The Invisible Library (The Invisible Library Novel)

by Genevieve Cogman

  “Lord Silver,” Irene said formally, “this is my friend Bradamant; I had no idea that she would be at this party, but of course I am delighted to see her.” And I hope she falls over and plants her face in a dish of salmon roe. “Bradamant, this is Lord Silver, one of the Liechtenstein Fae, who is visiting England—”

  “And who would have come much sooner,” Silver cut in smoothly, dropping Irene’s hand and stepping forward to take Bradamant’s elegant fingers in his, “had I known that such beauty was to be found. How could I have missed a gem like you? Sweet lady, do me the favour to say that I may have the honour of your closer acquaintance?”

  Irene could recognize an opportunity when it sat up and begged in front of her. She began to quietly edge away, as Silver raised Bradamant’s hand to his lips.

  Silver’s nostrils flared. He sniffed at Bradamant’s hand, eyes brightening to an utterly inhuman shade of yellow. “I know that smell!” he spat. “Belphegor! I have you at last!”

  CHAPTER 12

  “What?” Bradamant said, but her attitude was wrong. It was one of denial, not blank incomprehension.

  “What?” Vale said, in a very different tone of voice, taking a step forward.

  “Impossible!” Irene said, without too much hope of being believed.

  “I’d be accusing you too, little mouse,” Silver said, “but you were there when we opened the safe, and I know you were as surprised as I was. You should be glad that I’ve identified one of our enemies. This woman is Belphegor. She is responsible for stealing a highly valuable book from Lord Wyndham, and maybe for his death. I recognized her scent from the card she left in his safe. Johnson! My horsewhip!”

  A thin, pale-faced man in grey stepped up and offered a coiled horsewhip to Silver.

  “This is all a terrible mistake,” Bradamant said firmly. “I demand that you release me.”

  Silver looked at her with dangerous sharpness, lips curling to show unnaturally white teeth. “Belphegor, you have no idea what you have blundered into. Give me your word to restore the book to me, and I will consider letting you go. For the moment, at least.”

  “Hst!” Irene said loudly. “The police are approaching. We don’t want them to hear about this—”

  Everyone twitched and turned to see the inspector in the green sash marching towards them. His demeanour fairly shouted determination, and there was something worryingly satisfied about his smile.

  “Inspector Singh,” Vale murmured in Irene’s ear. “Over from the Indian Empire for the last two months, on a formal officer exchange between police forces. He didn’t like the Fae there and he doesn’t like them here. He’ll take any opportunity to pry.”

  “Do we object to that?” Irene murmured back, just as quietly. Bradamant was trying to wrench her wrist loose from Silver, clearly not quite willing to use the Language in front of him, but he was effortlessly maintaining his grip.

  “That might depend on what we have to offer him,” Vale said. His eyes were on Bradamant.

  While Irene could think of several ways for her, Kai, and Bradamant to get out of the current situation, very few of them involved keeping Vale as a reliable contact, much less Silver. Having the law hunt them as criminals would only make things more complicated. And she needed to know what Silver knew about the book, and why he wanted it. “If Singh doesn’t like Fae,” she pointed out, “then he won’t accept Lord Silver’s identification of her as Belphegor. We may be able to get more information out of her later if we help her now.”

  “She is your friend, you said,” Vale murmured. His gaze was cold.

  “She wasn’t supposed to be here!” Irene nearly spat in frustration. “And I knew nothing about her being this criminal.”

  The inspector stopped and inclined his head slightly to Silver. It wasn’t a bow. It was very definitely not a bow. It was barely a nod. “Good evening, sir.” He had a perceptible accent, but an Oxford one rather than Punjabi or any of the other Indian accents that Irene recognized. “I understand that you’ve had some sort of minor problem this evening.”

  “A minor problem?” Silver spat. He whirled to point at the dead alligators and the human corpses, still grasping Bradamant’s wrist in his other hand. “You call that a minor problem?”

