“Men—move to phase two,” Lady Guantes said, her voice annoyingly calm.
Damn. I didn’t hit her.
“Madam!” That was one of her men. “Incoming, outside, police!”
The pause that followed was brief, yet Irene could almost hear Lady Guantes mentally cursing. “Cancel that,” Lady Guantes said. “Retreat. Begin diversion protocol. Goodbye, Miss Winters—you won’t enjoy it when I see you again.”
Wood crashed to the floor. Irene still couldn’t open her eyes or manage coherent words. She tried to analyse the noises. Feet retreating. Noises from the street, briefly, the outer door slamming shut, then nothing. Followed by a sort of slithering, scraping sound.
She retreated, hoping that she was going in the right direction. Her back bumped against the reception desk, and if she’d had the breath, she would have sighed in relief.
It sounded as if Lady Guantes’s party had left by the main door. But if so, what was making those noises? Her eyes were still streaming too much for her to see and she felt trapped and helpless. Maybe the police would get here in time. Or maybe not.
“Irene?” Catherine sounded very unhappy, and Irene could sympathize with that. “Irene, we have a problem.”
Irene tried to speak, but it only set off more coughing.
“They’re moving!” Catherine’s hand closed on Irene’s shoulder, and Irene hoped she’d had the sense to cover her face against the gas. “Lord Guantes’s men—the ones you disabled—are getting up. Do something!”
Irene managed to get out the word “Water . . .” in between coughs. This wasn’t good. She’d just identified that particular slithering, scraping noise. Those cerebral controller things in the submarine base had made precisely that sound when scrabbling across the floor. And thanks to Irene’s earlier use of the Language, there were a dozen or so unconscious host bodies lying around. She and Catherine would never reach the door to the street in time.
“Here.” Catherine caught Irene’s hand and guided it to what felt like the handle of a jug. “I think it’s for watering the plants.”
Irene upended the jug over her face, letting water sluice over her until it was empty. She didn’t bother drinking any—it would only aggravate the coughing that still racked her body.
When it was done, she could finally see again. Lord Guantes’s minions were moving like puppets, first sluggish and hesitant—then jerking into uncoordinated bursts of speed. During these phases, their arms began flailing, their heads whipping round in what seemed to be attempts to orientate themselves. A few unattached mechanical serpents crawled round the wreckage of a wooden crate, seeking convenient hosts.
Irene was still coughing, her throat raw, and she felt sick; she’d never be able to choke out a sentence in the Language. She rounded the end of the reception desk and ducked down, joining Catherine. There had to be writing implements here—ah yes, just there, fountain pen and ink. That would work. She caught Catherine by the arm and pointed at one of the chairs, gesturing for the Fae to get up onto it.
Catherine looked confused but followed Irene’s directions. Her eyes widened as she looked over at the men. “They’re coming towards us,” she said very quietly.
Irene dragged a heavy ledger off the desk, letting it crash to the floor, then knelt on it. With a huge effort she steadied herself; her nose still streamed and her upper body trembled, but her hands were deft enough for the task. She unscrewed the ink bottle and dipped in her finger, then scrawled on the white marble floor in the Language: Floor, hold everything that touches you.
She barely managed to finish the final word and yank her finger back before coughing overcame her again. Then she looked up, her head aching with the after-effects of using the Language.
It had worked. The men swayed where they stood, trying to approach them and failing, then trying again. They were unable to understand why they couldn’t move forward, their eyes blank and mindless. The marble floor had swallowed their feet to the ankle and held them in a grip of stone. The mechanical serpents had been completely sucked under and now formed lines of silver, barely visible through the white stone, like veins of precious metal.
For the moment, their attackers were prisoners. However, enough wriggling—or even enough brute-force yanking with no concern for human bones or tendons—might be enough to get a foot free . . .
Catherine grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here—now!”
Irene decided that if Catherine ever had an appraisal, this would merit bonus points. She’d grasped the basic principle of when to evacuate the scene—or more precisely, when to run for it.
The two of them circled the room towards the door, giving the trapped men and mechanical serpents a wide berth. Irene almost expected an ambush when she tugged open the door, but there was nothing unusual outside. No explosions, no kidnappers—nothing but a normal London street. And, wonder of wonders, a couple of police vans turning the corner. Where were you ten minutes ago? Irene thought ungratefully.
Catherine led her to a bench, helping her to sit down in a rare patch of sunlight. Irene allowed herself to relax for a moment, focusing her sore eyes on the clouds above. For a moment sheer surprise stopped her coughing.
Catherine followed her gaze and blinked. “Why are there two of them?” she asked.
Coiling in the sky above, a blue dragon and a red dragon moved together in slow interlacing patterns. Against the grey mosaic of the clouds their wings shone as bright as gemstones, sparkling as they caught the sun’s rays.
CHAPTER 16
Irene had been introduced to Kai’s brother Shan Yuan—fortunately not till after she’d stopped coughing and being sick, which always put a damper on introductions. He hadn’t actually been rude. However, it was quite obvious that any courtesy he was giving her was due to her rank as a Library representative, rather than actual respect for her as a person.
