and its earls go back to King Edward’s reign in the fourteenth century. I broke from my family under—under somewhat unpleasant conditions, and have no wish for further connection with them. My father is dead, and I cannot be disinherited, but equally I have no interest in the family lands, properties, and secrets.”
“Is that why you live in London?” Kai asked. Irene stole a glance at him. He was leaning forward with an expression of keen interest, but there were lines of clear disapproval in his face. His mouth was pursed in what was very nearly a censorious frown.
Vale nodded. “My family have no interest in seeing me, nor I them. They hope that I will not marry and that the title will pass to my brother Aquila. However, a week ago I received a letter from my”—he hesitated a moment—“my mother.” The words came with difficulty. “She wished to advise me of a theft which had taken place, and to ask me, as detective if not as son . . .” He fell silent for a moment, staring at his fingers as if they were somehow stained. “To ask me if I would investigate the matter for her.”
“And the subject of the theft?” Irene enquired delicately.
“A book,” Vale said. “It was a family journal—that is, not a printed work, but a collection of handwritten notes and studies, herbal references and fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales,” Kai said slowly.
Vale nodded. “You will see why I am intrigued by Lord Wyndham’s murder and the disappearance of his book. Taken in conjunction with certain other thefts which have taken place, it suggests a culmination of events. None of the other thefts have involved murder. And as for the explosion last night beneath the Opera—”
“What?” Irene said, coming upright.
“Ah, you wouldn’t have read the morning paper yet,” Vale said. “The incident bears the hallmarks of secret society activity. A number of cellars were collapsed, but the foundations seem to be undamaged. The police have not requested my assistance”— Irene could almost hear the unspoken yet—“so I can only make do with the public reports.”
“But what makes you think this is connected with the thefts?” Kai asked.
“Two things,” Vale said. “Firstly, the timing. It took place the very night after the airships arrived in convoy from Liechtenstein. I do not think that I need to remind you about that.” He looked up from his contemplation of his fingers. “And secondly . . .” He hesita
ted again before continuing. “My family was involved with a certain society, and they believe it was connected with the loss of their book. The same group met beneath the Opera.”
“You’re being very careful not to name that society, Mr. Vale,” Irene commented.
“Indeed I am,” Vale said.
“Are they connected to the Fair Folk?” she probed.
Vale laughed, a surprised bark of a laugh. “My dear Miss Winters! Show me a society that isn’t connected to the Fair Folk. I suppose you could say no more than most of them.”
“And its connection to Liechtenstein?” she continued.
“Ah. Now, here we come to the nub of the problem.” Vale frowned. “I should probably have offered you tea. I do apologize. I always forget that sort of thing. But in any case, from what I’ve heard, the Liechtenstein Fair Folk are very definitely not affiliated with—well, let us call them the Society. So the ambassador’s arrival, just before the Society was targeted in this way, is notable for its timing.”
“You think he caused the explosion?” Kai asked. “Or the Society? Or were they the targets of the explosion?”
“Possible.” Vale waved a hand. “Possible. Certainly it is worthy of further investigation. And now, Miss Winters, Mr. Strongrock, since I have done my part and told you why I am involved in all of this, I ask you to do the same.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hooded, and Irene wondered how much of what he’d said had been a carefully constructed bluff. Trust me. I’ve told you everything. Really I have. Now it’s your turn. “If we are to progress, then there must be some trust on both sides.”
Irene held up her good hand before Kai could speak.
“Before that, Mr. Vale, I’d like the answer to one more question.”
“Within reason, I am at your disposal,” Vale said.
“Why do you feel that you can trust us?” she asked. Certainly she’d like to cooperate with him. It would make matters much easier; it might even make success in this mission possible, as opposed to out of the question. But it might also be a trap.
He might even be Alberich. How could she tell? The very thought made her swallow and made her bandaged hand throb and twinge again.
“That is a fair question,” Vale allowed. “I will be honest with you. I do have a few gifts from my family heritage. One of them is—well, not exactly prognostication, but an ability to tell when something is going to be important in my future. I have used it to advantage in a number of my cases, though I do not discuss it with the public. When I met Mr. Strongrock the other day, I knew, in a way which I fear I cannot describe to you, that he was going to be closely involved with me in the near future. I had the same sensation upon meeting you, Miss Winters. On assessment of your characters, I choose to assume that you will be my allies rather than my enemies. I hope that you will not disappoint me.”
Irene glanced at Kai for a moment. He shrugged neutrally. But it wasn’t as if it were his decision, in any case; this wasn’t a democracy and he wasn’t an equal partner. The decision, the risks, and the potential for disaster were all hers.
Vale’s story hung together and made sense, which was more than one could usually expect of events. More than that, Irene had the feeling that she could trust him. She wanted to trust him. (Should that in itself make her suspicious?) And there was nothing that said they had to tell him everything. And this was only a single mission, after all. They could leave this entire alternate behind them, and he’d have no way to follow them. There wouldn’t be any repercussions afterwards. And, well—if he had been Alberich, then they’d already be dead. Just like Dominic Aubrey.
She made her decision and leaned forward to offer her good hand. “Mr. Vale, I am grateful for what you have said. I believe we can cooperate.”
