The Invisible Library

by Cogman, Genevieve

  Irene abruptly wanted to be sick. She’d maintained some control during werewolf attacks, zeppelin near-crashes and silverfish fatalities, but this was different. Questioned him. Assumed his skin. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? The first time?’

  He understood her question, ill-formed as it was. ‘Oh yes. I was the one who met you and your student when you first came through. To be honest, you’ve been rather a surprise to me.’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ Irene said primly, counting seconds in her head.

  Something else was clearly ticking over behind Alberich’s eyes too. ‘If you’d found the book in the Natural History Museum, you could have gone straight back to the Library by forcing a portal elsewhere. You wouldn’t have needed to come here. And you’ve admitted Wyndham knew that Aubrey was a Librarian. Answer me, Ray. Did Wyndham send the book to Aubrey?’

  ‘Yes,’ Irene said. The word came grating from her mouth in response to his question and his use of her name before she could waltz around the subject any further.

  A high colour showed on Alberich’s cheeks. It must be some sort of anger-reaction transmuted by the skin he was wearing. ‘Are you telling me that the book came here?’

  Irene could feel the response dragging at her throat, trying to say itself. Vale’s eyes met hers for a moment, as she weighed the benefit of distracting Alberich further against the risk of his cutting Vale’s throat if he lost his temper. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, giving in and letting the word out, before Alberich felt the need to make good on his threats.

  ‘And it’s the book on the desk?’

  Irene opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. The word dragged itself from her lips. ‘Yes.’

  Alberich exploded. ‘You pitiful little idiot! Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve had to put in here over the last few days?’ He was shrieking like a harridan, and though the knife at Vale’s throat was steady, his face was wrong – his mouth open a little too wide, his eyes staring furiously, spittle spraying the side of Vale’s face. ‘I shift skins twice. I take my attention away from very important projects. And because you have been running around hiding this book, my efforts have been wasted. Do you think that’s funny, Ray? Do you?’

  The room began to shift and crawl around him. The papers on the desk ran into liquid and dripped away, running down to splash against the floor. Dead silverfish dissolved into vapour that blew outwards in widening curls, as though Alberich and Vale stood at the centre of a whirlwind. The panes of glass in the display cases began to vibrate, thrumming as if someone was singing at an impossibly high pitch. And now Irene could feel it pulsing at the back of her skull, humming in her ears. ‘Stop it!’ she cried out.

  ‘No,’ Alberich said. He smiled at her, abruptly calm. ‘No, it isn’t funny. I’ll take that book. You will give it to me.’

  ‘Or you’ll cut your hostage’s throat?’ Irene said. She was still shaken from the sudden flux. Everything about it had been wrong. The Fae were bad enough, but this softening of reality had been much worse. She’d been ready to face death, even, but that – no.

  ‘Be reasonable,’ Alberich said. ‘I’ll need a new skin soon. Another Librarian’s skin would suit me quite well. So would Vale’s position in society. Don’t give me any excuses, Ray. Don’t give me any more reasons to slit this man’s throat and then rip your skin off. Be very polite, be very helpful, and listen to what I’m about to tell you.’

  Irene simply jerked her head in a nod. She was afraid of touching off that anger again, afraid for Vale’s sake – and, more honestly, terrified for herself.

  ‘Where was I?’ For a moment he reminded her of Dominic Aubrey, making her wonder how much of that charade had been imitation and how much had been genuine Alberich, filtered through a dead man’s skin. She’d liked Aubrey. ‘Ah yes. Motivations. Tell me, Ray, what is the purpose of the Library?’

  ‘To preserve,’ Irene said automatically.

  Alberich nodded as though he’d expected that answer. ‘Now tell me – tell me honestly and sincerely – that you’ve never thought about using the knowledge you’ve helped preserve. To change the worlds around you for the better. Or do you think that they’re already perfect?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.