But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Being pursued by assassins while Alberich wanted her as his prisoner seemed a rather higher priority.
Irene felt far safer now that she was practically on government territory. Vale’s sister Columbine had invited him and his circle to her private rooms at the Dashwood Club, though she herself was absent. Busy looking for more information, Vale had told them. Irene had just finished her account of recent events. Catherine was carrying round cups of tea and coffee with a quiet subservience that had drawn looks of approval from Shan Yuan and badly hidden astonishment from Kai. Irene had quietly pointed out to her that menial service of this kind meant you could listen in to high-level discussions without being noticed. Otherwise, you’d likely be thrown out due to age or lack of experience.
Given the dragons in the room, it seemed a good idea for Catherine to keep a low profile. Kai and Shan Yuan (Irene still didn’t know why he was there) occupied the sofa, while Irene had commandeered the best armchair. She’d also ordered more tea, feeling the British government would understand their need. It had been quite a day. Inspector Singh was using the table to arrange his notes, and Vale was standing by the fireplace. Sterrington was on her way.
The ambience was very civilised. But while the club might outwardly look like a place for nobility and high-ranked civil servants to eat expensive meals and then nap, the walls were thick, the door guards—sorry, receptionists—were trained military in civilian clothing, and the windows were of reinforced glass. And those were only the things Irene had noticed so far.
It would take a Zeppelin loaded with high explosives to make a dent in this place.
Irene really hoped that Lady Guantes didn’t have access to any Zeppelins loaded with high explosives.
“So,” she said, summing up, “we face Lord and Lady Guantes, though something is very wrong with Lord Guantes—and he seems to be able to return from the dead. Both appear to be behind ‘the Professor,’ whose criminal activities Vale has described.”
V
ale nodded in agreement.
“And behind them, we have Alberich.” She restrained herself from fidgeting with the compass in her pocket. “After our last encounter, he can’t enter this world in person—but his agents can.”
“I would appreciate more information on this Alberich,” Shan Yuan said. He had black hair and pale skin like Kai. Their resemblance was startling, but Shan Yuan’s hair had a ruby undertone to it, and he accented his suit with a red tie rather than Kai’s preferred blue. His irritated frown seemed a habitual expression and his manner was condescending. “I have heard the name before—a Librarian who turned traitor?”
“That’s correct, Your Highness,” Irene said. “It was several centuries ago, but he’s somehow survived outside the Library by contaminating himself with chaos—something no true Librarian could achieve, or would want to. He’s also killed a large number of Librarians and attempted to destroy the Library itself.” And he terrifies me. “He seems to have a grudge against me because I’ve ruined his plans twice. To be honest, I’m extremely disturbed that he wants me captured alive.”
“You’re being economical with the details, Winters,” Vale put in. “Alberich has a number of allies among the Fae—he provides them with information, creates wards for them using the Language, and so on. He’s even worked with the Guanteses before. He’s demonstrated the ability to use the Language in ways that are unfamiliar to sanctioned Librarians, such as Winters here. And he may have a long-lost son out there somewhere—though we haven’t yet seen any firm evidence of this.”
“Is it possible that this Lord Guantes is his long-lost son?” Singh asked.
“I don’t think so,” Irene said. She thought about it some more. “I really don’t think so. I certainly hope not.”
“Why hasn’t the Library executed this Alberich yet?” Shan Yuan demanded—somewhat unfairly, Irene felt. “Having someone like this running around in league with chaos does nothing for its reputation.”
“Believe me, we’ve tried. He’s difficult to locate and dangerous when he shows himself. And he’s able to use the Language in combination with chaos . . . again, in ways that no regular Librarian could. I now believe he must have created the door which Vale and I saw in Guernsey. There may be other doors, as well.” Irene couldn’t help wondering rather wistfully just how he’d done it.
“Alberich aside, how do you intend to arrest these Guantes murderers?”
“We’ve strong cases against them for multiple crimes, sir,” Inspector Singh said calmly. Presumably he was used to visiting officials making impossible demands. “Arson, murder, attempted murder, theft, and a few others I won’t bore you with. The question is how we locate them and keep them in one place. It makes a policeman’s life difficult when the criminals he’s after can just go skipping off to some other world, evidence and all.”
“This place is inefficiently run,” Shan Yuan muttered. “I’m disappointed in you, little brother. I thought you had things under better control here.”
Perhaps I should be grateful for a lack of older siblings, Irene reflected as Kai murmured an apology. She’d seen Kai interact with his elder half-sister Indigo on another occasion, but Indigo had been a rebel and a disgrace to the family. Kai had therefore felt himself free—no, encouraged—to be as rude to her as possible.
“I should note that Prince Kai doesn’t hold any authority here, sir,” Inspector Singh said. “While naturally we have the greatest respect for your brother’s position, neither he nor Miss Winters here have any standing or status within this country’s governance.” His words were carefully chosen, but they were also a formal declaration of independence from dragons, Fae, and the Library.
“Of course,” Irene said. “That’s absolutely understood. We deeply regret that the Guanteses—and their feud with us—have caused trouble to London.” She meant every word. It wasn’t just that she was Librarian-in-Residence here. She liked this world, this London—its people, its locations, its books. But how could she and Kai stay here if the Guanteses were going to tear the city apart to get at them?
