“This one is more of a hypothesis than a definite fact,” Irene said carefully, keeping half an eye on Mu Dan. If anyone at this table was likely to know about the point she was about to raise—or be irritated by it—then it would be her. “I understand that there was another recent dragon assassination. Minister Zhao, in service to Ya Yu—the Queen of the Southern Lands.”
Vale stiffened. “Isn’t that what touched off your recent assignment?” he asked. “Strongrock mentioned it.”
“Touched off, yes, as in igniting a trail of gunpowder,” Irene agreed. “I’m wondering how relevant it may be.”
Silver shrugged. “The name means nothing to me. How should it be relevant?”
“I’m theorising. I admit I don’t know anything about Minister Zhao’s murder, apart from the fact that it happened. But two murders in such a short period of time? Coincidence, or could they be linked? Ya Yu has an interest in this peace treaty—Mei Feng’s here, and I think she’s the queen’s most trusted servant.” Irene thought about the timing of her recent mission, rescuing another Librarian who’d been dragged into a contest for power in the dragon courts. “And Ya Yu was very eager to fill the assassinated Minister Zhao’s post before this peace conference took place. Is it possible that the minister’s death was also someone’s attempt to sabotage the conference—before it even happened?”
There was silence around the table. Eventually Mu Dan spoke. “Irene, I’m not saying that you’re wrong. I find this chain of logic very interesting, and there might even be reason to believe it. But the evidence about Minister Zhao’s death will be under seal. We are unlikely to obtain it simply by asking.”
“Mei Feng is at the Ritz,” Irene said thoughtfully. “I’m sure she could give us any information we need.”
“If she has it,” Vale pointed out. “The investigations must have been exhaustive. If they had a suspect, or any proof, wouldn’t they have acted on it by now?”
“But what if they wanted to avoid an outright rift with the Fae?” Silver suggested. “Let’s theorise—no, let’s guess—that they found out one of my kind committed the assassination. But in that case, saying so publicly would rouse public opinion and inflame any hostilities. It’d be even harder to negotiate peace under those circumstances. Her Majesty might have hushed the whole thing up to avoid that.”
“Possible,” Mu Dan admitted. “Let me speak to Mei Feng. I can present our thoughts on the subject. She will be able to tell us if our direction here is valid or if the matter has already been resolved and kept silent.”
“If it was the Countess there as well, she’s unlikely to have been subtle about it,” Silver noted.
Mu Dan nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
Silver finished his glass. “Since you’re giving orders, my little mouse, what would you like me to do?”
“I think you’re the one of us here who knows Paris best,” Irene said, after a moment’s thought. She glanced to Vale and Mu Dan, and they both nodded in agreement. “If you can find any trace of the Blood Countess in the city, or any follow-up on this ‘theatre’ that was mentioned, that would be extremely helpful.”
“I can but try,” Silver said. He set down his glass and rose to his feet. “I imagine we’ll meet again this evening.”
“Won’t you be busy?” Vale asked acerbically.
“You haven’t heard?” Silver raised an eyebrow, enjoying the moment. “We’re all to attend the dinner tonight. It will be interesting.”
He swept towards the door, pausing by Irene’s chair to bend and brush a kiss against her cheek as she flushed and tried to pull away.
It wasn’t quite the distraction it would normally have been. The usual heat of his presence was lessened, as though deliberately, and he murmured in her ear, “We’ll speak later. Privately. You know why.”
She didn’t even have time to swallow, or demand answers, before he was out of the door.
“I’m at a loss as to why he is the Fae representative on this investigation,” Mu Dan said with a sniff. “Someone more academic or experienced would have been far more useful.”
Irene pulled herself together. She very deliberately didn’t rub the spot on her cheek where Silver’s lips had brushed her skin. “Maybe it’s because he knows Paris?” she suggested. But Mu Dan’s question nagged at her. There must be Fae out there whose archetypes tended towards investigation. Why hadn’t one of them been called in?
“He is at least a known quantity.” Vale stacked the documents in a pile. “Winters, I need to search Ren Shun’s rooms and question some of the hotel staff. Mu Dan has her own direction of investigation. We can meet this evening and compare notes, if no prior crisis intervenes.”
Mu Dan nodded. “Hopefully there will be time to discuss our findings before this obligatory dinner. What will you be doing, Irene?”
“Going through the statements,” Irene said, “and asking my own questions here, now that I can actually spend more than five minutes with my own superiors. I’ll find out what that Herodotus reference means, and if that Beta-001 is a world designation. If we absolutely have to attend this evening’s dinner, I’ll certainly be kept busy beforehand.”
She spared a wistful thought for whatever Kai was up to—and hoped that she hadn’t dropped him into a nest of vipers.
CHAPTER 11
The knock on the door brought Irene’s head up from her papers. “Enter!” she called hopefully. She wasn’t quite wishing for another murder to get away from correlating statements, but it was a close thing.
Prutkov entered, closing the door behind him with barely a click. With a sigh of relief he took a seat opposite Irene. “I’m sure you’ve been wanting a word,” he said.
