The Secret Chapter

by Genevieve Cogman

  ‘Nine out of ten for a positive attitude,’ Coppelia said. ‘Try to keep it that way. We’re aware of a particular collector who owns this book, which he somehow acquired from Gamma-017. In keeping with the current new world order of peace and negotiation and all that, we – the Library, that is – are giving you clearance to go and negotiate with him.’

  Irene considered what that implied. ‘It’s clearly not someone resident on Gamma-017,’ she said, ‘or you wouldn’t have said the book was “lost” on that world. You’ve mentioned the treaty, so it’s a dragon or a Fae aficionado. And you must think it’s possible to negotiate with him, or we wouldn’t be trying. What’s the catch?’

  ‘The Fae in question is eccentric. All powerful Fae are, of course, but this one is even more so than usual.’

  Irene nodded. The more powerful a Fae was, the more they fell into narrative tropes and stereotypes. It gave them unpredictable abilities – a seducer became nearly irresistible, a manipulator could convince anyone of anything, a gunman could pull off impossible shots. But that also made it nearly impossible for them to perceive reality, except through their own specific archetype. The trick, as she’d learned from experience, was to find out what that archetype was and somehow use it against them. ‘Do I know him?’

  ‘You may have heard of him, but probably not through Library channels. His name is Mr Nemo.’

  Irene searched her memory, and came up blank. ‘No, I don’t know him,’ she said. ‘But any Fae who goes round calling themselves Nemo is probably going to be enigmatic and secretive. Even if they don’t own a submarine.’

  ‘Correct. Ten out of ten.’ Coppelia refilled her cup from the samovar on a corner of her desk. ‘Anyhow, this Mr Nemo is a . . . collector. A billionaire. The sort of person who has their own Caribbean island and fills it with illegally obtained treasures. Who throws around the sort of money that makes governments forget he even exists, causing them to wipe his criminal records clean. Except there aren’t any criminal records, because Mr Nemo never existed, and anyone who looks too closely at the evidence – which also doesn’t exist – will be feeding the fishes. He favours piranhas, I’m told, or sharks. It depends on the climate.’

  ‘Interesting. I can see how that persona might work inside a given world, if he’s tied in with organized crime. But if he’s a Fae, how does all that translate into influence among his own kind?’

  ‘He’s a fixer,’ Coppelia said. ‘That is the current term, isn’t it? He can put person A in touch with person B and takes a commission from both of them in the process. He’s not a manipulator like the Cardinal.’ She tactfully ignored Irene’s grimace. ‘But, as they say, he knows people. And he collects things. And people, too. He’s also been carefully staying unaligned for several centuries now.’

  ‘And among other things, he obtained this book,’ Irene said. ‘How did we find out?’

  ‘My dear Irene, there are two sorts of collector. One is satisfied by simply owning the treasured item and doesn’t care whether or not the rest of the world knows. But the other sort – they absolutely have to brag about their possessions. For them, half the pleasure comes from the thought of acquaintances gnawing their guts out with envy. Even if it increases the risk of theft, they can’t help themselves.’

  ‘I suppose we do make the ideal audience too,’ Irene said. ‘So did he brag to a Librarian?’

  ‘Not precisely.’ Coppelia slid open a desk drawer, her wooden fingers clicking on the handle, and pulled out a thick pamphlet. ‘He sent us a catalogue of part of his collection.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Irene said with appreciation, extending her hand for it hopefully.

  Coppelia rapped her knuckles with the closed pamphlet. ‘Not so fast. I know it’s late at night for you, but think it through first.’

  Irene pulled her fingers back, considering. ‘Does he want his collection stolen for some reason? Or is this a convenient lure for Librarians – a baited hook with a net at his end?’ She frowned. ‘Or is it a shopping list specifically aimed at us? Because he really, really wants to have the Library in his little black book of contacts . . . and he’s willing to wait until we can’t find a particular text any other way than by coming to him?’

  ‘Partly the second, but mostly the third,’ Coppelia said. ‘That’s why we don’t let junior Librarians know about his collection – they’d get ideas.’