  “To you, sir,” Inspector Singh said coldly. “I am sure that it was far more serious to the unfortunate people caught up in this, and my men are handling the casualties. I would be grateful if you could inform me exactly what took place.”

  As Silver filled him in, in melodramatic but fundamentally accurate detail, and Singh took notes, Irene took a silent breath of relief. He hadn’t seen who controlled the electricity that took out the alligator threat. She noticed Bradamant relaxing a fraction as well.

  “That is all,” Silver concluded. “You may inform me when you have any further details.” He turned his back on the inspector.

  “Actually, sir,” Inspector Singh said, “we are aware of the identity of your aggressors.” Everyone stared at him. “The Iron Brotherhood.” He turned another page in his notebook and deliberately made a note before proceeding. “Of course, sir, we are most interested in why they should try to attack your party in such a way.”

  “Oh,” Bradamant said, “I think I can answer that.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  She lowered her head demurely, batted her eyelashes, and took a cute little gasp of breath that made her bosom heave in a way that was neither cute nor little. “They were after a book which they thought was being kept here. In fact, I believe that this attack was a distraction—”

  Silver’s eyes went wide. He flung Bradamant into Inspector Singh’s arms with a muffled curse (she bounced) and ran for the door, Johnson two paces behind him.

  “Well,” Inspector Singh said, setting Bradamant back on her feet. “I’m afraid I must ask you to come down to the station with me, madam. We have a few questions.”

  Bradamant rubbed the hand that Silver had mangled, the imprints of his fingers scarlet against her pale skin.

  “May I just have a word aside with my friend Irene, Inspector? If you would be so kind?”

  “Of course, madam,” Inspector Singh said, without taking so much as one step back.

  Bradamant clasped Irene’s non-bandaged hand between her own before Irene could react. Very rapidly, in the Language, but pitched low, she said, “I bind myself by my name, by my oath, and by my word that if I find the book I will bring it to you before returning to the Library, and that I will consult with you tomorrow morning, if I am free to do so, about what to do next.” She dropped back to English but kept her voice low. “But for the moment I need you to do something about that Fae.”

  Inspector Singh stiffened, staring at the two of them from under heavy dark brows. Well, of course: to him it must have sounded as if Bradamant was talking in his native language and dialect. Irene tried to suppress an urge to feel smug about Bradamant having to explain that, along with everything else.

  “Of course,” she said in English. “I will see you then. Please be careful.”

  However, Bradamant had bound herself in the Language. She couldn’t break that. She might be able to evade the precise spirit of the oath. Indeed, Irene could think of several ways to get around it, the first one being that “bring you the book” was not the same as “give you the book.” But even so, that still brought the book a lot closer than it was right now. And, to be completely frank, she was almost too exhausted to care. The oath would do for the moment.

  Bradamant nodded and turned back to Inspector Singh.

  “I am at your disposal, sir,” she said.

  “Perhaps we might also consider leaving,” Vale suggested. “Unless you want to discuss matters further with Lord Silver, Miss Winters?”

  Irene thought about having to explain Bradamant to Silver. Having to explain anything to Silver. “What an excellent idea,”
she agreed enthusiastically. “Kai, unless you can think of anything that we’ve left undone, this might be a good moment to leave.”

  Kai wiped his sword with an unstained bit of tablecloth and put it down on the table. “I am entirely at your disposal,” he said. “Where are we going?”

  Then Irene remembered that they didn’t have hotel rooms. Wonderful. One more thing to sort out.

  Her dismay must have shown on her face, and Vale stepped in, almost smiling. “Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my rooms for the night, Miss Winters. I have a couple of spare bedrooms—and what’s more, it will allow your friend and Inspector Singh to find you in the morning.”

  Inspector Singh nodded, and Irene revised her opinion of his relationship with Vale by a few notches. Clearly the two men were used to working together. She’d have to bear that in mind.

