“He’s present, but he’s examining the scene of the crime,” Irene said. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the phrase your orders. “And I need to speak to my superiors first. If you could wait for a few moments—”
“Delay is unacceptable,” Duan Zheng cut in. “I realize that you may not be aware of proper court etiquette, but you should have come to attend on His Majesty at once. The detective should do the same. You said that he was in the Salon Pompadour?”
“I’ve only just arrived in this world,” Irene said. She had to defuse this before they could interrupt Vale mid-investigation, or give Ao Ji any more reason to be annoyed. Fortunately, the dragon sense of hierarchy usually included some acceptance of other people’s hierarchies as well. “I came directly here to report to my own superiors, and Vale needed to examine the scene of the crime at once. I apologise if this was inconvenient to His Majesty.”
“Your apology is accepted,” Duan Zheng said graciously. “You will now accompany us.” He gestured again, and the two women in the group following him moved forward to flank Irene. “We will collect the detective and be on our way.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t clear,” Irene said, trying to ignore the feeling that the women looked ready to pick her up by her elbows and drag her away. “I haven’t yet reported to my superiors. I need to do that before I do anything else. And Vale should not be interrupted while he is working.”
Duan Zheng tilted his head, puzzled. “Are you refusing to come with us?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“Of course not.” A prickle of nerves worked its way down Irene’s back. Just how dangerous was the situation, if the dragons were sending armed scouting parties into neutral territory and demanding private interviews with the investigative team? And were the Fae doing the same? Could Irene expect a matching group to emerge from the other end of the corridor at any moment? “Naturally we will want full information on the situation from His Majesty Ao Ji, in order to find and capture the person who committed this atrocious crime. I’m very glad that we met like this.” That seemed to mollify Duan Zheng a little. “But I’m sure that you understand that I need to check with the Librarians in charge here before I leave the hotel.”
Duan Zheng shrugged, his shoulders rippling with the motion. He was more heavily built than some of the other dragons Irene had met. She wondered what his position was in Ao Ji’s entourage. Intelligence operative? Guard leader? Enforcer? “They will understand that you had no choice,” he said. “My lord’s command is absolute. The same goes for the detective. Now—”
“No.” Irene surprised herself by the strength of her refusal. She took a step forward, moving into Duan Zheng’s personal space. “With all due respect, sir”—the traditional signal that one was about to be very disrespectful—“you don’t commission the greatest detective in London and then tell him how to do his job. Either Vale is an expert and deserves the right to conduct this investigation as he sees fit, or he isn’t, and you shouldn’t have requested his services in the first place.”
“He is a tradesman,” Duan Zheng said, with a sneer that suggested he personally preferred the second option. “He will do as he is ordered.”
“He is a nobleman in his own country,” Irene countered. “And he’s a scholar, not a tradesman. I will be perfectly ready to come with you in five minutes, but I insist that he be allowed to work by his own methods.”
Duan Zheng’s nostrils flared. The two men in his squad—yes, Irene decided that was the best term for it—moved to flank him. “You, on the other hand, are a junior servant of the Library of no particular rank or importance. You feel you have the right to stand here and make demands of me?”
Irene stared him in the eye. She couldn’t back down now. She’d be weakening her own position in his eyes and in the eyes of the entire dragon contingent. The Library had to maintain independence—even if they were the weakest of the three factions present, they weren’t subordinate to anyone. “I’m not making demands,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. There had to be some way to de-escalate this. “I’m informing you that I have orders to report to my superiors.”
Duan Zheng snorted. “If you are trying to force my hand, you have succeeded. Restrain her—”
“Hold.” It was a woman’s voice, coming from the corridor behind him. “Duan Zheng, if I may?”
Duan Zheng tensed, pressing his lips together hard enough that they turned white. Then he stepped back. “Mu Dan. Thank you for joining us.”
