The Secret Chapter

by Genevieve Cogman

  ‘That’s a rather mixed metaphor,’ Irene pointed out.

  ‘I didn’t spend my life studying metaphor. I occupied myself far more usefully.’ Indigo shrugged. ‘By the way . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You may be thinking that we dragons are curiously ignorant about our own roots. But how much do you know about the history of your own Library?’

  ‘Point taken,’ Irene admitted. ‘But do you think that a – well, an artistic impression like this – carries the same weight as a genuine historical record? You were the one who argued that a painting was no more than patterns of colour and shading on a piece of canvas.’

  ‘Unfortunately not everyone sees things my way. Fortunately, though, it’s those who don’t see things that way who will believe the story represented in this painting. As for artistic impression versus historical record . . . maybe I’ll never find out exactly what happened thousands of years ago. But this painting will show that it wasn’t the eternal peace of a glorious reign that they claim.’ She practically spat the pronoun, and her eyes glinted dragon-red. ‘That’s the only way we can trigger change. It is time for us to ask questions. It is time to demand answers.’

  ‘I’m not your audience,’ Irene said, before Indigo could go into a speech she’d obviously practised. ‘What I would like is to stay well out of this.’ Others might not care or believe that the painting represented dragon history in some way. But Indigo clearly thought dragons would, and that it would have a seismic effect on their society – and she should know. This painting was a bomb, and Irene wanted to be far away before it exploded.

  ‘I’m not stopping you from disappearing,’ Indigo said calmly. ‘Take your payment from Mr Nemo. Then go home.’

  It was a tempting offer. This wasn’t Library business. But there was one tiny problem . . . ‘And what happens when people start asking who stole this, once the painting’s exposed and it has the effect you’re anticipating?’

  ‘Ah.’ Indigo examined her fingernails. ‘Yes, I suppose it might be inconvenient for you, if I said a Librarian was involved. Some people might even trace the crime back to the Library itself. Collusion with the Fae, to get hold of an object which damaged the dragon monarchs’ reputations . . . I don’t really need to go into the possible consequences, do I?’

  Irene might have thought that Indigo was bluffing, but she knew the dragon wasn’t – and Indigo knew that Irene knew it. Even if the Library saved itself by claiming Irene had acted on her own and without permission (and it would), the smear would still cling. Fear and fury knotted together in Irene’s stomach, as she realized just how bad this could be. ‘You are gambling with the Library’s reputation, and even its survival,’ she said, her voice calm as ice. ‘You are making yourself a dangerous enemy.’

  Irene had to find a way to stop Indigo. This situation had blossomed out of nowhere and was getting worse by the minute. The recently forged peace was fragile and there were people on both sides who’d be glad to believe the worst of the Library. But Irene also had to bring the canvas back to Mr Nemo, or she’d lose the book that she so desperately needed. The world of her childhood was at stake. So threats to destroy the painting were off the table. Would the Library expect her to somehow silence the dragon, permanently? She winced at the thought. Finally there was Mr Nemo . . . how much did he know, and what was his real involvement – in charge, or Indigo’s partner in crime? Could he trigger the same rupturing of dragon society as Indigo’s crusade even if she wasn’t there to inspire it? Was it his goal too?

  ‘Good,’ Indigo said, unmoved by Irene’s implied threat. Maybe to a dragon, it was no more than the yapping of an angry puppy and she only needed to move her ankles out of the way. ‘You’re taking this seriously.’

  ‘I assure you that I’m taking it very seriously.’ Irene shifted her focus to practicalities. If she couldn’t dispose of the painting, she could perhaps immobilize Indigo, and then seek help from the Library – or even from her immediate ‘colleagues’. The Fae members of the gang would be on Irene’s side. While they might even welcome dragon revolution and/or regicide, she suspected they really wouldn’t like having been used as pawns. And they definitely wouldn’t like having targets painted on their backs, for their involvement in the theft. ‘I think the next stage in this dance is for you to state your demands.’

