The Mortal Word

by Genevieve Cogman

  Silver shrugged. “Much as I would like to meet your parents someday, my dear Irene, the welfare of the Library is hardly my main concern. And while I do prefer peace to war, I’m no fanatic—”

  “What will the Cardinal do if you fail him?” Irene cut in. “To be precise, what will he do to you?”

  Silver’s mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into a lemon, and for a moment his glass trembled in his hand. “Now, there you may have a point.”

  Irene decided not to push it further. She didn’t need to actively humiliate him, however entertaining it might have been, and however much he’d have done it to her if their situations had been reversed. “Our position, then—the basic facts. Lord Ren Shun was murdered. An assassination attempt was made on His Majesty Ao Ji. Finally, someone attempted to kidnap us—that is, myself, Vale, and Mu Dan here—while we were visiting the morgue.”

  “Agreed so far,” Mu Dan said thoughtfully. “Do you think these points are connected?”

  “Logically there could be some connection between the murder and the assault on us, but is the attack on Ao Ji linked to it as well? Or is someone being opportunistic?”

  “Why are you all looking at me?” Silver complained.

  “You’re the best authority we’ve got on Fae motives and actions,” Irene said briskly. “If it was Fae . . .”

  Mu Dan drew in air sharply between her teeth. It wasn’t quite a hiss, but that term would do until a better example came along. “Are you suggesting that dragons might have been behind it?”

  “It seems unlikely—” Irene started.

  “It is impossible,” Mu Dan snapped. Her glare across the table at Silver suggested that while she might consider the possibility while talking to Irene alone, she certainly wouldn’t accept it in front of a Fae. “And you already said that His Majesty smelled Fae interference on the mind of that assassin. Why are you raising issues where none exist?”

  “I’m considering all the possible viewpoints so that we can say we’ve considered them,” Irene answered. “If we can definitely say that no dragons could possibly have been involved, then good, marvellous, fantastic! Then we can sign that and put a bow on it and hand it over, and for the record, I have no problem with that. But we’ll have people from all three factions looking over our findings as if . . .” She hunted for an example. “As if our lives are at stake. And maybe they are . . . And I’m throwing the Librarians into the big suspicion pot while we’re at it. By all means let’s try to work out how and why they might have tried to assassinate Ao Ji. Maybe it was just a fake assassination in order to get him to trust me, because they knew I’d try to stop it? Have you thought about that?”

  “Yes,” Mu Dan said.

  “Oh.”

  “But having met you, I can’t imagine you being knowingly involved in an operation like that,” Mu Dan added. She probably thought she was being reassuring.

  Irene, who was fairly sure that she could be knowingly involved in an operation like that, without a moment’s qualm, simply nodded. “All right, then. I concede that given His Majesty detected Fae influence on the anarchist, there was a Fae involved somewhere. However, this doesn’t rule out the possibility of someone else, be it dragon or Librarian, cooperating with that Fae. Though if everyone’s cooperating that well in order to mess up the peace talks, I don’t know why they can’t just all agree we can get on and sign the treaty in the first place . . .” She became aware that she was wandering from the subject. “And now we’re going to get onto some more specific areas which are high-security. Excuse me a moment.” She shifted to the Language. “All electronic or magical listening or transmitting devices within range of my voice, explode.”

  Nothing happened.

  Vale frowned. “Do you feel that was strictly necessary, Winters? I understand that this world hasn’t yet invented anything capable of such achievements. And magic doesn’t work here. Or so I’m told.”

  “There’s nothing to stop someone bringing a device across from another world where it has been invented,” Irene said. She’d had an unpleasant encounter with a Taser a few months back, in a situation where she’d had no reason to expect it. “And as for magic, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Silver leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “The fact that you’re going to such extremes is very interesting, my little mouse. It suggests you have something really juicy to share with us.”

  “Several things so far,” Irene said. “Plus anything else that anyone else at this table wants to mention. I’ll start with the Fae side. Lord Silver, have you ever heard of a person known as the Blood Countess?”