The woman stepped forward into Irene’s line of sight. She was another dragon. Her mahogany-dark hair was braided up round her face, and gem-headed hairpins glittered in it like a scattering of stars. She was still in an outer coat and hat, unlike Duan Zheng and his squad. And both were deep crimson, the same colour as her leather boots. “You must be Irene Winters,” she said, and offered Irene her gloved hand. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Mu Dan, and I will be assisting you in this investigation.”
Irene shook hands politely, very aware of how close this had come to violence. The polite formalities seemed almost ridiculous, given Duan Zheng’s looming presence at her shoulder. “Pleased to meet you. I regret the circumstances.”
“Yes, we all do,” Mu Dan agreed. “But Duan Zheng is quite correct that you should attend His Majesty Ao Ji as soon as possible. However, I see your point on reporting to your superiors. Would five minutes be enough?” Her smile was friendly but didn’t invite discussion. “Duan Zheng can then escort you across to His Majesty’s hotel. Meanwhile I will introduce myself to the detective and make my own observations of the crime scene. Fae representatives are also here, looking to speak with Miss Winters and the detective. But I will explain to them that we have priority.”
“I suppose that will be acceptable,” Duan Zheng said ungraciously. His attitude towards Mu Dan wasn’t exactly rude, but it lacked any semblance of deference. “And you can bring the detective with you as soon as he has finished his . . . observations.”
“He may be a while,” Irene pointed out.
“So may I,” Mu Dan said. “Rest assured that he’ll be safe in my keeping. I’ll see you later, Miss Winters.” With a nod to Duan Zheng, she walked past them, towards the Salon Pompadour.
Duan Zheng tracked her with his eyes for a moment, then made an effort and pulled his attention back to Irene. “I will escort you to your superiors,” he said. “Then when they’ve finished with you, I can take you to my lord without any further delay.”
“What an excellent idea,” Irene agreed warmly.
The human escorts fell into place behind them as Duan Zheng led the way through the hotel at a brisk pace. He didn’t seem inclined to make conversation, and his silence was thorough enough that Irene didn’t try to ask any questions.
He came to a stop outside a gilded door on the first floor and rapped his knuckles on it. “Your superiors are in here, I believe. I will wait outside.” The words don’t make me wait long hung in the air.
“Who is that?” a male voice called from inside.
“Irene Winters!” Irene answered. Caution made her add, “And Duan Zheng, in service to His Majesty Ao Ji.”
“Come in, Irene.” That voice Irene did recognize—it was her mentor Coppelia, who must have left the Library for this occasion. “Alone, if you please.”
Irene opened the door and gasped at the wave of hot air that breathed over her. She hastily closed the door behind her before Duan Zheng could do more than peer in over her shoulder, and just as hastily unbuttoned her coat. It felt as if she’d just walked into a sauna. The thick velvet curtains had been drawn and overlapped to cover the windows as hermetically as possible. A large pile of logs blazed in the fireplace, in addition to the discreet radiators that Irene could see in the corners of the room. On top of that, two of the three people in the room were huddled in armchairs, with additional shawls draped over their shoulders.
&nb
sp; It was Coppelia whom Irene focused on. It had been months since last she’d seen her mentor. Against the cream velvet upholstery and decorations, Coppelia’s face seemed drained of its normal colour, a shade of dead brown marble rather than living oak. New lines were marked around her mouth, and she reached both hands—the living flesh one and the artificial clockwork one—towards the fire to warm them. “Irene,” she said, her voice hoarse with the edge of a cough. “It’s good to see you.”
Irene bit her lip for a moment before she could reply. She was aware that Coppelia was fragile. Old Librarians were. She knew it was stupid, but even so she wanted to scold the older woman for putting herself at risk, for leaving the Library and sitting around in winter weather that would only make her rheumatism worse. For making Irene worry about her. “I wish the circumstances were better,” she said. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
She glanced at the other two in the room. The man in the second chair, Kostchei, was another senior Librarian: he had pulled a velvet smoking cap over his bald head, and while he still glared with the same ferocity she remembered, the tassel on the cap dangled rakishly over one ear and dampened the effect. His hands were folded together in his lap, his knuckles swollen and his veins showing blue through the wrinkled skin.
