Saying sorry would have implied that this was her fault. ‘I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt,’ Irene said as she stood up.
‘I don’t like people bringing their fights into my territory.’ Dawkins was echoed by a rising growl from the surrounding pack. Pieces of shattered metal were embedded in the floor, walls and werewolves, and the throne couldn’t have supported a poodle now. The chandelier was still in one piece, but that was only because none of the flying metal had spun directly upwards.
Irene met his glare. ‘And I don’t like having to come down here to get my property, after your pack attacked me.’
The place stank of blood now, as well as dust, werewolf and heat. If she showed weakness, they’d take her down. So she couldn’t afford to show any weakness. She wasn’t just one human in the middle of a mob of werewolves. She was a Librarian.
Dawkins thought about that, and a little of the fire in his eyes ebbed away. ‘Fair point. So what’s the Library, and who’s Alberich?’
Irene weighed things I should and should not tell outsiders against possibly unfortunate reaction of lead werewolf, if I refuse him in his own den, especially after that explosion. ‘The Library is the organization I belong to,’ she said. ‘Alberich is an enemy of the Library. Mr Dawkins, I ask you: am I really worth your time, when so many people are queuing up to kill me anyhow?’
Dawkins snorted. ‘I have to say that’s not the sort of argument people usually give me.’
‘What do they usually give you?’ Irene asked.
‘Oh, their throats or their bellies, and whimpering about how they don’t want to die. And that’s the oddest thing about you, even for a friend of Mr Vale.’ The brief amusement drained out of his eyes like sunlight from behind stained glass. ‘You’re not scared. You’re in the middle of the home turf of the biggest pack in London, and you’re not stupid, but you’re not scared, either. I’m starting to think that you may be right. Maybe I should let you go.’
‘Mr Dawkins—’ one of his closer followers began, a man in a butcher’s rough clothing and blue apron.
Dawkins lashed out, catching the man by the back of his neck in one suddenly larger and clawed hand. He shook him from side to side, jerking him off his feet until the man’s teeth rattled. ‘Did I ask for opinions? Did I ask for any fucking opinions?’
Nobody moved.
Dawkins released the man, dropping him to the ground. The man rolled over onto his back, panting for breath, and tilted his head back to bare his neck. ‘Right,’ Dawkins said. His voice echoed from wall to wall. ‘I’ve led this pack for five years now. And one reason why we’re the biggest pack in London is that I know when not to get into a fight. Is anyone challenging me on this?’
Dead silence flowed through the room like a living thing. Irene could hear her own breathing. Then, one by one, the werewolves began to flatten themselves on the floor among the fragments of shattered Tube signs, heedless of their clothing or injuries, their heads lowered and obedient.
Dawkins nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s right.’
The woman who’d been sent to find Davey rose and stepped forward, dragging another man by his hair. Her victim stumbled forward, clutching an overcoat and a bagful of items to his chest. ‘This is Davey,’ she said. ‘He’d like to be . . . helpful.’
‘Hand them over,’ Dawkins snarled.
Davey dug into his bag and pulled out the folder. Irene almost snatched it off him, she was so glad to have it back again. She flicked it open and was relieved to see that the papers inside all looked as they ought to, and that the contents listing matched the number of pages.
‘Anything else?’ the woman enquired.
‘The poison he used on me, if you don’t mind,’ Irene said.
Davey reluctantly dug out a small pouch from his bag. ‘Bottle and needle’s in here, miss,’ he said. ‘But we didn’t take none of your money.’
‘Why did you take the folder?’ Irene asked curiously. They’d left her purse on her, so why bother with her papers?
‘Because the woman as hired us, she said not to let you keep any writing material nor papers,’ Davey explained. He glanced nervously at Dawkins.
Dawkins sighed. He reached out and cracked Davey across the face with a backhand slap that knocked the smaller man to his knees. ‘Didn’t I tell you? Any jobs that involve magic, they go through me first.’ He spun to growl at his listening hangers-on. ‘You all hear that? Look what happens when some idiots try to be clever!’ His gesture took in the shattered throne, the numerous injuries and Irene herself.