  Silver went very still. It was like watching a feline—a particularly elegant one, of course—freeze mid-step while considering a new variable that had entered the situation, and making up its mind whether to run away, ignore it, or push it off a table. “If I say yes,” he ventured, “do I incriminate myself in any way?”

  “Cooperation,” Irene said wearily. “Please.”

  “I know of her.” Silver’s emphasis was very definite. “I have absolutely no desire to go anywhere near the lady. Her amusements are far more drastic than mine. She’s wasteful. She’s dangerous. And before the judge-investigator can ask, yes—she’s more powerful than I am.”

  “Is this some sort of reference to Countess Elizabeth Báthory?” Vale asked. “Or Erzsébet, or however one pronounces it properly? I thought it had been established that most of the testimony at her trial was unreliable, and that while her personal character may have been less than ideal . . .”

  Silver was shaking his head. “Detective, I appreciate your zeal for accuracy, but the lady in question is more than fact. She is a story. The Fae who has adopted her archetype has used all the worst possible variants of that story—yes, before you interrupt me, I do mean all of them at once, even if this involves some logical inconsistencies—and she is real. She enjoys situations of war and disorder, because it gives her more opportunity to indulge her tastes.”

  “So do you all,” Mu Dan noted.

  “No. Actually, we don’t. May I point out the current states of the worlds to you? Are we all at war with each other? Are the spheres in a constant state of battle and havoc?” Silver paused. “Well, perhaps a little. These things do happen. But there are just as many of us who prefer a peaceful environment. The Cardinal likes it that way because he can get his fingers into more games. The Princess likes it that way because it’s in her nature to be a sweet, kind, gentle, virtuous, noble, peace-loving . . .” He broke off the string of adjectives with an effort. “Forgive me. I’m still suffering from an interview with her this morning. And I like it that way because I can enjoy myself. I admit my amusements may occasionally be a little questionable, but at least I don’t bleed virgins to death in order to fill my bathtub.”

  “Point taken,” Irene said hastily. The Cardinal’s earlier statements seemed to be confirmed. “So if we were to be told that the Blood Countess is here, and is interfering with the negotiations, what would your reaction be?”

  “Leave the city,” Silver said without hesitation.

  Mu Dan bit back something that might have been a chuckle.

  Irene wished she had a drink. It might help. “I mean, how plausible do you find such an idea?”

  “Ah. You should be more precise, my little mouse.” Silver seemed to be recovering his equilibrium. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. I’d say that if she did know the negotiations were taking place, then it’s entirely plausible that she might try to interfere. Who told you about her in the first place?”

  “The Cardinal,” Irene answered.

  “And yet he didn’t tell anyone else,” Mu Dan said thoughtfully.

  “His position was that if he told everyone, nobody would believe him—and people would assume he was just trying to pin the murder on a notorious bogeyman,” Irene explained. “He wanted me to find pr
oof that she was here, in order to convince everyone. And yes, I realize this doesn’t mean he was telling the truth.”

  “Couldn’t you force him to swear to tell the truth?” Vale suggested.

  Silver put down his glass. “Detective, that might work on someone of my level of power. But pledges need to have equal validity.”

  “Which means what, precisely?”

  “That if you want someone of the Cardinal’s level of power to promise to tell you the truth, you had better have something of equal value to offer in return. Do I really need to go into detail?”

  The flicker of expression that passed across Vale’s face suggested that several possibilities had come to mind, none of them good. “I appreciate the warning,” he said. “So on a wider note, we have no way to be certain that he—or the Princess—is telling the truth.”

  “Well, the Princess is prone to being truthful,” Silver said thoughtfully. “She could lie, but it would only be under very specific circumstances. Protecting a loved one, for instance.”

  “So if the Blood Countess was here in Paris,” Irene said, trying to drag the conversation back to the original topic, “where would we look for her?”

  Silver shrugged. “Some hideout where she can command her minions to bring her victims. I’ve hardly had the chance to explore this Paris yet.”