  ‘And have we never dealt with him before?’

  ‘A few times,’ Coppelia admitted. ‘At very senior levels, and on a very specific quid pro quo basis. No open-ended bargains. It was felt that if we never ever made any deals with him, he’d realize that he had us over a barrel if we finally showed up. Better to have him think that he’s one of our many resources rather than an absolute last-ditch option, with the prices that go with it.’

  ‘Right,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘So item one on the list of things not to mention is how much we want The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor. As far as Mr Nemo’s concerned, it’s just another item on a semi-regular shopping list from us?’

  ‘Exactly. And item two on the list is that you never make any open-ended promises. Our deals have always consisted of a book – or an item of art – for a book. Or very occasionally, a service, specified and defined with fixed end conditions. Don’t let him talk you into anything else.’ Coppelia folded her hands – on top of the pamphlet, Irene noted regretfully. ‘Given your new position as treaty monitor, he may even think that this is our way of introducing you to him.’

  ‘Just how much can I promise him?’ Irene asked. ‘What if he wants a particular book, and we only have a single copy here?’

  ‘That’s the nice thing,’ Coppelia said cheerfully. ‘For the Library’s purposes, we only ever need the actual story that’s in a book. We don’t need the original text. If Mr Nemo does want something from our collection, then we can keep a copy and give him the original.’

  ‘I don’t suppose we could offer him a cheaper deal, where we just receive a copy of our target manuscript,’ Irene suggested, ‘and he keeps the original?’

  ‘If he’ll accept that, go for it,’ Coppelia said. ‘But I suspect he won’t. He’s going to want to wring the maximum value out of it.’

  ‘I was afraid of that. Oh well.’ Irene resigned herself to painful negotiations. ‘In that case, you just need to tell me where to find him.’

  ‘The world is Alpha-92 and the local period is the nineteen-eighties. The Library entrance to the world is in Rome, so you’ll have a bit of travelling to reach his home. Lair. Private Caribbean island. Whatever you want to call it. I’ve put together a pack with information and a letter of introduction. The usual.’

  The words private Caribbean island danced in Irene’s head. Of course this was an incredibly important mission, vital to the survival of a world she loved, and important to the Library . . . but it was also an excuse to get away from London in winter. A cold, miserable, wet winter.

  Another thought struck her. ‘How high-chaos is Alpha-92, and will it be an issue if Kai comes too? You know that he’s going to want to. And it would make the whole “diplomatic introduction” excuse more plausible.’

  ‘It’s just about the same chaos level as Vale’s world. And Kai . . .’ Coppelia frowned. ‘I know I don’t need to warn you about this, but make sure that he doesn’t sign any deals either. I’m sure Mr Nemo would be only too delighted to entangle him in his web.’

  ‘A very dramatic way of putting it,’ Irene noted.

  Coppelia laughed, a wheezy cackle that dissolved into coughing. She drank more of her tisane, mouth twisting in a grimace. ‘This stuff is disgusting.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Irene asked. She knew from experience just how much Coppelia disliked being reminded of age or frailty, but the older Librarian had never coughed this much in the past.

  ‘I still haven’t got over winter in Paris,’ Coppelia said, her voice creaky. ‘All that damn snow. Don’t worry about me, Irene. It just takes longer to bounce back when yo
u’re older. I’m not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, are off to the Caribbean.’ She slid a folder across the desk to Irene. ‘Any final questions?’

  ‘If we know he has it, couldn’t we just steal it?’ Irene asked bluntly.

  ‘Theoretically yes, but in practice probably no. His security is very, very good. And if you did try to steal it and failed, he’d raise the price.’

  ‘Fair enough. I do have one last question – has he signed up to the treaty?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s even acknowledged it exists yet,’ Coppelia said. ‘He’s in an interesting position. If he does agree to abide by it, it’ll restrict some of his actions, but at the same time, if he doesn’t acknowledge it, then he’s open to attacks by either side . . . Be careful. Be diplomatic. Try not to blow anything up.’

