The Secret Chapter

by Genevieve Cogman

  ‘Assume a worst-case scenario.’ Irene turned back to Kai. ‘If Hao Chen’s in the area and might notice you messing with the Danube, what would it take to distract him?’

  ‘Being drugged?’ Kai suggested. ‘Knocked over the head? Or maybe some really intense emotions.’

  The smile that drifted over Jerome’s face was a thing of beauty. ‘I believe I can arrange some . . . strong emotions.’

  ‘In that case,’ Irene said, ‘we need to organize the division of labour – and agree on our timing.’

  She glanced around. Even Felix was listening. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t afford to lose their trust again. ‘Now, if I may make some suggestions . . .’

  ‘I think I’m suffering from Stendhal Syndrome,’ Irene murmured, looking around wide-eyed at the paintings. The syndrome wasn’t recognized by orthodox medicine, but it perfectly described her current art-inspired ecstasy. ‘This place is just . . .’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Kai agreed approvingly. ‘That veined black marble they’ve used for the pillars is perfect. And that central hall with the cupola and the marble stairs – beautiful use of light.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew so much about architecture.’

  ‘I’ve been reading the guidebook,’ Kai admitted.

  The two of them were making their way round the Kunsthistorisches Museum, in the role of a pair of besotted tourists. Irene had changed her appearance again and so far hadn’t set off any obvious alarms.

  When taking a photo, one could include all sorts of interesting details. Doorways, for instance, for later comparative height references. Inconspicuous background alarms throughout the building. Even The Raft of the Medusa itself.

  Irene had to admit it was a striking painting. Its portrayal of the survivors – and corpses – on the raft was painfully convincing – with the remains of the frigate Méduse in the background. The musculature on the bodies, both living and dying, seemed real enough to touch. Waves swept over the edges of the raft and rose through gaps between the planks. While the raft’s jury-rigged sail strained in the wind, the ocean surged in the background as storm clouds gathered overhead. A couple of desperate men waved ragged clothing towards a ship – barely visible as a dot on the horizon. Others – men and women alike – bowed their heads in despair, or knelt hopelessly beside the bodies of the dead.

  It was also enormous. It was one thing to read the measurements written down, but quite another to see the painting stretching nearly from floor to ceiling. This was not going to be easy. The Language was too unpredictable to risk using it to remove the painting from its frame without damaging it, unless Irene had a very definite understanding of what she was doing. And even if she were to free it and they rolled it up, it wouldn’t fit through any of the windows – ground floor or first floor – without entirely dismantling said window.

  There weren’t any significant collections of books in the museum, either. She wouldn’t be able to drag it into her own Library and then drag it out again later in a different world. Even if the Fae on the team had trusted her to walk off with it.

  ‘. . . not that there’s much of a French collection here anyhow,’ Kai said, interrupting her thoughts. They wove their way through the rooms – all interconnecting chambers of various sizes, no corridors. ‘It’s an astonishing display.’

  ‘It’s the result of the Habsburgs collecting such things for centuries,’ Irene noted. ‘I expect your uncles do the same. What was that line from the guidebook, about Rudolf II? “What the Emperor knows about, he has to have”?’

  ‘Sounds more like the Library to me,’ Kai said, with a straight face.

  Irene couldn’t help herself. She smiled. ‘Let’s go and talk strategy, before we visit the Prater.’

  Vienna had wonderful coffee houses. Unfortunately they all had security cameras, but surely it was only natural that two tourists should stop off for coffee after a morning at the Kunsthistorisches Museum?

  Irene dabbed away her whipped-cream moustache and cut into a slice of sachertorte. ‘We needed a chance to talk, away from the others,’ she said, her voice lost in the hum of other conversations.

  ‘I won’t claim I like anything about this job, but then I don’t have to like it,’ Kai replied. His expression was guarded.

  ‘But if I apologize for getting you into this, you’ll just remind me you chose to come. Am I right?’

  Kai’s mouth quirked a little. ‘You are. And I have my reasons for coming.’