  “But if it was her men who tried to assassinate His Majesty,” Mu Dan started, then raised her hand to stop Irene from interrupting. “And yes, I realize that’s an assumption, but it is at least possible. In that case, we know there’s a theatre involved from what the assassin let slip.”

  “That’s something,” Silver agreed grudgingly. “Assuming it is connected. But there are a couple of thousand theatres in Paris—counting the cubiculum ones, of course. Those are very small and mostly involve the aesthetic portrayal of a female actress on stage in the process of losing her clothing. Surprised in the bath, trying to climb over a wall, assaulted by a flea, maybe you know the sort of thing . . .”

  Mu Dan and Irene exchanged looks. “It’s probably not those ones,” Irene said firmly.

  “Now, if we were back in my usual haunts, in the detective’s world, I could simply look them up in the index that I keep,” Silver said wistfully. “But here—I can’t necessarily be sure what’s where or how interesting it is.”

  “It’s an avenue of investigation,” Irene said. “And besides that, we have another clue. One that isn’t yet public knowledge.”

  Mu Dan brought out the paper that had been found in Ren Shun’s pocket, and Irene provided a translation. Then she turned to Vale. “Mu Dan said that you’d had an idea about the reference to hell in that note?”

  “Indeed.” Vale steepled his fingers. “Have you ever heard of the Cabaret de L’Enfer, Winters? I’m sure Silver has.”

  “The name doesn’t ring any bells,” Irene admitted. She mentally translated from French to English: Cabaret de L’Enfer, the Cabaret of Hell. “Is it well-known?”

  “It’s famous,” Silver said. “And yes, I’m sure it exists in this world. It’s in Montmartre, in the Pigalle—in the neighbourhood of the Moulin Rouge. A marvellous place. The doorman dressed as Mephisto, the waiters all dressed as devils, some magical tricks and illusions to amuse the guests, and of course the drinks are splendid. Yes, if we have to make a tour of the Paris nightspots, I would certainly recommend it.” He was frowning, though, as if something else was teasing at his memory, and he cast a sideways glance at Irene. She ignored it with the ease of practice.

  “What are the numbers, though?” Mu Dan asked. “A date and time? A recognition signal, or some sort of code?”

  “The numbers are thirty-nine, two, seventeen,” Irene said. “They don’t really fit a date or time. I suppose it could be a question-and-response recognition signal, but if so, then there’s no way of knowing who it’s supposed to be given to. Unless maybe it refers to a table at the Cabaret de L’Enfer?”

  “Unlikely,” Silver said. “I don’t think the place can manage thirty-nine tables, and certainly not thirty-nine places at a table. We might need to send in some bait and see who tries the signal on them.”

  “Your willingness to volunteer is noted,” Irene said drily. “But still. It’s a lead.”

  “There are other avenues,” Vale cut in, turning to Mu Dan. “For instance, we have yet to consider Ren Shun himself. What sort of a person was he? And might anyone have had a grudge against him?”

  Mu Dan tapped a fingernail on the table as she thought, picking her words carefully. “He was one of those whom almost everyone liked,” she finally said, “and he had to be. Monarchs are always difficult to deal with, so it is often necessary for their first ministers and their closest servants to be more—shall we say approachable? Now, I’m not saying that Lord Ren Shun was everyone’s best friend, but he was easy to deal with. He didn’t try to abuse his position. But equally he didn’t try to pretend everyone had his advantages or was on the same level that he was. You must know people like that: those who claim that there’s no need for societal change because naturally everyone rises to their proper position, and the ones trapped at the bottom must deserve to be there.”

  “His Majesty Ao Ji struck me as that sort of person, to be honest,” Irene said carefully.

  Mu Dan shrugged, a sharp, unhappy movement. “Royalty generally is that sort of person. Why should they object to a system which is so very much to their advantage?”

  Silver opened his mouth to say something, then visibly changed his mind and sipped his drink instead.

