The Secret Chapter

by Genevieve Cogman

  She put the thought aside to consider later, and decided to take the initiative.

  ‘My name is Winters – Irene Winters,’ she said, advancing into the room. ‘I work for the Library, and I have no idea what’s going on either, but I hope our host will explain shortly.’

  Kai drew out a chair to allow Irene to seat herself. ‘My name is Kai,’ he said, taking the remaining place. ‘I have the honour to be a recognized son of his majesty Ao Guang, King of the Eastern Ocean. And I am prepared to respect our recent truce – as is Irene Winters. Even if it means that I must sit at table with that person.’ He locked eyes with the other dragon, and they both stared coldly at each other.

  ‘Well, well,’ Mr Nemo chuckled, ‘it looks as if we may have some problems here with our future collaboration.’

  ‘Collaboration?’ the elegant blonde said. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that I work with these people?’

  ‘Bets on which people at this table she means,’ the gambler said. ‘Evens on the dragons, three to one the Librarian, five to one anyone else.’

  ‘Nadia here is the lady who has just expressed her doubts,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘Going around the table, and continuing with everyone’s favourite aliases, we have Ernst, Prince Kai, Miss Irene Winters, Tina, Jerome, Felix, and—’

  ‘Indigo,’ the dragon cut in. ‘That is the only name I will answer to from the people around this table.’

  Kai snorted. ‘At least you show some vestige of proper behaviour.’

  ‘Big words from someone with your father,’ Indigo spat at him. ‘I’d think more of you if you boasted about your mother’s heritage.’

  Kai went absolutely still, a red gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘Don’t push me, madam,’ he said. ‘Nothing in the truce forbids me from dealing properly with other dragons.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Mr Nemo said cheerfully, ‘but as my guests, I hope you’ll all refrain from attacking each other. In fact, I must insist on it. Any hostilities or attempts to, ahem, exert undue influence will cause me to withdraw your safe-conduct agreements. Are we all happy with that?’

  The dead silence around the table was not precisely agreement, but it was probably the best that could be hoped for.

  Mr Nemo clapped his hands together, and the door swung open again. Servants pushed trolleys into the room. ‘Dinner!’ he said. ‘I do hope nobody has any allergies.’

  ‘Only to poison,’ Irene remarked. She would have liked to reach out to Kai in reassurance, but that would have been a blatant demonstration of weakness. She would have liked even more to get him alone and find out who ‘Indigo’ was, and what precisely was going on there. That would have to wait till later. In the meantime, if things became any worse she could always kick him under the table.

  Nadia put down her glass and pushed back her chair. ‘Come on, people,’ she said. ‘Are we really going to continue with this farce? I’m not complaining about Mr Nemo here – a great man, I’ve always said so – but how can we be expected to work with them?’ Her hand gesture took in Kai, Irene and Indigo. With a twitch of her shoulder, her body language shifted from complaining to reasonable. ‘I think we should all insist that non-participants get out of this room before the discussion goes any further. Do we really want non-Fae listening in to our private talk? How far can we trust them?’

  The Library brand across Irene’s shoulders stung as if it had been freshly applied with hot wires, and she frowned, letting her annoyance show. ‘We’ll leave if Mr Nemo wants us to leave,’ she said curtly. ‘After all, we came to see him. I have no idea who you are.’ She neglected to mention that two days ago she’d had no idea who Mr Nemo was either. Why spoil a good line?

  The hefty Ernst grunted, and shifted in his chair like a mountain preparing an avalanche. ‘Two pretty ladies making speeches. But neither of them’s the boss. So don’t take it the wrong way if I’m not listening.’

  Nadia looked around the room for support. When none came, she flounced to her feet. ‘Fine. I’m walking out of here, and if the rest of you have any sense, you’ll follow me. I’ll be ready to talk terms when you’ve got rid of outsiders.’

  ‘Please go with the man by the door,’ Mr Nemo said equably from the television. ‘He will show you to your room.’

  The door shut with a bang behind Nadia and her guide. In the newly quiet room, the waiters set down bowls of clear soup and poured wine for Irene and Kai.

