‘Forty-two?’ The customs officer looked Irene up and down.
‘I’ve always had people tell me how young I look,’ Irene said, smiling helpfully. The Library had provided a couple of fake passports for this world; unfortunately the age on the woman’s passport was noticeably higher than Irene’s own thirty-something.
The officer didn’t look entirely satisfied, but there was an impatient queue growing audibly more impatient. With a sigh he stamped Irene’s passport and waved her in the direction of Customs.
Kai fell into step beside her. The crowd of people moving through Miami airport was thick enough to cover up the noise of casual conversation. ‘It’s good to be able to stretch my legs,’ he said.
‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Irene said gloomily. They joined the crowd by the luggage belt, a jostling mass of padded shoulders and linen jackets, moussed hair and ankle socks. ‘I suspect we have more travelling ahead of us. The Library’s directions end here – Mr Nemo wouldn’t give them any more information as to his whereabouts.’
‘This shows a truly ridiculous level of paranoia.’ Kai plucked Irene’s case from the belt with casual strength, then his own a moment later. ‘If he’s really as powerful as his reputation implies, why is this Mr Nemo so secretive?’
Irene thought about it as they headed for a phone booth – the last instruction she’d been given by Coppelia. The Library’s link to this world, Alpha-92, was via the Vatican Library, which meant they’d had to route their trip through Rome. Travelling via the Library was a wonderful thing, but it only had one fixed exit to any given world. ‘Maybe it helps build Nemo’s reputation. If he was easy to reach, he’d be less sought after. Like designer clothing. It’s the mystique that counts, even if you could get a good imitation at a tenth of the price.’
‘Well, he is Fae,’ Kai said. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Irene. I will control my tongue in his presence. But if he has agents already watching us, then we might as well give up now.’
They reached the booth. ‘Stand guard, please,’ she requested, and lined up a row of change on the top of the phone. This might be a long call.
She dialled a number – one she’d memorized from the list of instructions in the Library folder – and the phone was picked up after a single ring. ‘Who is this?’ a voice demanded.
‘A person seeking an expensive item,’ Irene replied.
‘Can you give me any identification?’
‘I speak for my organization, and our nominated phrase is, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.’ She wondered who’d chosen the Hamlet quotation: the Library, or Mr Nemo?
There was a pause, then the sound of tapping keys and faint murmurs. Irene fed more change into the phone. Finally the voice said, ‘And your own name?’
‘Irene. Often known as Irene Winters.’
More murmuring. ‘And the item you require?’
‘I would rather not discuss that over an open line.’
‘Very good.’ The voice didn’t sound as if it had actually expected her to give details. ‘Where are you currently?’
‘Miami airport, with one other person.’
‘Another Librarian?’
‘No. A dragon. Prince Kai, son of Ao Guang, King of the Eastern Ocean.’
Another pause. ‘Very good. Please hold.’
Irene pushed more money into the phone as she waited.
‘How’s it going?’ Kai murmured over his shoulder. He was watching the ebb and swell of the airport crowd, casual in his new designer jacket and linen trousers. Unfortunately the nineteen-eighties in this world didn’t have cheap mobile phones and laptops – but they did at least have Armani.
‘All right, I think,’ Irene said. ‘So far.’
The voice spoke again. ‘Do you have a pen and paper?’
Irene bit back a sigh of relief and propped her notepad against the wall. ‘Yes.’
‘Take the next available plane to Paradise Island in the Bahamas – that’ll be the ten-thirty on Paradise Island Airlines. Two seats are being held for you under the names Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. When you’ve arrived, go to the transport desk at the right of the entrance and say you require transport to the Golden House. You’ll need to identify yourself again too – when you’re asked why you’re there, say it’s for the shark-fishing. From there, transport will be arranged to your final destination. Have you got that?’
Irene repeated the instructions.
‘We’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Winters.’
The line went dead.
Irene hung the receiver back up and turned to Kai. ‘We’re in the hands of experts,’ she said drily. ‘Let’s hope we can trust them.’