  ‘Really?’ Irene stole a fragment of his apple strudel. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Oh, building bonds with the Fae, given that we have a truce with them now. Gaining future favours. That sort of thing. And if you eat my apple strudel, madam, I’ll devour your sachertorte.’

  ‘You’d better not say that in front of our new colleagues,’ Irene said primly. ‘They might get entirely the wrong idea.’ As he choked on his coffee, she went on, ‘What do you make of them – our colleagues?’

  Kai frowned. ‘Tina’s the one person on the team we can’t afford to lose, as she’s the only one who can find her way back to Mr Nemo’s hideout. Either Mr Nemo really trusts her – or he has some sort of hold over her.’

  ‘What about Ernst?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s as simple as he pretends to be.’

  Irene nodded. ‘Yes. At least part of that big ox routine is an act. What about Felix?’

  ‘He’s probably the best-equipped of this whole team for the job we’re undertaking,’ Kai said slowly. ‘He’s a thief to his bones. At the same time I have the impression he’s the least interested in working with the rest of us. And I don’t think he likes you at all.’

  ‘Apparently a Librarian thwarted him in the past, and he holds a grudge,’ Irene said. ‘Who knows if it’s justified? I also think Felix was expecting to be in charge.’

  ‘Tina asked about Felix’s own team. I wonder what’s going on there.’

  ‘Interesting question.’ Irene doodled with her fork in the remains of her sachertorte. ‘So why did Felix accept this job and why was he hired? This is a Fae master thief who’s failed on at least one job in the past, who’s no longer working with his usual crew, and who’s taking a commission – not stealing for his own pleasure. It doesn’t feel right . . . I wish I knew why.’

  ‘He’ll be after something,’ Kai said, accurately but unhelpfully.

  ‘And what about Indigo?’

  ‘She’s bad news,’ Kai said, his good mood gone. His tone discouraged further discussion.

  ‘Morally or politically?’ Irene didn’t want to pry, but the situation was too dangerous for her to remain ignorant. Plus, against her better nature – which mostly existed because of her school’s lessons in morality – she was curious.

  ‘Both.’

  ‘What, does she eat baby seals or something?’

  ‘There’s no point in being offended about eating baby seals, when there are worlds where there are so many seals that it’s positive population control.’

  ‘I appreciate you don’t want to talk about this, but I’m going to keep asking.’ If the Library’s reputation, or a world’s safety depended on exactly what Indigo had done or might do, then sensitivity would have to wait.

  There was a pause while conversations went on around them. Yet it was all hushed. Even the most innocent speeches were delivered in the knowledge that someone might be listening, that a camera could be watching, and that a potential accusation was only a moment away.

  Finally Kai said, ‘If I tell you some of it, you mustn’t share it with the others. You can tell the Library if you absolutely have to, but not Fae.’

  ‘I can promise that,’ Irene agreed.

  ‘Indigo outright rebelled against both my father and her mother.’ The disgust in Kai’s words was palpable. ‘She raised public dissent against my father’s rule, Irene. She tried to persuade other dragons to join her. She claimed our monarchs had covered up matters which fundamentally undermined their ri
ght to govern. That they were dictators, and she had no intention of being their slave for the rest of her life. When she couldn’t get support, she fled. And there was something worse . . . but it was so bad that even I don’t know what it was, and I’m my father’s son. Whatever she did, that knowledge was placed under seal at the highest levels. I can’t tell you more than that, but you must believe me, Irene. Don’t trust her. She may be my own sister, but I’d believe a Fae before her.’

  Irene felt a surprising ache of pity for Indigo. Imprisoned, co-opted into working for Mr Nemo . . . and completely disowned by her family. She knew dragon culture worked differently – to them, honour, lawfulness and fealty were familial love – but even so, it must be painful to be cut adrift from everything she’d known. Irene couldn’t count the times she and her parents had disagreed, occasionally to the point of barely withheld rage, but she’d never once questioned her parents’ love for her.

  Yet she still nodded slowly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate the warning. In fact, going with the not trusting anyone thought, I’d like to share this idea about what we should do if things go badly wrong . . .’

