The Mortal Word

by Genevieve Cogman

  “There can’t be that few of us,” Irene said, horrified. “When I’ve been to the Library recently, I’ve seen plenty of people . . .”

  “Students,” Prutkov said. “Or retired elders. Or people who’ve suffered injuries, like Melusine, severe enough to stop them working in the field. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to criticize the capabilities of our brothers and sisters who’ve been handicapped in the line of duty. But being in a wheelchair, however high-tech it may be, makes it a great deal harder to steal books. One has to be reasonable about these things. And this isn’t information which we can allow to get out. This has to be kept secret. Even from those we consider our friends. If the dragons or the Fae suspected that we were weak . . .”

  He tilted his head, gauging her reaction. “The question now, of course, is what we do about it.”

  Irene herself wasn’t quite sure how she felt. She’d never thought about the total numbers of Librarians. She’d always vaguely assumed it was along the lines of not enough, but we manage, and let it go at that. Like many hasty past judgements, this approach was now showing its flaws. “I’ve noticed that a number of Librarians aren’t keen on recruiting or mentoring,” she said. She herself had always been more enthusiastic about the stealing books and reading them part of her job. She’d never asked for Kai as an apprentice—however much she’d grown to appreciate him.

  “Yes,” Prutkov agreed. “We don’t select for those character traits. We select for obsessive tendencies and high levels of skill. The problem is that we can’t go on doing that. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Things are changing.”

  His voice settled into a persuasive cadence. This was clearly a speech he’d made before. “Even before Alberich’s attack, the number of Librarians was declining. The deaths and injuries which he caused cost us over a hundred more. And now we may be heading into a situation where we will be effectively unnecessary.”

  “Are you sure that’s the right word for it?”

  “What else would you call it, if the dragons and Fae will each be keeping to their ends of reality? The balance of worlds won’t be under threat any more. We won’t need to steal books to stabilise them.”

  Irene felt that this was far too simplistic a view of the situation. Signing a peace treaty might be an important step forward in terms of preventing outright war, but it wouldn’t stop the intrinsic conflict between the two sides. Not to mention that only some of them would be signing it.

  But Prutkov clearly wanted her to agree to this point, and she wanted to find out where he was going with the argument. “I see what you mean,” she said, letting herself frown. “You’re thinking of a possible future where both sides could claim that things are balanced, and the Library isn’t needed. That they don’t need us Librarians. A future where dragons and Fae might even be able to join forces to metaphorically divide us up and share out the profits. So to speak.”

  “Yes,” Prutkov said. He didn’t try to disagree with her, which seriously worried Irene. “Yes, we could consider that the worst possible future. And there are other alternatives which aren’t a lot better. Irene, the Library is outnumbered and outgunned. We need to think about different future strategies. We need to be willing to change.”

  “I’ve heard other Librarians saying that we need to change,” Irene said carefully. She wanted to keep him talking, but outright agreement with everything he said would look suspicious.

  Something inside her twisted unpleasantly at the thought that she was handling a Librarian—one of her own—in the same way that she’d flatter and lie to an enemy for information.

  But what the hell was Prutkov up to? She had to know.

  “Anyone in particular?” Prutkov asked casually. “I thought you stayed out of politics.”

  “Penemue. It was a few months ago.” Irene shrugged. “She tried approaching me, but the moment she heard I was on probation she backed off. Perhaps she didn’t consider me useful enough. She was making noises about more democratic representation and consultation and that sort of thing. But it was in the middle of Alberich attacking the Library. An oncoming car crash isn’t the moment to argue about who’s driving the car.”

  “Penemue has too simplistic a view of the situation, but she’s not entirely wrong,” Prutkov said. “She’s just wrong about what needs doing, how to do it, and who should be doing it.”

  “From where I’m standing, I can’t see that leaves much scope for her being right.” Irene had the sense of picking her way through a minefield. She’d assumed that Prutkov had wanted this talk with her so that she could tell him any important facts in private. Now she suspected that the privacy was for his benefit; he didn’t want anyone hearing what he was telling her.

  “She’s right that something needs to be done!” Prutkov brought the flat of his hand down on the table in a gesture that reminded Irene of Kostchei. “We have to change. We can’t afford to become unnecessary. And fortunately for us, there is a space that’s just waiting to be occupied.”

  “Go on,” Irene said slowly. “I’m interested.”

  “The dragons and the Fae are never going to be that close. Even if their cultures permitted it, they can’t tolerate each other’s worlds.” Prutkov conveniently ignored the fact that earlier he’d been suggesting they could ally closely enough to dispose of the Library. “There’s a place for us in the middle. We’re seeing the start of it now. We’re the deal makers, the peacekeepers. We can have a real influence over them this way.” He looked Irene straight in the eyes. “Have you ever wondered what our ultimate purpose might be?”

  “I never actually thought of it in those terms,” Irene said. “I was always busy with what was directly in front of me.”