  Jerome – of the gold ring and cards – tried the soup first, winning a mental award for bravery from Irene. ‘Very nice,’ he said politely. ‘Shellfish?’

  ‘Conch,’ Mr Nemo answered. ‘I enjoy the local seafood.’

  ‘The story is that when you visited Russia, you were served meat from the local reindeer,’ Ernst put in. He snapped a cracker, scattering crumbs. ‘And you insisted it should be grilled on charcoal. Then when a man there tried to betray you, your servants forced the hot coals down his throat.’

  ‘That is a gross exaggeration,’ Mr Nemo objected. ‘It was nothing like that.’

  Kai glanced sidelong at Irene, and she could see him struggling not to enquire further.

  ‘Stories do get around,’ she said. The soup was extremely good. ‘I’m sure that everyone at this table has had a few told about them.’

  Felix chuckled, but there was a glint of something unpleasant in his eyes – a mixture of distrust and dislike that Irene didn’t think she’d done anything to deserve. ‘You know how these things work . . . Not surprising, for a Librarian.’

  It was true that powerful Fae accumulated stories about themselves as seabird perches accumulated guano. It helped them sustain their archetypes. She just wished she knew more about these half-dozen people. It’d give her a better idea what to expect – or what to fear. ‘I don’t doubt that you’re all important ladies and gentlemen. What I don’t yet know is what, exactly, this gathering has to do with us.’

  ‘We do have a Fae acquaintance in common,’ Jerome said. ‘Do you remember Lily?’

  ‘I knew a Lily who was an expert with guns,’ Irene said. She recalled the woman vividly. Lily had been a gun-moll, an expert sniper, and quite probably a hitman as well. ‘But I wouldn’t say that I knew her well. Is she a colleague of yours? Or, if you’ll forgive me, an enemy?’

  ‘She was hired to work as my bodyguard once,’ Jerome explained. Everyone else at the table had fallen silent to listen. ‘Left a trail of corpses until people started taking her seriously. Impressive. I’m sure you know how that works.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kai agreed, ‘it’s a very bad idea not to take Irene seriously.’

  ‘I prefer to handle a situation with minimal damage,’ Irene said firmly.

  ‘A very worthy ambition,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘Now, may I trouble you all to take a look at this screen?’

  The image dissolved into two pictures, separated vertically. Advanced technology for this place and time, Irene noted. And that’s just what we’ve seen. On the left of the screen Mr Nemo still sat placidly; on the right, the camera showed a tanned male attendant in floral trunks, leading Nadia down one of the interchangeable corridors.

  ‘How much further is it to my room?’ Nadia demanded. ‘If Mr Nemo thinks that he can hoodwink me into returning by walking me in circles, he’d better think again. I am a professional. I don’t work with dragons . . . with people of that type.’

  ‘Actually, Nadia,’ Mr Nemo said, and her head tilted on the screen as she heard his voice, ‘you do recall that your safe-conduct here was dependent on you not initiating any hostilities? Or trying to exert your “influence” on me or my other guests?’

  The camera focused in on Nadia, allowing the viewers to see every moment of her eyes widening, of the colour draining from her cheeks as she made some private calculation and it came to an unwelcome answer. She swallowed. ‘Of course. I may have been a little hasty,’ she said. She smiled in the direction of the camera, focusing her attention on it. Her golden hair seemed to glow as if she was lit by an inner light, and she shifted o
n some axis that ran from right shoulder to left hip, arranging herself into the most attractive possible pose. ‘I’m sure that we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement . . .’

  Behind her, in the background, her guide was quietly sidling away down the corridor.

  ‘And that makes twice that you’ve tried to use your influence,’ Mr Nemo said sadly. ‘I’m afraid that instead of working as my agent, you’re going to have to serve as an object lesson.’

  Panels in the floor slid apart beneath Nadia’s feet. It wasn’t like the sort of cartoon where the victim hung in the air for a moment, before falling. She dropped like a stone, and the panels sealed again above her, cutting off her shriek.

  ‘If you would all care to turn your attention to the glass window opposite,’ Mr Nemo suggested.