Vale smiled briefly and clasped her hand. “Thank you. Then perhaps you can tell me about yourselves?”
Irene glanced at Kai. “You have already made it clear that you believe we’re not English.”
“Indeed not,” Vale said crisply. “Nor are you Canadians.”
“Ah,” Irene said, and quickly rephrased her next statement. “We are representatives of—a society. You will understand if we don’t name it, I hope.”
Vale’s smile was a little bitter. “If you can vouch for its good intentions, that will be sufficient.”
“I can vouch for its non-interference,” Irene said scrupulously. “We’re after one thing: the book that was stolen from Lord Wyndham’s house. We arrived here with the intention of purchasing it”—well, that would have been one option—“only to find the man, ah, vampire, murdered, and the book stolen. Now we want to recover it. If together we can discover the truth behind the book thefts, the murder, and the explosion, well, that would surely be the best of all possible ends.” And, she thought privately, the Library might be interested in those other books as well. Except for the one from Vale’s family. That one they could afford to give back, and he’d appreciate it.
“And your enemy?” Vale gestured at Irene’s bandaged hand.
“We only have his name,” Irene said. It was probably safe enough to give that. “Alberich.”
Vale shook his head. “I know no player in London by that name. But for the moment, yes: I think we can work together.”
“Excuse me,” Kai said. Irene turned to look up at him. He was clearly holding himself in check with a great effort. “May I speak to Miss Winters alone for a moment?”
“Certainly,” Vale said. He rose from his chair. “I will have some tea fetched. That is—your society does drink tea?”
“Always,” Irene said.
CHAPTER 9
“This is a bad idea,” Kai said as soon as the door had closed behind Vale.
“I am listening,” Irene said as she began to pick at her bandage, “and I am paying attention, and if I do scream, it’s because my hand is in worse condition than I thought. Go on.”
“Why do you trust him?” Kai demanded.
“I don’t.” Irene didn’t look up from the tightly wrapped bandages. “Not totally. But I think he’s telling the truth about his family and about his gift. I’m not sure he trusts us, either.”
“And that’s another thing,” Kai said. “How can we possibly trust someone who’d betray their family?”
Irene let the bandages be and looked across at him. He had clenched his fists in his lap so tightly that she could see all the bones of his hands, and the blue veins up the insides of his wrists, clear beneath his pale, pale skin. “We don’t know the whole of that,” she said. “We don’t know what they may have done to drive him away. If—”
“But he left them!” Kai was nearly shouting. He controlled himself with an effort, rising to stand in front of Irene. “He admitted as much. If he really disagreed with them, then he should have stayed with them and tried to change them from the inside. To just leave them, to walk out on them, to disobey his own parents—how can that possibly be justified?”
Irene looked down at her hand again, partly to think, partly so that Kai wouldn’t see her own expression. Didn’t he realize how much he was giving away about himself? Or did he just not care? That sort of openness was, in its way . . . intoxicating. “I hardly ever see my own parents,” she said, and wondered at the quietness of her own voice.
“But you haven’t defied them or deserted them.” Kai looked down at her, meeting her eyes. “You’ve followed their tradition. They were Librarians and so are you. I’m not saying that he should love his family, not if they really were malicious, but he shouldn’t have left them. You can’t trust a man who’d do that.”
“I’m not saying we should trust him,” Irene said. “I’m saying that we need to work with him.” She felt very cold, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of her hand, or the earlier shock, or her own words. “To serve the Library, I would work with murderers, or thieves, or revolutionaries, or traitors
, or anyone who will give me what I need. Do you understand me, Kai? This is important.” She reached out with her unwounded hand to touch the side of his face. “I am sealed to the Library. I can make my own choices to some extent—but at the end of the day, bringing back the book the Library wants is my duty and my honour, and that is all there is to it.”
“Have you ever been forced to choose between the Library and your honour?” Kai demanded.
“Kai,” Irene said, “the Library is my honour. And if you seal yourself to it, then it’ll be yours too.” She could feel herself smiling grimly. “But you’ve already told me that you don’t have any living family, haven’t you? So it’s not a choice you’ll ever have to make.”
Kai didn’t even flinch at that; he simply glared at her. “You’re confusing the issue. There ought to be a way of finding our book that doesn’t involve allying ourselves with an honourless, family-betraying creature like this. Irene, please. Walk out now and tell him no. We don’t need this kind of help.”
Irene tried to think of a way to make him understand. Perhaps she was being too abstract in an attempt to make him comprehend this specific case—but, damn it all, he was going to have to face tough moral choices himself some day. If he really wanted to be a Librarian. If he survived.
“Leaving aside the question of his personal honour,” she said, “we’re not in a good situation. Dominic Aubrey’s dead. There’s an enemy in the city, quite possibly Alberich, and maybe others too. We’re cut off from a direct retreat, and though I may be able to open a way back—”
“May?” Kai broke in. “What do you mean, may?”
Irene raised her bandaged hand. “I mean that I may be chaos contaminated. I need to find out. It should get better in a few days, but at the moment I may not be able to open a way to the Library. It would keep me out in the same way that it’d keep out anything chaos tainted. So we don’t have a convenient escape route.”
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