  “Then you should be thinking further ahead,” Prutkov scolded her, as if he were her teacher. “Scope. Potential. Look up and plan for the future. Maybe we were meant to keep the peace by holding the reins on both sides. If they trust us, then we can persuade them separately to work with us. We can use this opportunity, Irene. We can use them. I’ve seen the records of your work with Kai while he was your apprentice. I know you understand what I mean.” He leaned forward with the air of one sharing an intimacy. “Both sides are bound by their nature. We’re human. We can be more than that. The Library can grow. It can keep the peace rather than just steal books around the edges of creation. But for that to happen, they have to depend on us. They have to trust us. They have to need us.”

  Irene could actually feel her blood running cold. Her hands tightened in her lap. Had Prutkov spent all his time in the Library? Had he never actually met a powerful dragon or Fae? Did he think that they were always as amenable to reason as they were being at the moment? Was he, she wondered in mental language that threatened to lapse into profanity, completely incompetent?

  “This is playing with fire,” she said. Caution urged her to soften her language and apply some flattery. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I’m very flattered that you see me as part of the Library’s future. But what you’re suggesting is a huge gamble. Leaving aside any questions of morality . . .” And she had quite a few such questions, come to think of it. When people started talking about using other people, they were usually envisaging a power structure with themselves at the top. That was not what she wanted for the Library. It had never been what she wanted for the Library. But she made herself continue the sentence. “I have a lot of concerns about this idea’s practicality.”

  Prutkov frowned. “You’re uncertain. I can understand that. But I want you with me, Irene. You’ve demonstrated you’re part of the Library’s future. I don’t want you to be left behind . . .”

  “I’m cautious,” Irene said. She could hear the double meaning behind his words. She’d been offered the carrot: the flip side was the stick, the threat of being left out of his plans. “I’ve always found it a good strategy. The current situation is highly volatile, and I’m in the m
iddle of it. Am I expendable?”

  “Why are you asking me that question?”

  “Because everyone else is.” Irene wanted to steer the discussion away from join me in committing something which sounds awfully like treason before he asked for her commitment one way or another. “Or rather, the rest of the investigative team seem to be people their superiors can live without. The Cardinal’s got a grudge against Lord Silver and would probably be glad to see him destroyed. Mu Dan’s not in service to anyone, so Ao Ji can write her off without any consequences. This does not reassure me. Being in the middle of such a group makes me feel that there’s a target on my back too. And I worry about who might have put it there.”

  “There are a lot of good reasons why you were asked to head up the team,” Prutkov said calmly. “None of them mean that you’re in any way expendable. I’m not denying it’s a high-risk assignment, but you know that already. Any Librarian who’s in the middle of this is in danger. You, me, Coppelia, Kostchei, Bradamant . . . That reminds me, I’ll be assigning Bradamant to assist you in some areas. I’ve told her to make sure that you and Vale have suitable clothing for tonight and in general. Not just fashionable gear, but styled to make sure you can run or fight if there’s trouble.”

  “That’ll be useful,” Irene said, glad to have one problem less to worry about. She didn’t want to spend her time at a political dinner tonight, but if she had to go, then she preferred to be dressed properly. “I’ll be sure to thank her later. Is there any chance I could have her help now, with these statements?”

  “Not right this minute, but I’ll send her down later if she’s available.” Prutkov hesitated, as though turning something over in his mind. “I know that she’s had some past irregularities in her record, and she hasn’t your experience in dealing with dragons, but I think she could manage quite well under your supervision. What do you think?”

  And here was another carrot, designed to appeal to Irene’s worst instincts. A chance to be supervising your previous mentor, who made your life extremely unpleasant. She knew just how Bradamant would feel about this too. That would, after all, be part of the appeal, if Irene was the sort of person to enjoy that kind of payback . . .

  She wasn’t. Was she?

  “I look forward to working with her,” she said neutrally. “But Bradamant’s an experienced operative. I’m sure she won’t need any supervision from me.”

  “Then let’s just say that I’ll make sure she knows she has to follow your orders in an emergency.” Prutkov smiled at Irene encouragingly. “You need to trust your judgement more. Once we’ve identified the Blood Countess’s current hideout, we can coordinate an assault with everyone involved and resolve this situation to our mutual benefit.”

  Irene wondered just whom we and our referred to. The three factions present? Or just Prutkov and herself, in a private little conspiracy? And she was concerned by his eagerness to pin everything on the Countess as the obvious culprit. Where was the evidence? “There are still a lot of unresolved factors between now and then,” she pointed out. “We don’t have any significant proof that it is her—or that she’s here at all. We need more information. And what about Minister Zhao’s murder—might it be connected too?”

  “I’ll do my best to investigate at my end,” Prutkov promised, with an undertone that made her remember he’d been Melusine’s pupil. “I’ll put enquiries in train. But I expect you to do the same on yours. I understand that Lord Silver’s taken a personal interest in you in the past. If it got him talking, I don’t suppose you could . . .” He raised an eyebrow, letting the statement trail off suggestively.

  “Absolutely not,” Irene said firmly and quickly.

  “I would have thought you’d be professional about it.” Prutkov actually managed to sound disappointed in her.