  Heads turned as though the entire room had been hypnotized. Nadia’s figure spun through the well-lit waters, struggling in slow motion. Blood trailed from shallow gashes on her hands and legs – black rather than scarlet in the harsh underwater light.

  Shadows circled in towards her, drawn by the blood. And Nadia opened her mouth to scream, silent bubbles flooding out, as the sharks closed in on her.

  Irene deliberately turned her head away, glad that she couldn’t hear the carnage. This was not an overdone rumour about a mysterious crime lord. This was real; this was actually happening. Although she had no reason to like Nadia, and every reason to preserve her own safety, she would not stare at the other woman being killed as though it was a staged performance. ‘You’ve made your point,’ she said to Mr Nemo. ‘Is that what you consider a useful lesson?’

  ‘No,’ Mr Nemo said affably. ‘I consider it an avoidable lesson. I do hope that we can all manage to work out our differences – without resorting to violence.’

  Irene glanced around the table. Kai and Indigo both displayed similar looks of frosty disdain; she could practically imagine Kai’s comment of What else can you expect from the Fae? Even if there was a peace treaty, some attitudes would take a lifetime to change. And, she had to admit, feeding someone to sharks to make a point was a Fae thing to do. Assuming one was following a crime lord archetype. The others mostly looked at each other thoughtfully. But Ernst was finishing off his soup, his attitude somehow suggesting that if he’d been in Nadia’s position, he would have punched the sharks.

  The servants began silently setting out a new course. It involved sliced raw dark meat of a type that Irene couldn’t identify, various dips and marinades, and bowls of plain rice. Glasses were refilled. Irene had yet to touch hers.

  ‘Thank you for all being so patient,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘I’ll now be brief. There is a particular item I want. I can give you the details of where it is, and what it is, and some assistance in the set-up, but the actual theft will require . . . experts. All of you are very well known in your respective fields. Some of you were specifically hired for this job, while others are unexpected but welcome professionals.’

  ‘Professional thieves?’ Irene couldn’t deny that her job as a Librarian frequently involved removing books without the owner’s permission, but she’d rather not have it stated so blatantly. Even if it was true.

  ‘Professionals,’ Mr Nemo said soothingly. ‘Let’s leave it at that, shall we? Now first of all, the reward. I know you all want something specific from me. Even if it’s just your liberty.’ His eyes strayed to Indigo, who was picking at her rice with the hand that wasn’t chained to her chair. ‘Believe me when I say that I can and will give it to you. If you bring me the object I want, safe and entire, within the next week, then I will give each of you whatever prize you name. It must be an item from my collection or a deed that I can perform – there and then – and I will provide it without hesitation or delay or cheating.’

  The room was silent. Ernst put down his forkful of meat. ‘Your word on that?’

  ‘My word,’ Mr Nemo said.

  Although a Fae’s promise was only binding to the letter rather than the spirit, Irene couldn’t see any obvious flaw in what Mr Nemo had just said. From the abstracted faces of the other people at the table, she suspected they were coming to the same conclusions.

  ‘And allow us to depart safely with our chosen item or items, without delay or endangerment?’ Jerome asked casually.

  ‘Yes, as swiftly as you wish, without delay or endangerment,’ Mr Nemo agreed. ‘Now can we do business?’

  There were nods around the table – even from Indigo – except from Irene and Kai.

  ‘Ah,’ Mr Nemo said, ‘perhaps our two unexpected arrivals have issues they’d like to raise?’

  Irene glanced at Kai and received a very definite you-speak-first look in answer. ‘Your offer intrigues us,’ she said. ‘But Prince Kai and I are both bound by the recent peace treaty. To be blunt about it, if you’re talking about a theft from someone who’s signed up to the treaty, it’s out of the question, and we should leave the room here and now.’

  Her stomach twisted with nerves. Coppelia had said that any bargains with Mr Nemo should consist of specific exchanges, not open-ended promises. But this job wouldn’t be open-ended – it would just mean getting an item for Nemo, which technically fell within the limits of her authority. This was the perfect chance for her to get The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor. If she said no and backed out of this heist, would she have lost the book – and possibly doomed a world that had helped make her who she was?