  Irene felt as if she was having to run through a minefield blindfolded, with no idea what the correct answers were. ‘Of course I’ve thought about it. But you know that they don’t send us – ’ For a moment she wished she hadn’t used the word us. It brought them onto the same level. – ‘out on missions unless they’re certain that they can trust us.’

  ‘And you accept that so readily?’

  ‘It’s the price I chose to pay to get what I wanted.’ She’d never wanted anything else.

  ‘Don’t think I make this sort of offer to just any Librarian,’ Alberich went on. ‘You’ve shown a degree of intelligence which has impressed me. Not all Librarians know when and how to break the rules.’

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Vale said politely, while Irene wondered if Alberich gave the normally I wouldn’t spare your life, but you’re special spiel to every Librarian he met. ‘Might I ask what happened to the original Miss Mooney?’

  ‘Who?’ Alberich said blankly.

  ‘The woman whose body you are occupying.’ Vale’s tone dripped with cold disdain. ‘Jennifer Mooney, one of the more influential figures in the Iron Brotherhood. I recollect the face from one of Singh’s photographs. I wish I had remembered it earlier.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alberich smiled. ‘Ah, Ms Mooney – I had to take her identity in quite a hurry, in order to use the Brotherhood as a diversion.’

  Irene could have kicked herself. Of course. The alligator attack on the Embassy, to distract Silver. She clearly remembered him dashing off to protect ‘a book’. And Alberich had been right on the scene afterwards, leading to their almost-drowning. Then there was the assault on the Natural History Museum – all of it made sense now. That was what he’d meant earlier when he’d said that he had taken control of the Brotherhood. She saw Vale’s face twitch in mortified humiliation. He must be having the same chain of thought, and blaming himself for not deducing it earlier.

  ‘And they have the most baroque ideas about false names and false identities. You’d think that a pro-technology group would be more efficient about record-keeping, wouldn’t you? Now if only you’d said “Damocles”, I’d have known precisely whom you meant.’

  He didn’t even know her name. For some reason, that utterly chilled Irene through and through. And Alberich must have seen it in her face, for he went on, ‘And now, Mr Vale, no more words; your vocal cords are locked shut.’

  Irene saw the sudden flare of panic in Vale’s eyes and saw his mouth move, but he made no sound.

  I don’t think he copes well with being helpless.

  Anger fought with the fear that held her still too, its heat against the cold. And I don’t think I cope well, either.

  ‘Let us assume that you have three options, Ray,’ Alberich said, dropping back to his conversational tone. ‘The first is that you agree to help me. Give me the book, swear your loyalty by certain oaths which I shall dictate to you, and join me. The Library was never meant to be just a storehouse for books and a school for the obsessive. It could change worlds. It could unite alternate worlds. It has potential, you have potential, and that potential is being wasted. I would swear my protection to you, just as you would swear your loyalty to me, and you would be safe. You could learn to use Fae powers, just as I have done. Perhaps in time you would challenge me, but together we would do terrible and wonderful things. You know that some key books can change the worlds to which they are linked. Help me, and we will change them for the better. You’ll have the power to make things better. If you refuse that power, then that’s a choice in itself, isn’t it?’

  All the worlds for her own. Of course she wasn’t going to take the bargain. Of course she could never be his minion and slave. But the thought of the pure irresponsibility of doing precisely as she w
anted, with the power to do it . . .

  ‘The second choice is for you to put the book down and walk away.’ He was watching her closely through the stolen eyes of the woman whom he’d killed. ‘Your elders won’t blame you. They know my quality, my power. They’ll consider that you did the sensible thing. I might even agree with them.’

  She gave a little jerk of her head in acknowledgement.

  ‘And the third choice . . .’ Alberich shrugged. ‘You would regret putting me to that trouble.’

  Irene swallowed. Her imagination was functional, and thus troublesome. It was now giving her unpleasant ideas about what Alberich might do if he actually exerted himself. If he viewed killing and skinning someone as merely regular business, what would he consider extra effort? Half-formed images nauseated her, and she swallowed back bile. She barely managed to keep her voice steady. ‘I think that’s only two choices, though.’