  ‘Your trust in me is a constant comfort,’ Irene muttered. But she knew it was the closest Coppelia would come to expressing outright concern. ‘I’ll be as quick as possible. Keep drinking that tea.’

  And if she was really lucky, perhaps Kai would be so intrigued by this assignment that he would forget all about her parents – and that talk he’d requested. Then she could get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

  Kai was positively bounding with enthusiasm in the thin morning light as it filtered through the fog. He had reacted to Irene’s news about the world where she’d gone to school with genuine sympathy. However, he was clearly excited at the thought of high-level negotiations – and the possibility of demonstrating to his father just how efficient he could be in his new position. (Irene’s attempt to point out that it wasn’t strictly a treaty mission had been shot down on the spot.)

  In addition, the thought of a private island in the Caribbean had much to recommend it. Couple this with the fact that they’d be getting away from assassination attempts and Lord Silver’s machinations for a week or two, and Irene could almost share his high spirits. Several cups of coffee had helped. She’d returned at an ungodly hour in the morning, and there had been all the business of updating Kai before she could sleep.

  Well, that and the fact that there were far more interesting things she and Kai could do besides sleeping.

  ‘I’m not sure what the most appropriate garb would be, for this season in the Caribbean,’ Kai mused as they exited their cab outside the Liechtenstein Embassy. Irene had discussed her thoughts on the Fae treaty representative, and he’d agreed to let her fight it out with Lord Silver. ‘You’ll want to dress for your new role as a Library representative, of course.’

  ‘We can probably get something in Rome while we’re booking our plane tickets,’ Irene said. Part of her rebelled against wasting valuable time in shopping. But if she showed up on Mr Nemo’s doorstep looking hurried and desperate, his price for the book would go through the roof. Even humans knew how to take advantage of customers who had no other options.

  They were stopped at the Embassy threshold by Johnson, Silver’s personal servant. As usual, he was a study in dullness, almost aggressively bland compared to his master’s flamboyance, and so very good at fading into the background. ‘How may I assist you?’ he asked. His tone was so neutral it could have been used for a dictionary definition: first person, uninterested.

  ‘We’re here to see Lord Silver,’ Irene said, with a coffee-fuelled attempt at a smile. ‘And no, we don’t have an appointment. I apologize for calling in the morning . . .’

  Johnson hesitated. ‘If you’ll wait a moment, madame.’ He stepped back into the building, closing the door in their faces.

  ‘I’m not sure how our current state of polite truce equates with us being left to wait on the doorstep,’ Kai muttered.

  ‘Maybe it depends on what gets tipped on our heads from the windows above,’ Irene speculated. ‘Full hostilities would be boiling oil, invitation to a party would be a bottle of champagne, and a declaration of minor irritation would be just a pot of tea.’

  Then the door swung open and they were escorted reluctantly over the threshold.

  The interior of the Embassy was strewn with debris from the previous night’s party. Glasses and dishes still littered the room, licentious pamphlets were scattered across the floor and stockings dangled from the lampshades. A solitary cravat had been nailed to the wall with a gemmed stiletto, and the remnants of a game of cards were splashed with wine and blood.

  When they passed the main staircase, Kai frowned. ‘Isn’t Silver in his bedroom?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Johnson said. ‘Will you be wishing to see him in his bedroom, sir?’

  Kai opened his mouth to say something which would probably have scorched the walls, looked at Irene sidelong, then simply said, ‘I’d hate to think we’d dragged the poor fellow out of bed for such a very minor thing as our visit.’

  ‘Fortunately for you, princeling, I never went to bed.’ The room they entered was full of feeble morning sunlight, making the furniture and wallpaper look even more expensive and tawdry than usual. Silver was still in last night’s dinner wear, sprawled in an armchair, cravat hanging loose and collar open. His jacket lay disconsolately in a corner, and his shirt was stained with lipstick – at least, Irene hoped it was lipstick. He nursed a glass full of a greenish concoction which was probably not herbal tea.