“Yes,” Irene said. She saw no need to dance around the subject. “Very badly. But I was told that Coppelia and Kostchei were both in meetings, and I didn’t know who else I should report to.”
“Easy enough,” Prutkov said. He settled back in his chair comfortably. “Gods, it’s good not to be roasting or freezing—I admire our elders, but they’ve got rheumatism and I haven’t. And you report to me.”
“You do realize that I’ve never actually met you before today?” Irene said.
“In the presence of Coppelia and Kostchei, both of whom treated me as a trusted and reliable Librarian and underling,” Prutkov said. He didn’t lose his smile.
Irene sat back and considered him. He could have been anywhere between forty and a well-preserved sixty, though that told her absolutely nothing about his real age. One didn’t age inside the Library. Years could pass. Centuries. He had a comfortable air of experience, like a well-travelled uncle, but his clothing was bland, giving her no hints about his personality. His only clear trace of individuality was in his accessories: his heavy, opalescent Tiffany-glass cuff-links and tie-pin. Not expensive enough for ostentation, but certainly a personal choice. She had no way to read his motivations—but, as he said, he had been there earlier with her superiors and was clearly working with them. Why should she be suspicious?
“Understood,” she said. “Please don’t be offended. I seem to be running into a number of Librarians whom I’ve never met before. It shouldn’t be that strange, given that there are hundreds of us—there’s no way we could meet all our brothers and sisters. But . . .” She shrugged. “It still feels a little odd. As if there are political currents in the background, which I’d never seen between us before.”
Prutkov’s shrug matched her own. “Trust, but verify. It’s a sensible principle to live by. At least you’re not asking me to take my shirt off so you can see my Library brand.”
“As you said, Coppelia and Kostchei proved you’re one of us.”
“Ah yes. Just another of the Library orphans.”
There was enough meaning to his tone that Irene couldn’t miss the reference. She’d only recently found out that she was adopted, and that the two Li
brarians whom she’d believed to be her parents . . . weren’t. She was still coming to terms with it. Even if other Librarians had parents outside the Library and had left them behind years ago, at least they knew who those parents were.
“You’re well-informed,” she remarked.
“I was Melusine’s star pupil.”
“Was?” Irene said, noting the past tense.
“She suggested that I find another career route. She felt that I was too secretive. And let’s be honest, there was a lack of career progression. Melusine is at the top of her personal little pyramid of power, and has no intention of moving.”
Irene could understand that. Melusine, the Library’s wheelchair-using head of Security, was unlikely to relinquish her position. What did concern Irene was Melusine’s referring to someone else as too secretive. That was a serious case of the pot calling the kettle black. And if it was true, Irene should be careful about what Prutkov said—or rather, what he didn’t say.
“So you’re head of security on this particular job?” she asked.
“Exactly.” Prutkov seemed pleased that she’d put it together so fast. “Kostchei and Coppelia are in charge, of course”—was there something a little too emphatic about that of course?—“but I’m overseeing the details and practicalities. This world allows technology, which opens certain interesting avenues, and we’ve taken some advantage of this. Though of course we’re not wiretapping any meetings ourselves.” He again laid a certain degree of stress on of course, implying the complete opposite. “So if you have any questions, I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thank you. But I’m not sure whether it’s more urgent for me to tell you what we’ve discovered or to ask you a lot of questions.”
Prutkov wiped his forehead theatrically. “You’ve just convinced me that you are the right person for this job, Irene. Most Librarians would have gone straight to the second option without even considering the first one.”
“First things first, then,” Irene said, feeling a private glow of pleasure. It was nice to have common sense on her part appreciated, not just taken for granted. “This is what we’ve found out so far . . .”
Half an hour later, Irene sat back in her chair and finished her cup of coffee. It had gone cold. Prutkov had debriefed her thoroughly and had actually raised some new questions in her own mind. “I realize that us splitting up wasn’t necessarily the safest option,” she said. “But it seemed the most efficient one, and everyone knows to be careful now.”
“Besides, if you’re all separated, it might draw out some more kidnappers, which would be a very useful source of information,” Prutkov agreed. “I approve. Good work. Your turn to ask questions, I think. Then we can get down to the question of what to do next.”
“One thing that particularly worries me is the B-001 reference,” Irene said. “That bit of paper in Ren Shun’s pocket was clearly a Library designation . . .”
Prutkov frowned. “I think you’re right in your earlier supposition. It’s a sophisticated attempt to frame us. A number of dragons and Fae know about our system of classifying worlds. It would be easy to guess that a low number would sound important. Perhaps it’s a pity that you told the others—but at least it shows our honest intentions. I’ll pass that reference and the title to some of our researchers back at the Library, and they’ll see if they can find anything relevant. For what it’s worth, I have heard of a book by Herodotus with that name. It was a collection of myths and fables. But it’s only shown up in a few worlds and is extremely rare. You can share that with your team, if you think that would help. But I don’t think that it’s significant enough to have bribed a Librarian. Not even if there was a worst-case scenario and we had a Librarian whose particular mania was Herodotus.”