  “He sounds unusually generous of spirit—” Vale began.

  “For a dragon?” Mu Dan interrupted harshly.

  “For an aristocrat, I was going to say.” Vale leaned back in his chair. “Did this make him any enemies?”

  “Ah.” Mu Dan hesitated, and this time she glanced at Irene. “Not an enemy as such, but there is a person with whom he was not on the best of terms.”

  “Someone I know?” Irene asked.

  “Lord Li Ming, in service to His Majesty Ao Shun.”

  Irene blinked. “Li Ming? Really?”

  “You seem surprised,” Mu Dan noted. “Why?”

  “Li Ming’s always seemed . . . well, I wouldn’t use nice, but certainly rational, polite, and practical—not the sort who might hold a grudge with such passion it could lead to murder . . .” Although he was very, very good at making sure Ao Shun’s wishes were carried out, Irene remembered. “I can’t see why he’d be on bad terms with another dragon whom you’ve described as approachable, generous, and helpful.”

  “Family matters,” Mu Dan said briefly.

  Irene cast around for how to approach this tactfully, then gave up. “Forgive me, but is this a case of it being inappropriate for you to say anything more than that, or is it just that you don’t know any more than that?”

  For a moment Mu Dan was silent. Irene wondered if the dragon was making the same sort of calculation that Irene herself had done earlier, about just how far she could trust her fellow investigators and what she should tell them. Finally she said, “I heard something of a public disagreement when they last met. But I think there may be something besides that. Think, don’t know, and it would be a very bad idea for any of us to make unsupported suggestions about it in public.”

  Irene made a mental note to check Library sources, and Silver’s abstracted look suggested similar thoughts. “That’s reasonable,” she said.

  “And since we’re examining all sides, what do you make of the Library reference on that paper?” Mu Dan said pleasantly. “Or the reference to Herodotus’s Myths?”

  “I don’t know,” Irene admitted. “I need to ask some questions about if there actually is such a book. I told you about it in the first place. I’m not trying to hide it.” Well, not much, she thought. And if it is out there, and it is unique, then I’d rather like to
read it myself before handing it over to anyone. “But I would appreciate it if we could keep some of the details of our investigation between ourselves till we know a little more.”

  “Keeping secrets, Miss Winters?” Silver had shifted from his usual disparaging little mouse to Irene’s name. That meant he was being serious. “I can entirely understand that. But I’m surprised that you’re publicly asking us to go along with it.”

  “I’m trying to avoid starting a panic,” Irene said. “Or possibly avoid starting a hare—until we’re ready to do so. If the Blood Countess is behind what’s going on, for example, how will she react if she finds out we know about her?”

  “You’re suggesting that someone among the delegations is a traitor,” Mu Dan said thoughtfully. “And it could be from any delegation.”

  “There are a lot of ways of compromising someone,” Irene said. “Blackmail. Threats to someone they care about.” She knew a little too much about that option. “Suborning their servants, going through their waste-paper bins, claiming that you’re actually a higher-ranking secret agent on their side—someone could even have been persuaded to bring in electronic devices. Though I admit it seems inappropriate for someone who’s playing the role of a sadistic medieval countess. Telling His Majesty Ao Ji, or the Cardinal, or my direct superior is one thing. But spreading around some of this other information . . . can you all see my point?”

  “I do enjoy you when you’re like this,” Silver commented. His lazy smile suggested other methods of enjoyment as well, and Irene stiffened her shoulders to resist the fantasies that went with it. Just because his archetype of the libertine seducer was generally non-violent didn’t mean that he wasn’t dangerous. “Edged, intelligent, stimulating . . .”

  Irene repressed the urge to knock the glass out of his hand and shake him. “Stay on point, please, Lord Silver. We don’t have all day to enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Oh, I agree.” He considered her from under lowered eyelids. “It makes perfect sense. And I’ve never liked sharing secrets, anyhow. Now, what is the next item of interest which lurks upon your lips?”