After a pause that dragged out to almost unbearable lengths, he turned to Irene. ‘You’re going to be walking out of here,’ he said. ‘You’re right, woman. We’ve better things to do with our time than get involved with your business.’
Irene gave him a nod. ‘And I don’t want to further complicate yours,’ she said.
Dawkins snorted. ‘You tell Mr Vale that, and we’ll see if he listens. Celia, show her to the exit.’
Celia stepped away from Davey, who was still kneeling on the floor with the air of someone who hoped nobody would notice he was there, and gestured to Irene. ‘This way, please,’ she said. Other werewolves moved out of their way in a shaggy wave of fur and muttering.
The back of her neck prickled as Celia led her down a passageway, but the other woman didn’t bother conversing with her. She simply pointed at a ladder at the end of the passage. ‘Up there,’ she said. ‘You’ll come out in the basement of a workshop. Make your excuses and leave. Don’t try coming back.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of bothering you,’ Irene said politely, and tucked the folder under her arm before climbing up the ladder.
Once back on the streets of London, somewhere south of Waterloo, Irene’s next problem was hailing a cab while in her current state of dress. Fortunately an upper-class accent combined with a promise of a large fee did the job. She finally had a chance to open her folder and flip through it, as the cab headed for Vale’s lodgings.
The report was nearly ten years out of date. And there was a note that the Librarian who’d done the research had been given the Potocki manuscript as an optional target, but had decided it would be too dangerous to make a try for it there and then. The target-world’s political structure was fairly stable, with the main powers being Russia on one side and the United Republics of Africa on the other. Smaller confederations of states were scattered in between. Magic existed and was commonplace, mostly musically based and sung, or involving the control of natural spirits. However, it was generally under state control in the Russian Empire, the focus of this report. The technological level was a bit behind the current position in Vale’s world, too – as often happened, having magical ways to get things done meant there was less impetus to create technological solutions.
But at least she probably wouldn’t be chased by giant automata this time.
Research done, Irene reflected on the woman behind her kidnapping. She had apparently told the werewolves to deprive her of anything written, or anything that could be used to write. This argued that the woman knew Irene was a Librarian. So, maybe it really was Lady Guantes? But in that case, why so lax and incompetent an attempt at killing her? And if it was someone else . . . who else was it?
At least Alberich couldn’t get into this world directly to hire kidnappers, even if he could send her threatening messages and blow stuff up. His antics last time had meant permanent banishment from this world. That was one little ray of sunlight, to quote Alberich himself, in the general mess. More to the point, Irene herself would shortly be leaving this world for a while, so Alberich would have no idea where to find her. Even better.
She riffled through the papers absently as she considered what she’d need. Kai, for a start. Information on the layout of the Hermitage, which was part of the Winter Palace. Could she get anywhere by going through as a tourist? Did they even allow tourists in? There wasn’t time for her normal approach of getting an unobtrusive job, to
check the layout and plan the theft. Maybe she and Kai could fake being foreign dignitaries? Kai was very good at impersonating foreign dignitaries: he had the perfect air of affable condescension which had people believing it was a pleasure to roll over and grovel for him. And they’d need clothing, money, a place to stay . . .
The cab drew up outside Vale’s lodgings. With a sigh, Irene handed over the fee, plus a sizeable tip. There weren’t any signs of drastic kidnappings, murders or anyone trying to crash a zeppelin into the building, and she relaxed a little. Now she just had to explain everything – well, most things – to the men, and then be off.
The housekeeper met her at the door, answering the bell with a surprising turn of speed that suggested she’d been expecting someone. ‘Oh, Miss Winters!’ She looked at Irene with an expression of shock. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I’m very sorry,’ Irene apologized. ‘It’s been one of those days. Are Mr Vale and Mr Strongrock in?’
‘Oh yes,’ the housekeeper said. ‘They’re just upstairs and . . .’