Irene nodded, mostly reassured—even if she was still a little tantalised at the thought of getting her hands on a nearly unique book. Just a normal human impulse, she tried to reassure herself. One doesn’t even have to be a Librarian to feel that way . . .
She pulled herself together. “All right, then. Practicalities. How many Librarians are currently in Paris, what sort of a response force can I count on if I need to take action, and do we have reserves that we can bring in via the Library?”
Prutkov’s expression of pleased approval withered and dried on his face, like a time-lapse photograph of a flower losing its colour and freshness. “Now, don’t you think that’s a more aggressive approach than we really need to be considering here? You’re supposed to be leading an investigative team, not some sort of . . .” He looked for the most appropriate words. “Some sort of strike force.”
“If an extremely aggressive war-minded Fae with a habit of torture and assassination has set up shop in Paris, we’re going to need a strike force,” Irene pointed out. “Especially if she’s going to be proactive about it.” Rather more proactive than we’re being, she couldn’t help feeling. “We can’t risk having any more of the diplomats killed. And I’d rather not be killed or kidnapped myself.”
“I don’t think you’re quite looking at the full picture here,” Prutkov said thoughtfully. “Certainly what you’re describing would be unfortunate, but on the positive side, it would definitely put the blame where it deserves to be put. And don’t you think that a joint effort from both sides would be more thematic here, rather than a Library triumph? More symbolic of what we’re trying to achieve?”
“Compared to the risk of more murders—and having either side walk out of the negotiations?” Irene asked rhetorically. “No. That is, I agree that a joint task force to wipe out a warmongering interfering Fae—assuming she exists, and this isn’t all a red herring—would be splendidly symbolic. But I’m not convinced leaving the investigative team to just get on with it is a justifiable risk. Not to mention the possibility that someone on one side or the other is feeding the Countess—or some other suspect—information. There could be someone else out there tied to this murder after all. There could be any number of suspicious parties out there. But if our culprit is her and she knows she’s been found out, she’ll probably flee. Or set an ambush. Neither would be good. I think we’d do better if we could bring in our own people—as many as we need—investigate thoroughly, and then present the result as a fait accompli.”
“What you say is all very valid, but the final judgement doesn’t rest with you.” Prutkov smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. The situation is under high-level review, and I can tell you that the Blood Countess is exactly the sort of suspect we’d hoped you’d dig up. I knew it was the right decision to bring you in on the case.”
Irene experienced—not for the first time in her career—the dizzying sensation of safe ground dropping away behind her and leaving her with her back to a precipice. “Just how much autonomy do I have here?” she demanded.
“You obey the Library, don’t you? Which means that you’re under my command. Unless you actually want me to go and get it in writing from Kostchei or Coppelia. That may take a little longer, but I assure you the orders will be the same.”
“I’m not trying to dispute your authority,” Irene said firmly. It was quite true. If—or when—the time came that she had to dispute his authority, it wouldn’t be a case of trying. “I apologise if it sounded that way. But I am concerned about the consequences if this goes sour.”
“Are you afraid that you’d be left to take the blame?”
“I have a great many other things to be afraid of before we even get to that point. My parents, for instance.” She saw Prutkov’s expression change and held up a hand to stop him. “Yes, I know I’m adopted, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about them. And what about the other Librarians who are hostages? Or the greater risk to the Library? And to this world?”
Prutkov leaned towards her, and his voice lowered to a murmur. “Irene, would it surprise you to know that we have arrangements to pull the hostages out of danger if things do go off track?
We don’t want to lose our Librarians any more than you do.”
A weight that she hadn’t fully been able to express seemed to lift from Irene’s heart. She felt like slumping forward in relief. “That’s very good news,” she breathed.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Prutkov warned her. “Don’t even speak about it to other Librarians. Part of the reason the dragons and Fae are working with us here is that we’ve been willing to give them hostages. If they thought it was just an empty gesture on our part . . .” His grimace made it clear how little all their lives would be worth.
Irene nodded. “Point taken. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Besides, even if you have set this up, it’s not as if they’re safe.”
“No,” Prutkov agreed. “No, you’re quite right.” He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “And you deserve to know the rest of why I can’t just pull in assistance for you. Do you have any idea of the current number of active Librarians in the field?”
“No,” Irene admitted. “I’d assumed that there were a few thousand of us.”
Certainty drained from her as Prutkov slowly shook his head. “At least a thousand?” she guessed.
“There are perhaps five hundred Librarians who are currently active in the field and able to handle dangerous or violent situations,” Prutkov said. “And of those Librarians, perhaps a couple of hundred have connections to either the dragons or the Fae that could render them compromised. I’m not saying that they’re unreliable, but I am saying that they can’t be trusted with information about this peace conference. The only way that we’ve been able to make this work is by keeping information about it to an absolute minimum. Even from our own people. The dragons and the Fae are doing the same—that’s why there are so few of them here. I can’t just wave my hand and arrange a dozen competent Librarians to back you up. The ones who are really good at their job, like yourself, are going to be in the middle of their own high-risk projects. It would take them days to disengage and get here.”
The Mortal Word Page 15