  ‘Is it?’ Alberich murmured.

  ‘I have the suspicion that there’s only one way I walk out of here alive.’

  ‘Well, true,’ Alberich admitted, ‘but the second option would be comparatively painless for you. My word on it.’

  ‘Can I ask—’

  ‘No.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I think you’re playing for time, Ray. I need your decision now. I’ll throw your friend in as a signing bonus, but I want your decision in five seconds.’

  Four.

  Three.

  If she swore herself to him in the Language, she’d be bound for life. He wasn’t stupid. He was the sort of person who’d have prepared the wording in advance. There would be no loopholes.

  Two.

  Perhaps people said he’d killed Librarians because nobody had ever come back. But maybe they’d all joined him. She could be joining a secret group who were going to change reality and make the universe a better place.

  One.

  Maybe someone who went round skinning and killing people (order as yet unspecified) was not concerned with making the universe a better place. Just a thought.

  Zero.

  ‘Ray . . .’ Alberich said. He had a hopeful sort of smile on his face, as if he genuinely wanted her to say yes.

  He probably did.

  She was about to die.

  What she needed was a miracle.

  What she got was a dragon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Irene had always assumed, when she’d read about dragons roaring, that the descriptions were figurative or at least hyperbolic. She’d thought that phrases like ‘shook the earth’ referred to the awe in which dragons were held. Naturally the world around them would be sundered by their fury. What else should one expect from dragons?

  But the physical world wasn’t shaken by a dragon’s roar. Reality itself trembled.

  ‘What the devil!’ Alberich swore, the words at odds with his prim female persona. His hand visibly tensed on the knife at Vale’s neck, and Irene knew with a sickening dread that he was about to slash the detective’s throat open purely on reflex. Then his eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Too simple. Ray. By my will and by your name, you can neither speak nor move.’

  It wasn’t the Language, it had nothing of the Language’s command, but his words had their own power, and Fae magic hung in them like chains. Irene was pinned in place like a butterfly, her brand burning on her back as the Library’s power fought his command. She was conscious of everything around her – the crushed insects, her hurried breathing, the trickle of blood on Vale’s neck, Alberich’s calculating eyes – and none of it was any use. There hadn’t been time to invoke the Library and force him out of the room as she’d planned. She’d been as shaken as he was by Kai’s roar, he’d just recovered faster. It made her feel stupidly embarrassed, but she had to remind herself that this wasn’t a marks-will-be-awarded situation, it was a he’s-about-to-kill-you situation.

  But for all her fury, she couldn’t move a muscle.

  ‘A pity,’ Alberich said. ‘I was really quite impressed with you. Bradamant was efficient, but not remotely as perceptive. I’m afraid you’ve run out of time to decide, if there’s a dragon in the picture, but rest assured that I will remember you fondly.’

  The door slammed open, and Alberich’s eyes widened as he saw who it was. He opened his mouth to speak, but three bullets in rapid succession hit him in the centre of the forehead. It was as neat and quick as a sewing machine’s needle rapping down again and again. He staggered back from Vale, arms flailing as his skirts churned around his legs. He grasped weakly at the table, but no blood ran from the open wounds.

  ‘Vale and Irene, move freely!’ Bradamant shouted in the Language. ‘And get away from him!’ she added in English. ‘I don’t know if that’s killed him.’

  ‘It hasn’t,’ Alberich said. ‘Gun, explode.’

  Bradamant threw the gun aside just in time. It came apart in mid-air in a burst of metal and fire. She ducked at the same moment, moving for cover. Vale threw himself to one side as Alberich gestured. But a ripple of air tore into Vale and flung him into one of the display cases, which shattered in a burst of glass. There was an ugly cracking noise.

  Vale didn’t get up again.

  ‘I really shouldn’t give people so much time to decide,’ Alberich said. He ignored Irene as she stood, frozen. His Fae magic still held her, wrapped in chains around her name and spirit. ‘Bradamant, my dear, would you like to make a deal for the lives of your friends?’