  Outside, the clouds had drawn in. Inside the cafe, the ubiquitous surveillance camera continued to watch over the citizens of Vienna.

  The Casino Nonpareil was located in a large and gracious building about the same age as the Kunsthistorisches Museum. It was the sort of place one had to be in the know to find – and have the money to be allowed in.

  Inside, the rooms were segregated by game. There was a Roulette Room, a Poker Room, and others which Irene hadn’t had the chance to investigate. They were currently in the Baccarat Room, which might once have been a ballroom. There were chandeliers still hanging from the ceiling, but now they overlooked a dozen or more card tables. Further signs of modernization were dotted around inconspicuously: a fire alarm, sprinklers, more security cameras . . . A sign near the door of the room stated: In the event of a CENSOR raid, all games will be considered null and all stakes returned to their original owners. It was repeated in several languages, presumably so no gambler present could claim ignorance.

  ‘The fact that they bother to have that sign there at all, suggests an unfortunate frequency of CENSOR raids,’ Irene said softly. She’d changed her appearance again – chestnut hair dye, a different hairstyle, make-up suitable for a rich gambler’s arm candy, and a little black dress. The operative word was little, and it only just covered the Library brand on her back. She was ready to give an ‘all systems go’ text to Kai, as soon as Hao Chen was here and suitably distracted.

  Jerome followed her glance. ‘Oh, they have that sign in all the serious casinos in town,’ he said. ‘Get me another whiskey sour, will you, sweetheart?’

  ‘Of course, honey,’ Irene answered, dimpling, and headed towards the bar.

  Jerome was accompanying her here. Kai, Ernst and Tina had been assigned to the river job, to insert the technology Indigo had given them. Meanwhile, Felix was on the move, watching for signs of CENSOR alerts. Indigo herself was back at their base, ready to activate the interrupts remotely.

  Irene’s nerves twisted themselves into knots as she waited to collect Jerome’s drink, sweeping a casual glance across the room. None of this would be worthwhile if Hao Chen didn’t turn up. It was past midnight now. If he wasn’t here by four in the morning, they’d have to go ahead with the plan anyway – trusting to luck that neither he nor any other nearby dragons noticed Kai meddling with the river. Jerome was enjoying himself, playing endless games of baccarat. But Irene . . .

  Irene was deeply worried. If Mr Nemo was wrong, and this world was claimed by a particular dragon as his territory – for example, this Hao Chen – then she was about to be put in an impossible position. She couldn’t risk being caught stealing from a dragon – and if this world was his, anything on it would be considered his too. She would therefore be breaking one of the major stipulations of the treaty. The ‘no thefts from signatories’ clause might have been primarily intended to refer to books, but any dragon or Fae would apply it to any or all of their property. And if she couldn’t steal the painting, she wouldn’t get the book. The world she’d known and cared about would slide into chaos . . .

  If only she could slip back to the Library to check. But she’d almost lost her life, as well as the team’s trust, last time.

  She made her way back to Jerome, and slipped the drink into his hand with an affected giggle. They’d discussed what sort of role she should assume. Jerome had ruled out professional gambler the moment he saw her handle a deck of cards. Irene had rejected bodyguard on the grounds that she preferred to be underestimated. So that left ‘companion’ – which also gave her an excuse for murmuring in his ear.

  ‘More people are arriving,’ she whispered. ‘Are these the serious players finally turning up?’

  Jerome nodded. ‘It’s like a party. The big names won’t arrive too early.’

  The people drifting into the Baccarat Room didn’t necessarily look fashionable or expensive, though they had all donned evening wear. The occasional piece of heavy gold jewellery or Rolex suggested money, but that didn’t tell her whether the gambler was skilled or just well-off.

  She scanned the room, looking for any sign of a dragon in human form – or even said dragon’s minions. A question from earlier was teasing at her. ‘By the way – what did Tina mean, when she said Felix had people he worked with?’

  Jerome shrugged. ‘It’s no secret. He’s always been the sort of thief who has . . . associates.’

  Irene could think of several fictional tropes that might apply to this archetype. ‘Was he the master of countless devoted minion thieves? Or the acknowledged leader of a friendly group, with expertise in different areas?’