  “I am not stupid enough to hop into bed with a Fae whose personal archetype is ‘libertine seducer,’” Irene said fervently. “That is asking for trouble. That is about as sensible as playing chess with the Cardinal. There is absolutely no point in challenging someone in the area where they’re particularly talented. All you do is lose.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll see what you can get out of Prince Kai,” Prutkov said with a shrug. “We need to know what his uncle’s thinking. I trust you not to let any personal feelings get in the way there. You’ve shown that you can keep him under control. Do whatever it takes.”

  He pushed back from the table, preparing to rise. “Any last questions?”

  Irene bit back some of what was boiling in her mouth, but she couldn’t entirely control herself. This man—this Librarian—was supposed to be on her side. “Just how far do you expect me to go?”

  Prutkov blinked, his expression pleasantly bemused, as though he couldn’t quite see her point. “Irene, you’ve stolen for the Library. You’ve killed people. When I tell you to do whatever it takes, I mean precisely that. I’m a little surprised that you’re taking all this so personally. I thought that you were a professional.”

  “I have standards,” Irene said, unable to suppress the cold fury in her voice.

  “And you have orders too,” Prutkov said. “Remember what all this is for. Remember what’s at stake.” He pushed to his feet. “I’ll get back to you with any information I’ve collected later. Do keep me informed, won’t you?”

  Irene didn’t rise to her feet as he left the room. It would have suggested a level of respect that she couldn’t remotely say she felt.

  The stacks of paper sat in front of her, waiting for her to get back to them. Plenty of data on comings and goings, but none of it what she needed.

  Irene had always felt she could rely on her superiors in the Library. She’d believed that if they were to sacrifice her, then it would be reluctantly and for a good reason. She’d never met one whom she so outright distrusted. She’d disliked Bradamant—she’d been afraid that Bradamant would use her—but she’d never doubted that Bradamant truly believed in and served the Library. Prutkov, on the other hand . . .

  If the Library’s future is at stake here, do I really want it to be what Prutkov wants to make it?

  But with all the possible consequences, can I risk failure?

  She didn’t have any answers.

  CHAPTER 12

  Irene twitched aside the curtain of her room and peered down into the street below. The veil of snowflakes blurred her vision, but she could see the line of carriages and motor cars dropping off guests below.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Bradamant said from her armchair. “The top people on either side will be the last to arrive. You know how this sort of thing works.”

  “Of course,” Irene said, controlling her irritation. She shivered in the cold air that filtered around the edges of the window but was unwilling to turn away and close the curtain. “And I know that Duan Zheng and Sterrington were both conducting security sweeps just now. For all I know, they’re still doing it.” She shuddered, and it wasn’t just from the cold. “When I think of all the things that could go wrong . . .”

  “Hopefully not cyborg alligators this time,” Bradamant said with a frown.

  “Yes, I suppose we can be grateful that this world doesn’t go in for that sort of technology.” Irene gave up on trying to recognize any of the guests from their umbrellas or evening coats and let the curtain drop shut. “I’d rather be downstairs and helping with the security checks.”

  “So you’ve said repeatedly. There is such a thing as cramping other people’s style and making them nervous by leaning over their shoulders, Irene. Even if you are leading the investigative team.”

  “Coordinating,” Irene corrected her. She wanted that point to be absolutely clear. “Why don’t we go on down anyhow? Better to be early than late.”

  Bradamant raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to tell me how well you have it under control?”

  Irene attemp
ted to gauge how much of the other woman’s mood was genuine irritation and how much was habitual sarcasm. “Didn’t we agree to at least try to cooperate with each other?”

  Bradamant put down her newspaper and rose to her feet, a reply clearly on the tip of her tongue. Then she seemed to deflate and sighed, just a little. “Irene, I realize you haven’t yet had this personal experience yourself, but it is just a little difficult to cope with watching other people promoted over your head and catapulted into positions that—to be entirely honest—you’re not sure they’re competent to manage. Allow me a moment of annoyance. I promise you that I’ll be all smiles downstairs.”

  “You are not reassuring me that I can rely on you,” Irene said. “It may be the new form of honesty to confess to all this personal . . . annoyance, and then say you’ll be my very best friend in front of witnesses. But it doesn’t leave me feeling comfortable.”

  “Your comfort is hardly my concern,” Bradamant said with a splendid shrug. Her white shoulders and neck were beautiful in the lamplight—the sort of thing that would have been poetically described as swan-like. And both she and Irene were in the latest fashion for evening dresses, which meant bared shoulders and a nearly bared bosom, tight waists over tight-boned corsets, and long skirts with trains that required careful management. Irene was in dark green watered silk, Bradamant in glittering beaded black. Irene rather regretted that they hadn’t been in time for the previous fashion, which had involved much heavier layers of fabric and highly defensive bodices, not to mention puffed sleeves and shoulders that could have hidden an arsenal. She wasn’t particularly body-shy, but in a situation like this, any degree of cover would have been welcome—however illusory.

  Especially with Silver or Kai present. Prutkov’s words from earlier still rankled, lying like a thorn in her mind and causing her to flinch mentally whenever she considered them.