It was late night as the small plane descended towards Paradise Island. Irene peered out of the window but was disappointed to see a well-lit but fairly standard casino and resort, rather than anything more Amazonian. Bridges below spanned the ocean, linking Paradise Island to Nassau, their lights strung across the dark waters like jewels. Beside her, in the aisle seat, Kai leafed thoughtfully through a tourist brochure.
It had taken only a few minutes on the plane to identify half a dozen men and women who were carrying guns, were distinctive enough to be Fae, or who were just plain suspicious. Other visitors for Mr Nemo? A convention of some sort? There was the woman with the black veil, furs and sharpened fingernails, each nail varnished and gleaming. Another man wore formal dinner wear, his only luggage a pack of cards which he dealt out and reshuffled in irritating repetition on his drop-down table. One elderly individual in first class was so withered and wrapped in coats that their gender was impossible to distinguish. But the figure was sipping brandy as though Prohibition would be redeclared tomorrow.
Conversation died when the plane began to descend. But that didn’t lessen the feeling of danger on the plane, a raw edge that had certain individuals watching their fellow passengers. Perhaps they knew something Irene didn’t and were planning countermeasures for when something – anything – happened. She and Kai weren’t immune from this general scanning for threats; in fact, they might be the most dangerous people there.
In hindsight, Irene could see she’d made one possible mistake. While she herself was not particularly distinctive, Kai was quite visibly a dragon to anyone who knew how to look. His features went beyond handsome and into beautiful, capturing the perfection of an ink-drawing or a marble statue which had stepped down into life. If you could look into a human’s face and see the spirit behind their eyes like a candle flame, then by comparison a dragon was an electric light or a raging conflagration. And that was only their human form. If anyone on the plane had a problem with dragons, then Kai might be a target.
However, as the plane’s wheels bumped against the tarmac, she knew she had to focus on her mission. She only had nine days now. That might not be enough. Stepping off the plane, she knew that she’d underrated the danger of their companions. The passengers eyed each other like wolves waiting for a moment of weakness. The air was balmy and the distant sound of music echoed across the landing field, but tension sang in the air, twisting tighter with every passing moment.
Something very bad is going on, she thought, and I don’t even know what it is. How embarrassing if we end up getting shot because of someone else’s drama . . .
A man whom Irene had tentatively pegged as Yakuza – the tattoos showing at his wrists, the line of the gun under his jacket, the Japanese he’d been speaking to his female companion – politely gestured Irene to go ahead. Irene smiled at him and his partner (who was camouflaging a katana in an apparently innocent golf-club bag) and walked on through, past Customs and into the entrance hall.
At this time of night, there weren’t that many people around, but those who were there were . . . lurking. There was no other word for it. They lounged on benches, apparently scrutinizing books or checking their watches, but their attention was all on the new arrivals.
With
a surge of relief, Irene realized that the lurkers weren’t just watching her and Kai – they were eyeing all the newcomers. It was as if they knew that there was someone suspicious on the flight but didn’t know their identity. In which case, this would be the wrong moment to panic and make a run for it.
She caught Kai’s eye and did her best to communicate, act normally, as she pulled her case over to the transport desk at the right of the entrance.
The young woman sitting there put down her magazine and looked up. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her tone bored.
‘I think so,’ Irene said. She kept her voice at a low, conversational pitch, hoping that it wouldn’t carry. ‘I need transport to the Golden House for two.’
But her precautions were in vain. As soon as Mr Nemo’s directions were out of her mouth, she heard from behind her, ‘Make that for three.’
Irene turned round to look into the barrel of a gun.
Irene tried to focus on the face of the man holding the gun, rather than the gun itself. To be fair, it was always difficult in this sort of situation to move one’s eyes from the dark circle of the barrel. He hadn’t been on the plane with them. A cigarette dangled from the corner of the man’s mouth. And while his clothing was expensive – silk jacket, linen slacks, a Rolex gleaming heavily on his wrist – his sunglasses were cheap and tacky.