  ‘Only a fool would make a deal with you,’ Bradamant snapped. She’d taken cover behind a large free-standing cabinet.

  ‘Accurate but impertinent.’ The holes in Alberich’s forehead were bloodless, and unnaturally dark, with neither flesh nor bone visible. He raised his hand, palm towards Bradamant. ‘The greater lords of the Fae don’t manifest in their true form in the physical worlds. Do you know why?’

  ‘Their chaos is too great,’ Bradamant answered, her tone as sharp as if she was being questioned in class. ‘They would unmake a world.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Alberich purred. ‘And you wouldn’t want that.’ The very air began to shudder around his hand. It smoked as if his flesh was liquid nitrogen, cold enough to burn a hole in reality. ‘And to prevent that manifestation, I only need one of you with your skin intact . . .’

  Irene breathed. He hadn’t forbidden her to do that. And she was not going to accept the binding he had set on her. She was a Librarian, and while that made her the Library’s servant, it was also a protection. The Language was her freedom. Bradamant had told her to move freely. She could not allow . . .

  and her brand was a weight across her back, a heavy burden, trying to force her to her knees

  . . . she would not . . .

  white hot iron, searing into her

  . . . permit him to do this. She refused to submit. Even if he was a monster, something that had killed greater Librarians than herself, she was not going to accept his binding.

  Irene opened her mouth. The tiny movement of parting her lips seemed to take years as she watched dark fire blossom around Alberich’s hand. She sought for something to distract him, to give her time to invoke the Library. And it came to her in a burst of inspiration. ‘Jennifer Mooney’s skin! Get off that body now!’

  And it did. In rags and tatters, like a piece of clothing being ripped apart along the seams. The flame around Alberich’s hand died, and he opened his mouth wide in a howl of pain. The dress disintegrated, falling apart like the pale fragments of skin. What lay behind it was so painful to Irene’s eyes that she had to turn and shield them with her hand. Behind the stolen skin, Alberich was a living hole into some place or universe that should not exist on any human plane. In that brief moment she had seen living muscle, tendon and blood – but also colours and masses that left burning spaces on her retinas. She’d seen things moving which bent the light around them and shifting structures which made no sense. All her reality suddenly seemed as fragile as a curtain which someone was about to rip through at any moment. Irene was aware that she was scre
aming, and she could hear Bradamant crying out as well. Yet behind it all was Alberich, his voice higher than any human’s normal pitch, screaming in pure rage and pain.

  So that’s why he has to wear a skin, her thoughts rattled, as though the words could form a chain to sanity, link by link. So that’s why he has to wear a skin . . .

  Alberich turned and pointed at her, and reality warped in the wake of his gesture. The wooden floor rotted under her feet, and mouths opened in it to gulp at dead silverfish and bite at her ankles. Thick knots of webbing dropped from the ceiling, full of spiders and drifting ash.

  ‘They’ll come for you,’ Alberich whispered. His voice had changed again; no longer female, or the voice of Aubrey, but something else. Something that hummed like the keys of an out-of-tune piano, just missing normal human harmonies to strike out a more painful music. ‘You’ve hurt me and I’ll hurt you in turn, I’ll give you to the White Singers and the Fallen Towers . . .’

  A fold of spiderweb fell across Irene’s face, and the sheer horror of having to drag it away, feeling the spiders begin to crawl into her hair, somehow yanked her back into sanity. Her horror turned from something alien and bone deep, into more mundane human disgust. She needed a moment to speak the Library’s name and so invoke it. That had been the plan. Minimal and pitiful as it was, that had been the plan. But Alberich would know it the moment she began, and she had his full attention. She’d never get the word out.

  Bradamant was screaming. No help from that quarter. And Vale was unconscious. She hoped. Better unconscious than dead.

  Glass cracked and splinters from another display case ripped into her dress, distorting into glass singing birds with bright claws and edged beaks. She flung her arm up to shield her face, and a glass bird lashed at her hand, thrashing wings leaving deep scratches. Blood ran like ink down her arm.