  She tried to remember exactly where India stood in the history of this alternate. It had become an independent trade partner of Great Britain rather than a colony (not due to any particular lack of imperialism on Britain’s part, sadly), and the two empires still maintained close ties. That’d explain Singh’s accent.

  Kai stepped forward and offered Irene his arm. She took it, suddenly conscious of her weariness and of the confusion around her. The air was heavy with the smell of blood. Human bodies littered the floor together with alligator corpses—mauled limbs, bloody torsos, screaming faces. Some men and women were still sobbing in corners. Others were filing out of the room, talking to the policemen, or simply drinking. Only a few of the tables were still upright; others had been battered down or had collapsed under the weight of people crowding onto them. The lovely floor was scarred by claws and gunshots and soaked with blood.

  There was so much blood.

  “Are you all right?” Kai said softly.

  There might have been a time when Irene would have said, No, I’m not, and shut her eyes for just a few minutes. But it was not now, and definitely not in front of Bradamant. She swallowed and tried not to breathe the air more than she could help. “I will manage,” she said curtly. “Thank you.”

  “Your cloak, Miss Winters,” Vale said, draping it over her shoulders. She must have been dangerously distracted, as he’d retrieved it without her noticing. She made a note to be more careful and filed it along with all the other notes to be more precise, more attentive, less squeamish, and less inclined to curl up and cry on someone’s shoulder.

  Inspector Singh clicked his heels together, half bowed, and turned away with Bradamant, staying a very precise half foot away from her. Bradamant didn’t look back as she followed him.

  Outside, on the steps of the Liechtenstein Embassy, there was a mob of photographers, reporters, and interested parties. Street vendors were even selling roasted chestnuts, doughnuts, and candied peanuts. Their fragrance blended with the taint of Irene’s bloodstained dress, and she had to struggle not to be sick.

  “Did you see the elder Miss Retrograde leave?” Kai asked.

  Irene shook her head. “I saw her alive at the end but didn’t see her go. I suppose she may be useful. If she knows something.”

  Vale came to a sharp halt, looking down at her. “The elder Miss Retrograde? Miss Olga Retrograde?”

  “That was the lady in question,” Irene said. “Is there something that we should know about her, sir?”

  “Only that she’s the biggest society blackmailer in London,” Vale said. “The lady is extremely well-known for knowing things. The unfortunate thing is that what she knows is rarely advantageous to anyone except herself. As to your acquaintance with her . . .”

  “It was the first time we’d met,” Irene said hastily. The curl of Vale’s lip made his opinion of the lady extremely clear. “She realized that we weren’t Canadians.”

  Vale snorted and turned away to signal a cab.

  “Do you think we’ll have a problem?” Kai murmured.

  “We’re probably the least likely people in that room to have a problem with her,” Irene answered, equally quietly. “After all, what can she blackmail us with?”

  Kai laughed. “True.”

  “Over here!” Vale called. One of the swarming cabs had answered his uplifted hand. They had to elbow their way to it through the edges of the crowd, avoiding reporters with notebooks and cameras. Vale drew the shade across the window as they set off.

  “Do you expect us to be watched?” Irene asked.

  “It seems likely, Miss Winters,” Vale answered. “In my own defence, I will say that I am not unknown to the criminal section of London—nor them to me. But since I have not attempted to hide my identity, we may as well return to my lodgings directly.”

  Irene nodded, settling back into her seat. The passenger compartment of the cab had two wide leather-covered benches facing each other. Its basic structure was similar to that of a classical hansom carriage, but it was electric-powered rather than horse-drawn, and built of metal rather than wood. She’d been in hansoms before now, and it was strange to be in something so close to one without hearing the sound of hoof-beats.

  “About your friend,” Vale said, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. The cab jolted as it turned a corner. “Do you think Silver’s accusations regarding her identity are correct?”