  Across the card table from him sat Sterrington, upright as a wooden doll, still immaculately dressed and gloved. Scattered across the table between them was an ongoing game of cards. Both players had turned their hands down.

  ‘Gambling, I presume,’ Kai said repressively. He raised an eyebrow, much as Irene had seen his father do once before. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. What are your stakes?’

  ‘The souls of men,’ Silver said cheerfully. He took a sip from his glass. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘It’s a little early for me,’ Irene replied, ‘and we won’t keep you from your game. I called about a business matter. Oh, and to let you know Kai and I will be absent from London for the next few days.’

  ‘You can’t just waltz off like that!’ Silver protested. ‘What if you’re needed here?’

  ‘I haven’t been needed so far,’ Irene pointed out. ‘And you Fae have yet to choose a representative from your side. That’s the business matter.’

  Silver frowned. ‘My dear little mouse, do I strike you as some sort of vulgar businessman?’

  ‘You’re the Liechtenstein ambassador. You run one of the biggest spy networks in London. You throw parties which tie up half the city’s police. All these things keep you very busy.’

  ‘True, but those are all the employments of a gentleman,’ Silver scoffed.

  ‘Ah. So you’re disclaiming all responsibility for choosing a Fae treaty representative?’

  Sterrington stiffened like a hound on point, and Silver set his glass down with an abrupt click. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that at all. Why this sudden pressure, Miss Winters?’

  The change in address was a welcome sign that he was taking her seriously. ‘We all know now that Rudolf was going to assassinate Kai last night. Kai was vulnerable not just because he was attending the party, but because he is the dragon representative. And sooner or later someone else will take a shot, and they might be better at it than Rudolf. Without an appointed Fae representative on the treaty commission, any Fae may think they can take action against Kai—’

  ‘Or against you,’ Kai put in.

  ‘Yes, though I hope that there aren’t too many Fae out there who dislike Librarians on principle.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Sterrington said unhelpfully.

  Irene tried not to stare at the ceiling and pray for strength too obviously. ‘Look, we need a Fae treaty representative as soon as possible. Not just for our sakes, either. You are both involved with the treaty’s success. I would like to point out in the strongest terms that if something Fae-inspired happens to me or Kai, it’s going to go up in flames. And you will be held responsible. I understand that there’s been some debate abo
ut who to appoint.’ Partly caused by the fact that Silver didn’t want the job himself but was unwilling to relinquish it to anyone else. ‘When we return, I hope there will have been a decision. Without any more disruptions at your parties, Lord Silver.’

  ‘I’m still not happy about you vanishing like this,’ Sterrington said, betraying her own interest. ‘What if there’s an emergency?’

  Irene shrugged. ‘Let’s hope there won’t be. Besides, when I was given this post, it was in addition to my duties as a Librarian. Those duties are calling.’

  ‘And Prince Kai?’ Sterrington said.

  ‘I’m tagging along,’ Kai said, his tone cool. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  ‘It might be inconvenient.’

  ‘Your convenience is hardly my concern.’

  Irene glanced sideways at Kai. She’d asked him to be firm but fair, but he was drifting into the territory of deliberate rudeness. Then she remembered Sterrington had worked for Kai’s kidnappers, so she swiftly changed the subject. ‘I’m not expecting anything urgent to come up in our absence. Are you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Sterrington said. But her eyes were dark with thought, and Irene wondered if she’d had other reasons for coming to this London besides stopping Rudolf.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us where you’re going, my dear Irene? And why?’ Silver interjected.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. Library business.’ Irene smiled at Silver, showing teeth. ‘And since we’ve fulfilled our obligations – shall we leave, Kai?’

  ‘With pleasure,’ he replied.

  ‘Perhaps we’ll have some good news for you when you get back,’ Silver called after her. ‘We are having the most interesting discussions . . .’

  And that almost made Irene hesitate in her plan to force Silver to sort out the Fae representative. Leaving those two behind, together, was a little too close to leaving cats in charge of the kitchen while the cook went out shopping.

  But her mission couldn’t wait. They had a plane to catch. Several planes.