Both of them, here outside the Library, huddled up against the cold, looked . . . diminished. Weak. Old. Irene wasn’t accustomed to thinking of them in this way. The elder Librarians had always been her superiors, and while she might have been frustrated with them, or distrusted them, or even occasionally cursed them, she had never quite thought of them as old human beings. The Library had kept them ageless—immortal unless they chose to leave it and let the natural flow of time resume. They’d made themselves vulnerable by stepping outside and into an alternate world like this one.
It was her job to make their risk worth it.
Kostchei snorted. “You want to know what you can do to help? If you haven’t got the intelligence to see what needs doing, then you’re not the person we want for the job.”
Irene’s sympathy for him evaporated. “Well, obviously I need to find the murderer and resolve the situation without letting a war get started,” she snapped. “I meant besides that. You know, in my copious free time. And we need to make this conversation fast. Duan Zheng wants to take me to see Ao Ji as soon as possible.”
Coppelia wheezed a thin laugh, almost a cackle. “Those are two of the main problems, yes. I’m glad to see you’re keeping your sense of proportion and not getting carried away by daydreams of helping a great detective solve a murder.”
“The situation’s too serious to indulge childhood fantasies,” Irene said, and tried to mean it sincerely. A younger version of her would have thought this was the greatest adventure ever, combining her job as a Librarian with working alongside Vale. But the stakes were too high for her to treat it like a game. “And if those are two of the main problems, what’s the third?”
“Finding out what Ren Shun meant when he talked about a book,” Kostchei grated. “The situation at the moment is that nobody knows what he meant, and apparently Ao Ji was the only person he spoke to about it. Unless one of the other dragons knows but isn’t talking. There are representatives from two other courts in Ao Ji’s entourage—Li Ming from the King of the Northern Ocean, and Mei Feng from the Queen of the Southern Lands.”
“Either of whom is far more diplomatic than Ao Ji is,” the stranger standing behind Kostchei’s chair commented. “Which makes it a pity that he’s now planning to conduct the negotiations himself. You’ve met Li Ming, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Irene agreed cautiously. The dragon in question was very polished, very political, and very dangerous. And powerful. He wasn’t just a representative of the King of the Northern Ocean: he was said king’s trusted liegeman and right hand. The last time they’d met, Irene had rejected his well-meant protection in favour of recklessness, so she hoped he didn’t bear grudges. “Though we weren’t on the best of terms last time we parted . . . Oh drat.”
“A problem?” Coppelia asked.
“Um, purely as a matter of coincidence and with absolutely no personal interference or suggestion from me, Kai might be about to drop by to visit his uncle,” Irene said. She wasn’t speaking in the Language, so she could lie as much as she wanted—and she could tell from their faces that both senior Librarians knew she’d sent Kai herself. “I’m sure it won’t hurt our interests to have Kai there and speaking in the Library’s favour, but I’m not certain how he and Li Ming will interact. Given our past encounters.”
“Well, won’t that be interesting,” Coppelia said with a sigh. “Do your best to look innocent, child, or at least make it look plausibly deniable if you’re caught asking him questions in corners.”
“How many other Librarians are on-site?” Irene asked.
“Half a dozen at this hotel,” the stranger said, “and a couple more at each of the other two hotels, acting as liaisons. Most of us are of senior rank: it would have been considered an insult for anyone lower-grade to attend in a significant role. Though there are a couple of juniors assisting.” He raised a hand in greeting. “I’m Prutkov, by the way. Sorry not to have introduced myself earlier.”