  ‘Ah, you know the sort of thing. It was the second option. Half the time they were feuding, and the rest of the time they were pulling off heists.’

  Irene swirled the soda in her own glass. She wasn’t touching alcohol under these circumstances. ‘If they were that good, why didn’t Mr Nemo hire them?’

  ‘Things went wrong,’ Jerome said. The room’s chandeliers trembled under the impetus of some distant traffic, and for a moment the shifting lights made his expression seem actually sympathetic. ‘He messed up. Then he messed up again. A man in his position can’t afford to make mistakes. You know how things work, with me and my kind: once we start slipping from what we are, who we are, it all goes wrong. His crew sort of . . . drifted away.’

  Irene remembered Felix’s very personal animosity towards her. If one of her fellow-Librarians had interfered with a theft and caused him to lose touch with his archetype in the process, she could understand why he was bitter. ‘I see,’ she murmured. ‘And yet Mr Nemo still hired him.’

  ‘Felix will do anything to get his reputation back.’ This time there was clear warning in Jerome’s eyes. ‘Don’t foul up here, Carla –’ her pseudonym for the evening – ‘and don’t get in his way.’

  A stir by the doorway broke the tension. Irene’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a profile she recognized. It really was impossible to mistake a dragon for a normal human, once you’d met one, however much they tried to dress down. Hao Chen had scarcely bothered to hide what he was. His dinner suit was nicely cut, but his presence was unmistakeable. His black hair was swept back in loose waves that tumbled over his shoulders, and his eyes were the same deep blue as Kai’s. A set of silver rings pierced his left earlobe, running from bottom to top – and the seal ring on his right forefinger was also heavy silver. He didn’t have an entourage, unlike many of the other gamblers present, but he smiled and greeted people graciously as he passed.

  ‘The croupier said that he usually plays at table two,’ Jerome said softly. ‘Give it a moment and we’ll drift over. This may go better than I’d thought.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Because, Carla sweetheart, you Librarians don’t know everything.’ Jerome was positively grinning now. He finished his drink and passed h
er the empty glass. ‘Get rid of this, get me another, and we’ll stroll.’

  Hao Chen gave Jerome a pleasant smile as the Fae approached. His eyes slid over Irene, but not quite in a dragon’s usual judgement of human, therefore unimportant – there was something more nuanced to it. ‘I don’t think we’ve met?’ he enquired, his German perfect.

  ‘Afraid not,’ Jerome said, and offered his hand to shake. ‘But I wouldn’t be surprised if we met again. You look like a gentleman who likes to play baccarat at odds of forty to one.’

  Hao Chen paused for half a second before taking Jerome’s hand. His smile widened to match Jerome’s own. ‘What a delightful surprise. You know, it’s been simply ages since I had the chance to match myself against a proper player.’ He glanced back at Irene. ‘I don’t suppose your friend . . .’

  Jerome patted Irene’s rear possessively. She controlled her first reaction – to stab her high heel through his shoe – and lowered her eyelashes. ‘Oh no, honey,’ she said. ‘I’m just here to hold Mr Town’s drinks for him while he’s playing. And his winnings, of course.’ She even managed another breathy giggle.

  Hao Chen nodded and turned back to Jerome. He had clearly written her off as irrelevant. ‘So, any preferences?’

  ‘Chemin de fer or Macao,’ Jerome replied. ‘More interesting than Punto Banco.’

  ‘Macao,’ Hao Chen said without hesitation. ‘Just the two of us, I take it?’

  ‘For the moment, at least.’ The two men were staring at each other like duellists about to draw blades. The rest of the casino might as well have not existed.

  ‘Good enough.’ Hao Chen looked at the glass in his hand as though he’d forgotten its existence. ‘Let me get some chips. Are you provided for?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jerome said. He tapped the side of the bulging handbag hooked over Irene’s elbow. ‘But I let Carla here carry them. Wouldn’t want to spoil the line of my suit.’

  Hao Chen flashed his smile again and moved towards the inconspicuous desk near the door where a cashier sat.