  Irene would have liked to meet his eyes and unflinchingly deny it, but she honestly didn’t think it would work. She wondered how much Vale might have deduced about Bradamant, simply from their brief meeting. It was the sort of thing that she would expect him to do. “I wish that I knew myself,” she finally said. “I hadn’t thought that she’d been in London”—or in this alternate—“long enough to have done such a thing. And I can’t think why she’d do it!”

  “It is a common enough technique,” Vale said austerely, “to establish a pattern of thefts in order to conceal a single one. If she was planning to steal that book, then she could also have been the perpetrator of those early thefts to camouflage its significance.”

  Irene considered that idea. It sounded uncomfortably plausible. “But why would Bradamant have needed to hide the theft?” she said out loud. After all, Bradamant herself could have just left the alternate immediately after stealing the book. But did she want the book for herself, or was she seeking it for the Library? She was here without authorization . . . Irene’s blood went cold. Could Bradamant have turned traitor to the Library?

  Kai was only a step behind her. “But if she was trying to hide her theft from us as well as the authorities—,” he began.

  Vale frowned. He raised a hand to interrupt Kai. “A moment, please, Mr. Strongrock. Driver!” He hammered with the head of his cane on the roof of the carriage. “Driver! Why are we going this way?”

  Irene pulled back the window shade. She couldn’t recognize the buildings going past outside, but they were clearly on a main street. “I think we’re going faster,” she began, then yelped in shock as chaotic power flared across the window. She managed to snatch her fingers back just in time before it could touch them. Across the carriage, Kai flinched back from the window on his side, bumping into Vale.

  “Driver!” Vale shouted. “What is going on?”

  The cab jolted as it speeded up again. “The name’s Alberich,” a voice called from above, audible over the rattling of the wheels and the creaking of the carriage. “I suggest you ask your friends what that means, Mr. Vale.”

  Irene was conscious that she’d probably gone pale, but she was too busy trying not to shake with sheer terror to spend much time bothering about it. She couldn’t handle this—she couldn’t—her hand was still infected—this was Alberich, the Alberich, the one who had been cast out of the Library, there was no way she could handle this . . .

  “Brace Miss Winters,” Vale instructed Kai, then kicked out at the door with a coiled strength that should have burst it open.

  It didn’t. The door stayed firmly in position,
and the walls of the cab flexed with it as if it was a continuous part of the cab’s structure. Vale recoiled into his seat, thrown back by his own force, and bit back a muffled oath.

  “I’m afraid you Librarians have become an inconvenience,” the voice called down. Male, Irene noted with the part of her brain that was capable of doing something other than shudder and try to hide. No discernible accent. Precise. Something about the rhythm of it was vaguely familiar, as though she’d heard someone else speak in the same way. “I require that book for my own collection. A pity to lose you as well, Mr. Vale, but I draw the line at stopping the cab to let you out.”

  Someone in the street ahead of them screamed as they dived out of the way of the speeding cab.

  “I think not,” Vale said coldly. He spun his cane in his hands and smashed the silver head against the window.

  The glass took the blow without breaking or even splintering.

  “He’s sealed the cab.” Irene forced the words out, nearly shouting against the banging and clattering of the wheels on cobble-stones. “Chaos magic—he’s somehow bound it into a coherent whole, so nothing can get in or out—you’d have to break the whole thing to break part of it.”

  “Quite accurate,” the voice said. “Though it’s not airtight—or watertight. A logical paradox which I’m afraid you won’t have the time to appreciate.”

  “The river,” Kai said, barely audibly, and the same knowledge was in Vale’s eyes.

  Irene’s thoughts ran round inside her head. There must be something I can do—even if the Language isn’t working reliably for me, could I use it enough to save us? But the cab itself is chaos contaminated and Alberich too, so maybe it would cancel out any Library powers anyway . . .

  “Adieu,” Alberich said. The cab rocked again and speeded up in one last rush towards the river.

  “Together!” Vale shouted. “Enough weight and we can force it over—” He threw himself against the side of the cab, and a moment later Irene and Kai joined him, struggling together in the confined space. The cab tilted, regained balance, tilted again—