  ‘I don’t have any . . . yet.’ Indigo began moving towards her again, and Irene again retreated. If Indigo got her hands on her, Irene could forget saying anything in the Language besides argh. ‘I’m prepared to keep your involvement under wraps – if you do me a future favour. Or two.’

  ‘Or many,’ Irene noted. ‘That sort of agreement tends not to have a formal end date.’

  ‘You’d be a valuable asset . . . I wouldn’t waste you. That would be stupid.’

  Perhaps she was telling the truth, but being used at all didn’t sound exactly good for the asset. ‘How kind of you,’ Irene murmured.

  ‘You’re very well trained,’ Indigo said. It wasn’t a compliment. Coming from her, it was a simple statement of fact. ‘That school of yours, I suppose. Did they teach you to spy and pick locks there too?’

  Irene blinked in shock at this sudden reference to her old school. How could Indigo know about it? The only time she’d spoken freely about her past had been to Ernst just now, or . . . to Kai, on Mr Nemo’s island. When they would have been under surveillance. That was it. Indigo had been the picture of sullen resentment at that dinner, but she must have been getting a full briefing from Mr Nemo behind the scenes. This reference to it was just a demonstration of how much Indigo knew about Irene – to show how much power she held in the current situation.

  She couldn’t let Indigo see her feelings, so she simply shrugged. ‘Something along those lines.’ But her most important lessons had involved learning to trust other people, to cooperate with them, to accept that people who weren’t Librarians could deserve respect and fair treatment – whether they were humans, Fae, or dragons . . .

  Indigo looked a little disappointed that her jab hadn’t had any effect. ‘It’s a better offer than many other dragons would give you. Would you rather be my ally – or their slave?’

  ‘I hate to think how much surveillance video you have of us all planning the heist,’ Irene said instead of answering Indigo’s question, her heart clenching at the thought. This wasn’t just blackmail material against Irene and the Fae – it was blackmail material against Kai. ‘No wonder you wouldn’t let go of your attaché case.’

  For a moment Irene thought she saw irritation flicker in Indigo’s eyes. Perhaps she hadn’t expected Irene to think of that. ‘At least I didn’t leave anything on that world. Don’t fret about Lady Ciu and her servants. They can’t prove anything. They don’t even suspect Library involvement. Yet.’

  Just how strong am I? Irene wondered. Strong enough to kill her to shut her mouth? I’d rather not . . .

  But if she had to, the colder part of her knew she would.

  ‘I need an answer now,’ Indigo said. ‘A general expression of your willingness to cooperate with me will do.’

  ‘If I want to keep the Library’s involvement secret, I’ll have to fall in with your plans . . .’ Irene said, preparing for something she’d never attempted before. ‘And I’m forced to admit it. I can only say that you perceive that I am standing here and agreeing to your terms for the next five minutes.’

  The effort of using the Language manifested in a streak of pain across her temples and pulsed in her chest. She’d never tried the Language’s you perceive trick on a dragon before. They were creatures of order given form, so affecting them with the Language was like making water run uphill. Very, very difficult.

  But not impossible.

  She managed to step backwards, though her head ached as if it was going to split. Indigo kept looking at where she’d been standing – and, more to the point, didn’t indicate she’d noticed Irene sidling towards the door. The smile on her face suggested her
imagination was supplying all the details she could possibly want of Irene’s capitulation. But when it wore off . . .

  Irene stepped outside into the bitingly cold wind. Priorities. Destroy Indigo’s attaché case and her computers. They hadn’t visited anywhere where Indigo could upload her information, yet. Find Kai. Somehow rally the Fae to her side – and make sure that Indigo didn’t have any leverage left. And all within five minutes.

  Ernst was inside the diner’s main room, nursing a mug of black coffee. He blinked in surprise. ‘Is all well?’

  ‘A few minor hitches,’ Irene said. ‘There’s something we all need to discuss. But first, have you seen where Indigo left her attaché case?’

