The Invisible Library

by Cogman, Genevieve

  Part of Irene’s mind was surprised at Kai’s sudden elegance of speech. He’d shifted again into that extreme formality which she’d noted earlier. And while she could manage such linguistic shifts easily enough from experience in various alternates, she hadn’t thought that he’d be so capable. Stranger and stranger from a boy who claimed to be from a cybered-up alternate, where he was a petty criminal. She very much wanted to talk to Coppelia about this. The other part of her mind wondered why he’d dubbed her ‘Winters’ and what the cultural reference might be.

  She watched their guest from under her eyelashes. He had relaxed a little now, and was leaning back in his chair. He was a very aquiline physical type, with a well-defined nose, deep-set shadowy eyes, high cheekbones and long delicate fingers. The perfect example of a lead protagonist in certain types of detective fiction. In fact, she wondered if . . .

  ‘Very well,’ the stranger said. ‘Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Peregrine Vale, fifteenth Earl of Leeds.’

  Kai gave a little nod. ‘Kay Strongrock, at your service. Might I ask the nature of your business?’

  The waiter cleared away the soup course and brought the main meal for Irene and Kai. He also brought a spare glass for the visitor, filling it unbidden, before retreating again. The intrusion allowed Irene to bite her lip and refrain from kicking Kai under the table, as she’d just managed to work out where he was getting his pseudonyms from. Strongrock – Rochefort. Winters – De Winter. She would have to explain to him why it was a bad idea to pull pseudonyms from literary sources. If the other person had read the book, it gave them far too much information. They’d start looking around for three possible Musketeers or mysterious Richelieu-like manipulators behind the scenes.

  Even though she had to admit that being compared to Milady de Winter had its flattering side.

  ‘I observed you this afternoon, Mr Strongrock,’ the Earl of Leeds stated. ‘You were outside the Liechtenstein Embassy. You arrived while they were unloading their zeppelins. You watched the newspaper reporters and then questioned them afterwards.’

  ‘Your Lordship seems to have paid a great deal of attention to my movements,’ Kai said. There was an undertone of threat to his voice.

  The Earl of Leeds tilted his hand. ‘Call me Vale, please. After all, this is a purely private meeting, in a very unofficial capacity.’

  Kai raised an eyebrow, and sliced into his steak. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Vale said. He smiled a little.

  And it was at that moment that Irene remembered where she’d seen his face before. She’d picked up some newspapers earlier, to get a quick impression of the current political and temporal dynamics. Vale had been on the third page of one; shot half in profile, with him half turned away, clearly unwilling to have the photograph taken. The caption had been NOTED DETECTIVE CONSULTS WITH BRITISH MUSEUM.

  Irene continued to eat, thinking furiously. If their companion was indeed a noted detective, investigating the Liechtenstein Embassy and working with the British Museum – they were either unexpectedly lucky, or in very serious trouble.

  ‘So,’ Kai said. ‘Leaving aside that I saw no sign of your following me . . .’

  ‘That,’ Vale said smoothly, ‘is what you may expect to see when I am following you.’

  Kai choked slightly on his wine. ‘Pardon me. But then, sir, why were you following me? What was so interesting about my activities?’

  Vale’s smile narrowed even further. ‘Why, Mr Strongrock, the fact that they mirrored my own. I suspect that we are investigating the same matter. To be frank, sir, if we are both chasing the same hare, I would rather that you did not start it and cause us both to lose it.’

  Kai darted Irene a glance. Clear as daylight, she read a desperate plea for help in his eyes. ‘Mm,’ he said meditatively.

  Irene gasped. It was probably a little theatrical, but, she hoped, not too much so. ‘Mr Strongrock! Our investigation is strictly private! Even if His Lord— that is, even if Mr Vale is a famous private detective, we could be looking into entirely different matters!’

  She hoped that conveyed the message of we need more information thoroughly enough.

  Kai patted her on the hand soothingly. ‘My associate has a point, Mr Vale,’ he said. ‘We are operating under conditions of strict confidentiality.’