“We haven’t time for courtesies,” Kostchei growled. “Listen, girl. We’re trusting you to find the right solution to this. One which doesn’t make matters worse. What you report to us in private is one thing, but what you tell the dragons or the Fae had better not light any fuses. Do you understand me?”
Irene felt the pit yawning in front of her. “You want a cover-up,” she said.
“I want the truth,” Kostchei answered. “I may need a cover-up. The two are different things. You realize what’s at stake here, girl?”
“I’m not stupid,” Irene said. “I understand that we can’t afford this peace conference to break down. I think Vale might even agree to it, if necessary—he understands how dangerous the dragons and the Fae might be to humanity. And to his world in particular. But I’m concerned, from my own experience, that if we base this treaty on a lie, then at some point it’s going to crack.”
Coppelia worked her hands together, the flesh one polishing the wooden one. “That’s a valid objection. Don’t glare at her like that, Kostchei. Our juniors shouldn’t be punished for recognizing possible risks.”
“No,” Kostchei muttered, “but they’ll damn well regret it if they don’t go ahead and get the job done anyhow. Come on, girl. Pull yourself together. You’re supposed to be good at this sort of thing. Ideally it’ll turn out to have been a murder for some private motive, one that doesn’t involve anyone present.”
Irene considered possible responses to that suggestion. Eventually she said, “That one isn’t going to hold water.”
“Then find something that will!” Kostchei slapped his knee with a sound like a pistol shot. “Prutkov! You said you’d been getting the witness statements, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Prutkov said. He was hardly a boy: his hair was black, grey at the temples, and age had marked lines of humour on his face. He nodded to where a thick folder lay on a side table. “We’ll give them to Mr. Vale when he finally gets here. Where is he now?”
“Examining the scene of the crime,” Irene said. “I know you wanted him to see you first . . . but please be reasonable.” She’d noted the thundercloud frown growing on Kostchei’s face. “He’s the expert. And he’ll be wanting to see the body next. Bradamant said it was at the morgue?”
“At the Paris Morgue,” Prutkov said. “I know, I know, you’re supposed to keep it on the spot, but bribes only go so far with the local police, and at least we’ve paid enough that it’ll be undisturbed there. You can take Mr. Vale there after you’ve seen Ao Ji. Inspector Maillon is assigned to the case, but at the moment he thinks anarchists are responsible.”
“Why are we pushing the anarchists as culprits?” Irene asked. “B
radamant’s already explained, but couldn’t we have claimed something less politically dangerous, like a serial killer or lone assassin or something?”
“There are plenty of anarchists around,” Prutkov said, “or at least the newspapers say there are. And the concept of ‘serial killers’ isn’t as well-known at this place and time. If it means the inspector’s not looking at us, then that’s one less headache.”
Irene nodded. “Okay. So.” She raised her fingers and ticked items off. “Investigate murder. Find murderer. Find acceptable solution. Persuade other investigators to go along with it. Find out what Ren Shun meant when he talked about a book. Ensure peace treaty.” It sounded ridiculous to be counting off tasks as if she was making a to-do list, but it helped her keep it in some sort of proportion and not panic at the scope of what lay ahead. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“There is one thing,” Coppelia said. This time it was her turn to sound guilty. “I’m not trying to put additional pressure on you, Irene, but I think that you should know about it. Part of the arrangements, when we were setting this up, was that we should provide hostages.”
“Hostages?”
“Yes,” Kostchei said, clearly impatient. “It was necessary to maintain the balance of trust. A number of senior Librarians are currently guests of the dragon or Fae courts. If this all goes wrong, then not only are we all dead, in which case we probably won’t care about the situation any further, but so are they. And for your information, girl, your parents are among those hostages. They’re at one of the dragon courts. So keep your sense of proportion, and remember what’s important here.” He leaned forward to fix her with his eyes, and his cap didn’t seem remotely silly any longer. “We must have an answer that everyone will accept. I don’t care about your ethics. I care that the job gets done.”
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