However, the gun was the important thing.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, trying – and failing – to sound innocent.
‘Me. You. Headed for Golden House,’ the man said. His cigarette jerked as he spoke. ‘And if anyone else gets any smart ideas about coming along—’
There was the chuff of a silenced gunshot. Irene couldn’t tell what direction it had come from, but the gunman abruptly tumbled forward, his pistol clattering against the floor. She stepped back fastidiously as blood began to spread from the fallen body.
For a moment the room was absolutely silent.
Then figures in black came screaming down from the ceiling, dangling on uncoiling ropes. Their blades gleamed as they unsheathed them mid-drop.
A fusillade of gunfire rattled through the room as innocent-seeming tourist after innocent-seeming tourist pulled out revolvers and automatics – blasting away at the ninjas and each other. Others drew blades – swords, daggers and even, to Irene’s overtaxed eyes, a metal-edged lasso. They retreated into corners to defend themselves or took advantage of the situation to stab potential opponents from behind. The very few people who were genuinely innocent tourists ran screaming for the exits.
Kai caught Irene up in his arms and leapt across the information desk, dropping behind it. Irene found herself shoulder to shoulder with the receptionist. There was just about enough cover for all of them if they crammed in tight.
Irene grabbed the girl’s arm. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she demanded.
The girl rolled her eyes as if that was the stupidest question since Is water wet? with a side option on Is fire hot? ‘Don’t ask me, miss, I just do the travel bookings.’
Right. And you’re displaying an astonishing lack of panic. If you’re not working for Mr Nemo directly, then you know someone who is. Irene pulled her instructions to mind. ‘We need transport to the Golden House, as I said. We’re here for the shark-fishing. The names are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.’ She winced and ducked further down, as what sounded like a machine pistol stitched a row of holes in the wall above their heads. ‘Will that be enough?’
‘That’ll be fine,’ the girl said cheerfully. Her clothing was standard travel-agent gear, but her earrings and necklace were – in Irene’s estimation – solid gold and genuine pearls. The sort of jewellery that cost far more than a desk clerk’s salary. Definitely on someone’s payroll. ‘You’ll need to go back out to where the planes are, look for the small seaplane down the end with the green banding and speak to the pilot. He’ll ask you—’
Her words were drowned out for a moment by a furious shriek.
‘Tourists,’ the girl muttered. ‘He’ll ask you where you want to go, you tell him Denmark, then you get on board and do what he says. You got that? And this lot won’t kill you – until they’ve tortured you for those directions, that is.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Kai snapped.
Irene agreed, but decided to complain about it later. ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Nice of you to ask, but don’t worry. There’s a trapdoor under here.’ The girl tapped the floor. ‘We get this sort of thing a lot, though I have to say this is worse than usual. Good luck catching your plane!’
The trapdoor opened with a click, and the girl slid through it like an eel, vanishing into the darkness below. It closed behind her before Irene had managed to do more than think it might be a good idea to follow. She wondered what this crowd wanted with Mr Nemo, and whether she really wanted to find him herself.
But all she said was, ‘So, any ideas how we get through that mob?’
‘Can you use the Language?’
Irene grimaced. While the Language could affect reality itself, it wasn’t always the right tool for the job. ‘I can’t tell them not to perceive us; there are too many of them. Bringing the ceiling down would hit us too. I could tell the floor to hold their feet, but so many of them have guns, and they don’t need to be able to move to shoot.’
She checked briefly round the side of the desk: the general brawl had dissolved into individual fights. The weaker participants, and a lot of the ninjas, had fled the scene or died. This was actually an improvement. People focusing on a specific opponent might be less likely to spot her and Kai making a run for it. ‘If we move along the back wall here, staying behind the check-in desks as much as possible, that gets us to within twenty yards of the customs hall. Have you noticed the suspicious total lack of security guards?’
‘Yes. Have you noticed how fresh the paint is on the walls here? And the bullet scars it’s covering up?’