For a moment Irene let herself relax in a great upswelling of relief. They were here; they weren’t dead or kidnapped. And if the housekeeper was running around answering the door, then there hadn’t even been anything dramatic like a zombie assault on the house or an attack by killer bees.
Are my expectations possibly getting a little lurid? she wondered. Not really. After all, there is someone out to get me.
‘. . . and so is everyone else,’ the housekeeper finished her sentence.
Irene’s sense of well-being and security popped like a balloon and sank without a trace. ‘Everyone else?’
‘Well, the visitors.’ The housekeeper pursed her lips. ‘I must say, they were arguing quite a lot. Perhaps you might ask them to keep their voices down, miss? Mr Vale’s an excellent lodger, but really there are limits . . .’
‘I’ll have a word with them,’ Irene promised, and took the stairs at a run.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Irene could hear the shouting through the door even before she reached the head of the stairs. She recognized Kai’s voice and Vale’s clipped tones, but the woman’s voice was unfamiliar . . . Wait, was that Zayanna?
She groaned to herself. Zayanna’s involvement would be so much easier to explain if Zayanna herself wasn’t actually there.
‘. . . and I don’t care what you say, I’m not risking her safety any longer!’ That was Kai. ‘I’m going to go and find her right now—’
Another voice, unclear through the door, interrupted, and Irene took advantage of the momentary pause to push open the door.
All of the people in the room turned to look at her. Vale. Kai. Zayanna. And Li Ming. Wonderful – just the person to make an already volatile mix even more explosive. A Fae and two dragons in the same room was asking for trouble under the best of circumstances, and Irene herself was probably about to set light to the fuse.
‘Irene!’ Kai made it across the room in three steps to grab her, his hands biting into her shoulders. ‘Where have you been?’
Vale rose from the chair that he was sprawled in to frown at her. He looked almost worse than last night, and his sleep had clearly done him no good: his eyes were still sunken, and his face was paler than usual, with a high flush on his cheekbones. He took in Irene’s dishevelment and the dust on her coat with a single glance. ‘Apparently Winters here would rather gallivant around the London Underground with werewolves than trouble herself by coming back here directly. Instead she sends you all to fill my rooms, in the hope of distracting me.’
So much for last night’s softer mood. Irene reminded herself that Vale was prone to vicious sarcasm when worried. He wasn’t the sort to express genuine concern, like Kai – in fact she’d better reassure Kai fast, before his protectiveness tipped over into something irrational. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, holding up one hand. ‘I went to the Library. I just ran into some trouble afterwards. Zayanna, what are you doing here?’
Zayanna was curled up on the sofa, her shoes kicked off and her feet tucked underneath her legs. She’d discarded her coat somewhere, and her dress flowed in cascades of highly fashionable cream lace, which showed a lot of cleavage. She was nursing a glass of brandy and a clearly unpleasant mood. ‘You did say that you wanted to stay in contact, darling! And you weren’t at home, so I thought I’d try your friend instead.’
‘I see,’ Irene said, suppressing an urge to demand some of that brandy. ‘I hope you haven’t all been too worried about me. I apologize for my delay in getting back here. It wasn’t my fault.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to explain to us whose fault it was,’ Vale said, relapsing back into his chair. ‘And what it has to do with the current situation. Please distract me, Winters. I am bored nearly to death with these infantile arguments. Did you get those papers from your Library?’ His gaze was on the folder under her arm, ignoring the irritated looks that everyone else in the room was giving him.
Irene nodded. ‘But when I left the Library, I was kidnapped.’
She was aware that Li Ming was listening, but couldn’t think of any way to get him out of earshot that wouldn’t be highly rude. It would probably insult both him and Kai too. As usual, the dragon in human form was impeccably dressed in silvery-grey and could probably compete with Zayanna for the title of Most Fashionable Person in the Room. Kai would win the Most Handsome award, but he was looking attractively scruffy at present, not elegantly stylish. Vale would carry off the Most Brooding. And Irene herself would have to settle for the booby prize in all categories.