  ‘As am I, sir,’ Vale said with equanimity, not seeming at all put off. ‘Whatever minor assumptions I might make about you are simply the result of anything you may have revealed to me yourselves, rather than from any investigations on my part.’

  Kai raised his eyebrows. ‘But we have revealed nothing to you,’ he said, a moment before Irene could kick his ankle.

  ‘Forgive me when I say that it is obvious that you are strangers to London,’ Vale said. He turned his glass in his hand, regarding it with a dry smugness. ‘I am not speaking merely of Mr Strongrock’s need to check the street signs when leaving the Liechtenstein Embassy. Neither of you have the accent of native Londoners, and to be truthful, I cannot place either of you within the British Isles.’ He frowned a little. ‘Which is unusual. Miss Winters might perhaps have a trace of Germanic brutality to her verbs – possibly the result of a governess or boarding school at an impressionable age? Mr Strongrock, on the other hand, has the accent and the bearing characteristic of certain noble families of Shanghai. While neither of these in themselves is that unusual in London, both of you are dressed in a manner that suggests a hasty choice of clothing from a second-rate supplier. Miss Winters’s gloves, for instance.’

  Irene glanced down at her gloves, which lay next to her table setting, unable to resist the impulse. She knew that they clashed with her dress, but there hadn’t been much of a choice in the shop.

  ‘Precisely,’ Vale said. ‘A woman as carefully turned out as Miss Winters would not commit such an elementary error in dress. Similarly, Mr Strongrock’s shoes – ’ Kai shuffled his feet further under his chair – ‘were clearly worn before him by a man with the habit of kicking the right side of his forefoot against his chair, but Mr Strongrock himself does not do so. And if the two of you had been in London for a while now, and making enquiries about Lord Wyndham and the Liechtenstein Embassy, then I assure you that I would have known about it.’

  Kai opened his mouth, and Irene realized that he was about to say something like how did you know I asked about Lord Wyndham? Apparently he had never been taught the first defence in the science of provocative questioning: Keep Your Mouth Shut. This time she did manage to kick him under the table. He shut his mouth again.

  ‘Mm,’ Vale said, apparently satisfied. ‘A sharing of information could be quite useful. But on the other hand, as Miss Winters has said, we could be looking into entirely different matters. I believe we have come to the point where we decide whether or not to trust one another.’

  ‘So it seems,’ Kai said, making a recovery. ‘Some more wine?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Vale said, extending his glass to be filled.

  There was silence for a few minutes. Irene turned over various strategies in her mind. Unfortunately, most of them involved Vale briefly leaving the table so that she could talk urgently with Kai, and this seemed unlikely to happen. She was simultaneously impressed by the man’s skills of observation, and significantly worried by them. This sort of intellect was splendid in fictional characters, but in practice it risked making their task a great deal more awkward.

  Fortunately, the situation was interrupted by screams and loud grinding noises from the street. Diners dropped their knives and forks to turn towards the doorway. A couple of men leaped to their feet, wineglasses still in their hands.

  Kai managed an infinitesimal blink at Irene, then turned to Vale. ‘Do you think we should investigate, sir?’

  ‘Of course!’ Vale exclaimed, rising. He picked up his swordstick, balancing it casually in his left hand. ‘Madam, kindly stay here. Mr Strongrock, if you would accompany me – ’ He strode towards the door.

  ‘What d
o I do?’ Kai hissed at Irene.

  ‘Stay with him,’ Irene whispered. ‘I’ll hold back. Find out what’s going on. Be careful, he’s a detective.’

  ‘I’d worked that bit out,’ Kai muttered. But he displayed a wild enthusiasm as he raced after Vale, an eagerness for action.

  Irene glanced around as the two men raced off. Nobody creeping out of the shadows to try to abduct her while their attention was elsewhere. Good. She picked up her bag and walked after them.