  Ernst nodded glumly, and put down his coffee, gesturing behind him. ‘Always things must get complicated. I was afraid of this. The case is behind the counter.’

  Irene nodded in thanks. The sooner she fried everything in the case, the happier she’d feel.

  ‘Irene?’ Ernst said.

  ‘Yes?’

  His fist took her in the stomach, knocking the air out of her before she could say anything. Another blow on the back of the neck sent her spinning down into unconsciousness.

  But she thought, as darkness closed round her, that she heard the word sorry.

  Irene woke up to a surge of self-condemnation.

  Worse still, she was wearing a bikini. And high heels.

  She tried to assess her surroundings with her eyes closed, something which seemed annoyingly familiar, pushing aside the urge to scream and throw things. The most worrying aspect – of many – was the weight she could feel against her throat. There was some sort of collar around her neck. It was difficult to think of any possible circumstances under which this could be a good thing.

  Other than that . . . wherever she was, it was quiet, though in the background she thought she could hear the faint buzz of air conditioning. The air smelled of disinfectant and she was lying on something padded, but it didn’t feel soft enough to be a bed or mattress. The quality of the light, through her closed eyelids, suggested a fluorescent light overhead.

  Deciding she had more to gain if she looked around, she opened her eyes and slowly sat up. She was in a padded cell. No bed. No furniture. A fluorescent strip stretched across the ceiling, out of her reach. The door too was padded, on the inside, and there was a spy-hole in it – which, given her luck, probably allowed a full view of the whole room. No convenient standing out of view and then jumping the guard when they entered. Damn.

  A panel in the wall – also padded, of course – slid back to reveal a television screen. Well, that answered the question of where she was. As if she hadn’t suspected.

  Mr Nemo appeared. He was sitting behind a heavy ebony desk with a pile of brochures stacked on it. Behind him, a window looked out onto the depths of the ocean. An octopus flexed its tentacles as it glided through the water with the slowness of a ballerina. It was far too symbolic for Irene’s tastes.

  ‘Miss Winters!’ Mr Nemo said cheerfully. ‘How pleasant to see you up and around. Please don’t try to say anything: that collar around your neck will give you an electric shock if you do. And that includes speech in your Language.’

  Irene raised her fingers to explore the collar. Unfortunately the television screen didn’t allow her to see her reflection. She could feel the smooth links of metal round her neck, like an oversized watchstrap; a more complicated disc was lying at the hollow of her throat.

  It could all be an intricate and hilarious bluff. Or then again . . . his claims might be true.

  Mr Nemo seemed to take her silence as acceptance, although her options for responding were limited. ‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing there. Well, I assure you that it won’t be for long. I’m in the middle of organizing a highly exclusive auction. Fae nobility, dragon monarchs – I did think of sending a catalogue to the Library, but they might have felt obligated to interfere. And since I’m not signed up to your peace treaty, I can do precisely what I like. The next few days are going to be very interesting. Naturally I can’t have anyone coming here or meeting me personally, despite this auction being particularly important, but there are ways round that.’

  Irene pulled herself to her feet. She sketched out a large rectangle, and mouthed, The painting?

  ‘Precisely! And a few other bits and pieces too. It seems a shame not to take advantage of the occasion.’ He tilted his head to one side, beads of sweat glistening in the wrinkles of his face. ‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re in a high-security prison . . .’

  Irene made an exaggerated go on gesture with one hand.

  ‘My little auction may have some consequences.’ He shrugged, the picture of a man saddened by all the dreadful things which could happen. ‘I’m not a signatory to this treaty of yours, so I have no constraints on my behaviour. But you might feel that you should do something anyway, even without input from your superiors. So I’m temporarily removing you from the situation. Think of it as a summer holiday, Miss Winters! A little vacation from responsibility.’

  Irene began to say something, but as the first word escaped her lips the collar round her neck tightened, and an electric shock jangled painfully through her body. She found herself on her knees, fingers trying to prise the collar off, gasping for breath. All right. Not a bluff. One part of her mind was taking cold mental notes, even as tears rolled down her cheeks. It’d stop me managing more than a word . . . but could that be enough?