Physically, Li Ming resembled a human female, with the same inhuman perfection that characterized Kai and the few other dragons that Irene had met. But among other dragons, Li Ming was considered male, and he acted that way in human form as well. Irene had given up trying to deduce the exact details, and had asked Kai about it – as tactfully as she could. Kai had explained, in tones of kindly condescension at human convention, that social gender among dragons was what the dragon in question said it was. And since Li Ming said he was male, then he was male. Irene had thanked him for the information, and had broken off the conversation before Kai could get into any further commentary on human limitations, et cetera. Kai might be very non-judgemental when it came to personal gender roles, but he was extremely superior when explaining how non-judgemental he was.
‘I was drugged by werewolves, carried off and chased through the Underground tunnels,’ Irene reported succinctly, before everyone else could get more questions in. ‘Then I extricated myself and came here. Apparently they were hired by a woman who gave them the poison with which they drugged me.’
Vale looked interested. ‘Which poison?’ he asked.
‘Which woman?’ Zayanna asked. ‘Was it someone local, or an old friend?’
One hand still on her shoulder, as if he wasn’t prepared to risk letting go, Kai tugged Irene over to the armchair he’d been occupying. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have split up—’
‘Your highness, you demean the lady,’ Li Ming put in. ‘Clearly, if she’s here and safe, she was quite competent to handle herself. Though it is a shame that she caused you concern.’
Irene sat down in the chair. It was easier than arguing with Kai about whether or not she needed to sit down. ‘In any case,’ she said, ‘I’m here and safe, and I’m glad to see that all of you are all right.’ Zayanna had risen and was splashing brandy into a second glass. ‘Oh, yes please,’ Irene added.
‘Some small payback, darling,’ Zayanna said, putting it into her hand. ‘Do you have any idea who the woman is?’
Irene had reviewed the possibilities several times in the cab. Lady Guantes was the standout candidate, but it could honestly be anyone. It didn’t even have to be a Fae. It could be a dragon who objected to her current working relationship with Kai. It could even, if Alberich had a traitor working for him, be another Librarian . . . ‘Short of getting the werewolves to sniff all the possible candid
ates, no,’ she said. ‘Lady Guantes is the obvious candidate, but it was inefficient; and if she was hiring assassins, she might be more likely to use a proxy to contact them. I don’t know.’ She sipped the brandy.
Kai’s expression had darkened to a scowl at the mention of Lady Guantes. Of course, given that she’d been an equal partner in Kai’s kidnapping, he viewed her as unfinished business. Irene also suspected Kai didn’t want to admit that he’d experienced any such emotions as post-traumatic stress, worry or even outright fear. ‘We need to establish a safe base,’ he said firmly, glancing to Li Ming, who nodded. ‘Then we can track the kidnapper down and eliminate this threat.’
It would have been nice to have had a private conversation with Kai, in which she could have broken the news about the current situation to him slowly and in detail, Irene reflected. Emphasis on the would have been. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.’ She took another swig of the brandy. ‘I have an immediate job from the Library. You and I will be leaving later today, Kai.’
‘Leaving this country?’ Vale put in with a frown.
‘Leaving this world,’ Irene said.
‘I’m afraid I’m intruding,’ Li Ming observed. He rose from the chair he was occupying, his long silver braid slipping to hang straight down his back. ‘Your highness, perhaps we can converse later?’
‘No, stay,’ Kai said, before Irene could stop him. ‘I need – that is, I’d be grateful for your help in that other matter. Irene, surely Li Ming isn’t a threat here? You know that my family and our kin aren’t enemies of the Library.’
Li Ming waited politely, with the air of someone who would of course be glad to leave, rather than eavesdrop on a matter that didn’t concern him. But his silver eyes, as bright and metallic as his hair or his fingernails, showed a confidence that he would be allowed to stay.
‘I can give my word not to tell anyone else about it, darling,’ Zayanna said. ‘You know my word binds me. And I’d hate to just walk out if I could actually help you.’
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