“You’re thinking of offering to leave, Winters,” Vale said flatly. “I don’t need to be a detective to see the thought crossing your mind. But don’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault that these people have no morals.”
“No,” Irene argued, “but now that I know their intentions, it is my responsibility.”
“So you do propose to leave here?” Shan Yuan demanded sharply.
“We don’t have any other choice. If Kai and I go elsewhere and they follow us, we can at least draw them into an ambush on ground of our choosing—”
“Unlikely.” Vale cut her off. “You must still be suffering from the effects of that gas. Do you seriously think they’ll follow you into a trap?”
“I can set a perfectly good trap, thank you very much,” Irene said haughtily. “So far they’ve been able to choose their ground, so we’ve been at their mercy. This is why we have to leave. Don’t you agree, Inspector Singh?”
She’d expected him, as a Londoner and a police officer, to agree with her. So it was rather to her surprise that Inspector Singh said, “Perhaps you haven’t fully thought the matter through, Miss Winters.”
“What do you mean?”
He set down his pen, giving her his full attention. “I mean, Miss Winters, that if you are seen to leave to protect our good city, the Guanteses will use this against you. The more you try to lure them away, the more they’ll threaten us to force your compliance. Which is why I think a different solution’s needed here. You pay your taxes, Miss Winters, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Irene said, leaving out on my legal earnings, at least.
“Very well; think of this help as a state benefit.” Leaving Irene feeling rather as if she’d been stampeded by a previously helpful sheep, he turned to Shan Yuan. “Your attention in this matter is greatly appreciated, sir. May we ask you to share the information you’ve brought?”
“The data on the laptop was very informative,” Shan Yuan said, with a sudden keen enthusiasm that reminded Irene of Kai. “Much of it was a high-level discussion of artificial intelligence. I also found the blueprints of a project which seems directly linked to your current problems.”
“What project?” Irene asked.
“To summarise,” Shan Yuan said, his tone shifting easily to a lecturer’s didactic manner, “its aim is to re-create the personality of a dead person.” He let that sink in as those in the room murmured in astonishment. “This is achieved, firstly, by creating an artificial simulation of the deceased. Secondly, this is implanted into a living person under certain specific conditions. Apparently ‘an extreme plasticity of environment’ is also required. This refers to a high-chaos world—to use a layperson’s terminology.” Irene could almost hear Shan Yuan sniff condescendingly at this. “Under the right conditions, the living person would be transformed into the dead one—the original mind extinguished, the body even taking on the physical characteristics of the new host. This could be repeated as many times as necessary, superimposing the stored artificial simulation on a living victim.”
A horrified silence filled the room. “Lord Guantes,” Irene finally said. “That’s what happened to him.”
“What you’ve told me fits with the project description,” Shan Yuan agreed. “And as well as the process taking place in a high-chaos world, the imprinted subject needs to be a Fae. However, the documents suggest that the imprinted body doesn’t last long. Physical or mental breakdown ensues within just a couple of weeks—a month at the most. Unfortunately, it was a high-level overview, so the granular detail of processes involved was lacking. But Alberich was mentioned as a contributor—and it appears that he’s retained information essential to the process.”
Irene frowned. As with any jigsaw, once one had the border assembled, it was easier to see how the other pieces related to one another. “Per
haps the key to the process isn’t chaotic power—or not chaos alone. Perhaps the Language is important somehow. If Alberich is contributing something only he could offer, it would interest many Fae—not only the Guanteses.” This wasn’t just personal any more. If Alberich possessed this sort of bargaining tool, he’d be able to find countless unscrupulous allies and turn them against the Library—always his ultimate goal.
Shan Yuan shrugged. “You know the potential of your Language better than I do. But it does explain why only Alberich could provide the missing details. Perhaps if you had a closer look at the full process, you could hazard a guess at how the Language is used.”
“No, thank you,” Irene said with a shudder. “Do you know if the dead person, the one who is imprinted upon a new body, realizes what’s been done to them afterwards?”
“I don’t believe it would be obvious to them—unless they were told, of course.”
Irene remembered Lord Guantes’s words during her Guernsey mission. He’d said he’d cooperated with her enemies, but also said, “I have been betrayed. I have been used.” “I think the first Lord Guantes I met must have known what had happened to him. Either he was told, or somehow he found out. Maybe someone gave him the project documentation to explain the process, or he found it for himself. It would have made him understand that he was a . . . I don’t know what the right term is for it. A simulated personality? A re-creation of one?”
“It’s as close to necromancy as anything else I’ve come across, Winters,” Vale said. “Not the least because it requires the sacrifice of another intelligent being. Was there anything else useful on the laptop?”
“There was also a set of news articles on the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona—in Spain. These covered strange events witnessed there recently. I’m not sure why these are relevant, but they must be here for a reason. But it’s unclear within which world this Sagrada Familia is located.” Shan Yuan shrugged. “A high-chaos world, presumably.”
The Dark Archive (The Invisible Library Novel) Page 18