  But Mr Nemo knew about the truce and their obligations, so perhaps his job wouldn’t infringe it?

  As the seconds drew out, she could only hope that she was right.

  Mr Nemo took a swallow from his tumbler of whiskey. ‘The item I’m after is on a world which has not been claimed as territory in the treaty documents, by any dragon or Fae – or Librarian, come to think of it. Equally, the item itself has not been stated to be the personal property of any dragon or Fae or Librarian. That’s as far as I can go, but I think it means you’re free to work for me. And I won’t say who procured it for me, afterwards. I’ll make that part of the deal.’

  It sounded too good to be true. But it also sounded . . . do-able.

  Again Irene glanced to Kai, and he gave her a very slight nod.

  She turned back to the television screen. ‘I think we can do business.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid,’ Mr Nemo said warmly. ‘How nice to know that we can all get along. I’ve always thought individual gain was a much better motivator than racial prejudice, or personal morality. Now I know your price, Miss Winters, just as I do everyone else’s at this table – except for Prince Kai. I’ll be glad to discuss it with him later.’

  Kai made a non-committal noise. He nibbled a fragment of meat and frowned. ‘Is this shark?’

  Irene suddenly tasted bile. She put down her own fork, unable to stop herself from looking at the huge glass window. Memory replayed the view of Nadia’s twisting body, silently screaming as the sharks closed in.

  ‘Indeed, great white shark liver,’ Mr Nemo answered. ‘It’s a delicacy. Did you know that killer whales have a habit of knocking great white sharks unconscious, biting out their livers and leaving them to drown? Very directed, very specific. I do admire that in an orca.’

  ‘I didn’t realize that you found killer whales in the Caribbean,’ Irene ventured. Diplomacy told her that she needed to finish this meal or risk insulting the host. Common sense told her that if she didn’t have something to eat now she’d regret it later. But speculation, impossible to silence, whispered at the back of her mind. She’d been told Mr Nemo enjoyed feeding people to his sharks. Even if this particular shark hadn’t eaten Nadia, there was no way to prove that it hadn’t eaten other people.

  You can do this, she told herself. You’ve eaten worse. And in worse company.

  It would help if she could actually remember when, though.

  ‘So,’ Felix said, surprising everyone by joining the conversation, ‘what’s your target item and where is it?’

  ‘The item is a painting,’
Mr Nemo said. ‘It was created by the French painter Théodore Géricault – in 1819 in the world in question – and it’s titled The Raft of the Medusa.’

  Silence fell around the table. Irene noted absently that Ernst, Kai and Indigo had gone back to eating their shark liver, that Jerome was following her own tactic of burying it under rice, and Felix had never taken any in the first place.

  ‘You do know about the painting, I hope?’ Mr Nemo finally said. ‘It’s moderately famous.’

  ‘Overblown, oversized early Romanticism,’ Indigo said. ‘It passes all understanding why different qualities in colour, on a two-hundred-year-old piece of canvas, should be worth going to such trouble to obtain. When you can obtain exactly the same patterns of colour and shading on a computer image . . .’

  ‘Because the original is the original!’ Kai retorted, stung by artistic criticism, whereas personal insults would have left him cold. ‘How can you compare a mere machine-read copy to the actual brushstrokes laid down by the painter?’

  ‘Well, what I want is the original,’ Mr Nemo cut in. ‘To be more specific, I want the canvas, whole and entire. You can leave the frame behind if absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Where is it currently located?’ Kai asked.

  ‘By our standards, the world is fourth-by-reticulation and seventh-by-response, with double marking,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘Tina here knows the world and she’ll be organizing transport. Specifically, it’s in Vienna, in the Kunsthistorisches Museum. I know from your dossiers that most of you speak German.’

  ‘That’s usually one of the biggest museums in Vienna, if not the biggest,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘What time period are we looking at?’

  ‘Early twenty-first century, where there’s some sort of united Europe,’ Mr Nemo answered. ‘If I may continue?’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Irene murmured, retreating back to her rice. She had to remember that this wasn’t a typical Library mission – and that she wasn’t in charge of this team.