  ‘I really hoped that wouldn’t be necessary,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘Please try to relax, Miss Winters. You shouldn’t have to stay here for more than a day or two. I’m sure you’re worried about Prince Kai too, but he’s in perfectly good health – although under similar conditions. You’ll both be under constant surveillance, of course. My camera network stretches island-wide. Even if you could leave your room, there is absolutely nowhere you could go where I couldn’t find you.’

  Irene noted that Mr Nemo had slipped into full-on gloating. But every Fae archetype, including master criminals, had its weaknesses as well as strengths. Keeping enemies captive in the middle of a secret base wasn’t a good move, for a start. Resorting to American Sign Language, for want of any better ideas, she signed, What about your promise to us?

  He cupped his chin in his hands thoughtfully. ‘You’re probably asking me about payment for the picture. Very unfortunately, I can’t understand a word you’re signing. But don’t worry, Miss Winters, I always keep my bargains. As soon as you present yourself to me and ask for it – in some manner that I can understand – I’ll be glad to hand it over and let you go. But –’ he waved his fingers in her direction – ‘ta-ta for now, my dear.’

  The television screen went dead, and the panel began to slide across it again. But Irene was already moving. Her first priority was getting something sharp. She lashed out at the television screen with one foot, heel braced. There had to be some point (no pun intended) to the ridiculous high heels she was wearing.

  The heel punched squarely into the glass screen, sending a spider web of fractures racing across its surface. The panel was still trying to close, blocked by Irene’s foot, and fortunately safety systems stopped it from attempting amputation. Balancing on one leg, Irene tugged off her right shoe, then dragged it out of the ruined screen, detaching some fragments of glass in the process. A couple of small shards fell to the floor as the panel finally closed.

  Irene set her teeth, so as not to make any noise that might trigger the collar, and used one razor-sharp shard to slice into her forearm. Using her finger as a stylus and her blood as ink, she managed to scrawl a single word in the Language on her collar: Deactivate. Of course there would be cameras watching, but she should still have a few seconds. Kicking off the remaining heel, she tensed and addressed the door: ‘Unlock and open.’

  To her relief, she remained unshocked as the door swung open.

  Now she had one last trick to play. The camera watching her would be linked to a
ll the rest of them. Symbolic links, physical links, the Language was good with links. If even one camera was watching and listening to her right now . . .

  She took a deep breath, braced herself, and spoke clearly. ‘Surveillance devices in my presence, and all surveillance devices linked to them, malfunction!’

  The Language worked easily in high-chaos worlds – in a way, it worked too well, fulfilling its user’s wishes to an almost over-enthusiastic degree. Unfortunately, it then demanded a price. The shard of glass fell from Irene’s hand as she swayed, and she had to prop herself up against the wall to stay upright. Blood trickled from her nose, and she blotted it with the back of her hand. She’d managed exotic things in high-chaos environments before – exploding a boat, warping a staircase, freezing a canal – but she hadn’t tried to mess with anything as widespread as a whole hidden island’s surveillance network. She shut her eyes for a moment as afterglow-images tracked across her vision. But if her command had taken so much energy, then it must have done something. In the absence of any signs of success – the cameras were hidden, after all – she could only trust that her splitting headache meant she’d succeeded.

  More blood trickled down her arm as she staggered down the corridor, her pace speeding up as her sense of urgency grew. Must find bandage, she thought. She wasn’t desperate enough to use her bikini yet. And watch out for pools of sharks or piranhas. This was a spartan, behind-the-scenes sort of place, unlike the more visited parts of Mr Nemo’s lair. Each new hallway looked just as interchangeably grey as the next. If it had been a film set, one corridor could have represented the entire complex. She could imagine James Bond protagonists being chased through here by the villain of the moment, heading for disaster. She just hoped she was on the winning side of that particular Fae archetype.