  The restaurant’s reception area had large glass windows which provided a convenient view of the street outside. The place was in total chaos. A giant mechanical centipede – well, some sort of segmented insect with multiple legs, Irene was hardly going to stand there and count them all – was wreaking havoc in the narrow alleyway outside. She spotted a badly damaged cart and several broken windows. There was barely room for it to navigate, let alone turn around, and it was dancing a few steps forward and then a few steps back as its front feelers seemed to quest for something or someone. Oil oozed from its crevices, while steam puffed from its head-segment and mingled with the ambient fog. She noticed that a couple of people had already been hurt and bystanders were screaming and running in all directions. Then of course pausing, at a theoretically safe distance, to watch what it did next.

  Kai and Vale were standing in the doorway, assessing it. At least, Vale looked as if he was assessing it. Kai just looked stunned.

  ‘How the hell did that thing get through the streets?’ Kai asked.

  Vale sniffed. ‘It probably came up from the sewers. The recent renovation programme has been a godsend to criminals across London.’

  ‘Vale!’ The creature’s echoing voice boomed down the street. ‘Prepare to face your doom!’

  ‘Ah,’ Vale said cheerfully, ‘it’s for me.’

  Kai looked hurt. ‘It might have got us confused,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it’s for me.’

  ‘No, no, I assure you it’s for me,’ Vale said. ‘But would you mind watching the rear end while I distract the front? Sometimes they have high-emission scintillotherms located there.’

  ‘Of course,’ Kai said. ‘Not a problem.’

  Irene leaned against the wall and tried not to sigh. Perhaps Vale was an ethical person, if his enemy was happy to risk innocent lives to hunt him down. Assuming that he hadn’t staged the entire thing of course – but it was also just one more distraction. How on earth was she supposed to manage an investigation with these constant interruptions?

  The two men ran out into the street: Vale to the right, towards the creature’s head, and Kai to the left, towards its rear. Irene debated which one to follow. Kai was under her protection, but following Vale could be far more informative.

  The question was settled for her as the centipede threw itself into rapid reverse, metal claws scraping on the pavement as it danced backwards. Its head came into view: a monstrous steel model of mandibles and huge faceted glass eyes, large enough for a man to sit in, with steam jetting out in thick squealing bursts on either side. Vale stood before it, his sword unsheathed from its cane and blazing with electricity. Each time that the centipede lowered its head to try to bite at him, he parried, and sparks flew to sizzle against pavement and walls.

  With a dazzling burst of speed, he darted forward between the gnashing mandibles, and leapt up onto the main part of the centipede’s head, balancing there for a moment. He raised his blade, and brought it down into one of the creature’s eyes.

  Electricity blazed up in a great sparking column. The centipede gave a hissing scream, and thrashed all along its length, one segment jolting into the next, with steam gushing out from all the apertures. A hatch dropped open beneath the creature, and a man in a greasy black boiler suit came rolling out of it, coughing and spitting.

  Vale leapt down from the head, landing in a billow of coat-tails. He pointed his sword at the man. ‘Talk, sir, or—’

  At that point Irene’s attention was distracted by someone attempting to tug her bag out from under her arm. She turned to see one of the waiters – no, it wasn’t one of the waiters. It was a man in evening dress, with a napkin hastily thrown over one arm, posing as a waiter. His watch was far too expensive to be a waiter’s, his grey moustache too well groomed. And his right hand, she noted in the clarity of the moment, had thin electrical burnlines running from knuckles to wrist.

  He tugged again. Irene released the bag, keeping hold of the strap, letting him tug at it. She dropped into a semi-squat, balancing on her left heel, then brought her right leg out in a straight wide pivot. It caught him off-balance and he fell to the ground with a curse.

  She straightened again smoothly, pulling her bag back against her body, and picked up one of the flimsy restaurant chairs. It was of dubious quality and, as her antagonist tried to get up, it broke very thoroughly when it slammed into his body.

  He staggered back. She picked up another chair.

  Outside there were more explosions. Inside, people were gasping and pointing at her and the pseudo-waiter.

  Irene tried to decide whether it was more important to maintain her cover as a helplessly feminine secretary, or to beat the bag-snatcher over the head with the chair and take him prisoner. After all, he wasn’t definitely involved with any larger conspiracies, and might simply be a petty thief . . .

  . . . the hell with it. She brought the chair down on his head, and he went backwards like a sack of potatoes.