‘I have now,’ Irene said. ‘This must be a regular through-point for anyone visiting Mr Nemo. But is it normal for there to be such a crowd of opportunists? What do they all want?’
Kai coughed. ‘You know, Irene, usually you’re the one telling me to act, not theorize . . . Besides, we need to go before the chaos level gets any higher.’
There was indeed a definite sense of chaos in the air, like the tension before a thunderstorm. And if Irene could perceive it, then Kai – as a dragon, a creature of order – would be feeling it ten times as much. She glanced up to check the rafters, but there weren’t any more ninjas – or at least, none she could see. They were ninjas, after all.
‘Let’s get to it, then,’ she said. ‘Leave the suitcases – it’s only clothing. On three: one, two, three . . .’
They bolted sideways, scuttling along with their heads lowered. Irene clutched her small briefcase, leaving Kai with his hands free. She had no delusions about who was more effective in hand-to-hand combat.
The next check-in desk along had been deserted by its occupant, but the lines of a similar trapdoor in the floor indicated where they’d gone. A knife whipped through the air above them, embedding itself in the wall.
‘Damn,’ Kai muttered. ‘Spotted.’
‘As long as nobody yells, “Stop them, they’re getting away . . .”’ Irene answered, before realizing just how stupid it had been to say that. Another reason to curse Fae powers: once you were in their vicinity, it was far too easy to fall into stereotypical patterns.
‘Stop them!’ a female voice shrieked on cue. ‘They’re getting away!’
One of the surviving ninjas came hurtling over the desk, twin knives gleaming in his hands. Kai straightened and, with a fluidity which came from a life of martial arts training, caught the man’s ankle. He swung him into the wall. As the ninja slid to the floor in a tangle of black-clad limbs, they made a dash for it.
‘Madame!’ A short blond man with a finely waxed moustache threw himself into Irene’s path. ‘Name of a little blue ox
, you must listen! I require your help to obtain an original ikon of St Cyril—’
Irene whacked him in the face with her briefcase and kept running.
Something – someone – came whizzing in from her left in a whirl of silk scarves and gleaming nails. Kai threw himself forward and intercepted a bare-handed strike aimed at Irene’s neck. It was the woman from the plane, but now there was blood dripping from her nails, and they glistened with an oily shine that screamed Poison.
The woman feinted, then lashed out at Kai, and he parried, falling back. ‘Keep going,’ he said over his shoulder.
Irene didn’t argue; she burst into a run, circling round a pair of bare-handed fighters who were busy kicking each other into the nearest desks.
The room was full of screaming – and gunshots echoed from the rafters.
A gunman slid along the floor, blasting away at the other side of the room. Irene hiked up her skirt and vaulted over him, before ducking a heavy-set bearded man with grasping hands like hams. He’d somehow lost his shirt in the last ninety seconds and his chest hair was smeared with blood and oil. Do I want to know? No. I don’t want to know.
She’d nearly made it to the baggage area, when she skidded to a halt. Two women in leather trench coats had staked out the area for their personal duel. Their blades – one a katana, the other a heavy broadsword – were drawn and they eyed each other with the calm of warriors waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And they were in her way.
Then yet another gun poked into her back. At this rate her jacket was going to develop creases. ‘Hey, dame,’ a male voice snarled in heavy Brooklyn Gangster, ‘you wanna make both our lives easier and tell me how to get to Mr Nemo, or do I have to get nasty?’
Panic helpfully concentrated Irene’s mind. ‘You perceive that the woman who knows about Mr Nemo is going that way!’ she said, pointing between the two swordswomen.
The Language took hold of his perceptions and adjusted them. With a snort, he pushed Irene aside, stalking up towards the duellists. His shoulders beneath his ill-fitting jacket were as broad as his accent, and the pistol in his hand was a very real thing that would fire very real bullets. The two women both took a step back as he charged between them. Irene sprinted forward, following the big thug’s tracks. Once she was past the swordswomen, she put her fingers to her lips and whistled hard. She saw Kai’s head turn in her direction. He’d know to follow.
The Secret Chapter Page 5