  She dropped the remnants of the chair, and put her free hand to her chest, hyperventilating. ‘I – ’ she gasped. ‘I come here on holiday, and this man, this thief tries to snatch my bag, and nobody tries to help me. Not a single person comes to a helpless woman’s defence . . .’

  ‘My dear Miss Winters, I am so sorry.’ Vale had stepped back into the restaurant, sheathing his sword. ‘I do regret that you should have suffered assault at the hands of some hooligan—’

  He looked at the face of the prostrate man, and blinked. ‘Do I understand that this man assaulted you?’

  ‘He attempted to snatch my bag,’ Irene said, sniffling a little. ‘I – I simply reacted on instinct – ’

  ‘You.’ Vale snapped his fingers, and two of the waiters responded. ‘Have this man taken to the nearest prison at once.’

  It’s good to be an Earl and a noted detective, Irene reminded herself, a little wistfully.

  Kai walked into the restaurant, brushing ashes and powder off his jacket. ‘Well, that seems to be— Irene! That is, Miss Winters! What happened?’ He glanced warily from Irene to Vale, and back to Irene again, clearly wondering if the whole thing had been some sort of diversion.

  Irene pointed a finger at the man being dragged off by the waiters. ‘That person attempted to grab my bag. I resisted.’

  ‘I suggest we return to our table at once,’ Vale said, lowering his voice. ‘This merely confirms my suspicions.’

  Five minutes later, they were round the table again. The steak had gone cold, but the wine was still drinkable. The general buzz of conversation had resumed its former level. Irene was surprised at how quickly people seemed to have forgotten the centipede attack. It implied that such things were common, which wasn’t a comforting thought.

  ‘Forgive me my earlier discretion,’ Vale said. ‘And thank you for your assistance, Mr Strongrock. But this attack on Miss Winters only proves what I suspected.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Kai demanded, turning towards Vale. Irene had the impression that he was slightly miffed that she hadn’t asked about his valiant conduct vis-à-vis the centipede’s tail. She made a note to get the full details at some point – when a valuable contact wasn’t engaged in sharing useful information.

  ‘That your investigations into the Fair Folk have been noted.’ Vale leaned forward. ‘I observed your questions at the Embassy, Mr Strongrock. And now, a man whom I know to be a Fae agent tries to steal Miss Winters’s handbag. Am I wrong to suspect a link?’

  Kai threw Irene a frantic glance. She gave him a slight n
od.

  ‘You are not wrong, sir,’ Kai said firmly. ‘There is a link.’

  ‘I thought as much!’ Vale glanced between them. ‘In that case, we are investigating the same matter – though possibly from different directions. I too am concerned with the Fair Folk, Mr Strongrock. With the recent thefts of occult material. And with Belphegor.’

  ‘Belphegor?’ Irene gasped. ‘The mysterious cat burglar?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Vale’s brows drew together. ‘I have suspicions as to her identity. And what is more, I believe that all these things are connected. Even though you are both visitors to our city . . .’ He let the sentence trail away, as though expecting to be challenged on his deductions, then continued. ‘Even though you haven’t been here long, the newspapers have been blatant about the thefts. You can hardly open a paper without seeing a new headline. Let me be frank: is this what you are investigating?’

  Irene caught Kai’s eye, and gave him a very slight nod. She suspected that Vale would pick up on this, but she hoped that he’d interpret it as a suggestion rather than the order that it was.

  ‘You are correct,’ Kai said.

  ‘Then I suggest we combine forces. My card.’ He flipped out a silver card-case, selected a card from it, and slid it across the table to Kai. ‘Please call on me tomorrow morning, when we can talk more privately. Your associate is also welcome, of course.’ He gave Irene a dry nod, which made her wonder just how much he had guessed. ‘Thank you for your time and assistance.’

  Vale rose. Kai and Irene rose too. There was a quick confusion of bows and curtseys, followed by Vale striding off, the waiter hurrying after him with hat and cloak.

  Kai and Irene sat back down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kai said. ‘I didn’t see him following me earlier at all.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Irene said. ‘I suspect he’s rarely spotted. But I think he could be a very useful contact.’