The Lost Plot

by Genevieve Cogman

  “Having tea with me won’t place you under any sort of obligation,” Jin Zhi said. “That’d be a Fae trick. We can split the bill.”

  “That sounds fair,” Irene agreed. “What would you like?”

  “The high tea for two sounds reasonable. Tea, sandwiches, macaroons—”

  “It’s past midnight.”

  “So? They’re still serving it.”

  Irene nodded and let Jin Zhi give the order. She glanced at the other people in the room, studying their reflections in the mirrors. There were very few people alone: most of them were in pairs or trios, gathered at their own tables, heads close together as they spoke quietly. A piano in the corner of the room tinkled sweetly, not enough to be intrusive, but loud enough to blot out whispers.

  “Let me start this again,” Jin Zhi said, once the tea had arrived. “I’m sorry that we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Jin Zhi, and I serve the Queen of the Southern Lands. I hold only a small position, having dominion over a mere dozen worlds. I am grateful you allowed me the courtesy of this meeting.”

  “The honour is mine,” Irene said, matching the other woman’s formality. “I am Irene, a servant of the Library, though a junior one, and I am Librarian-in-Residence to this world. I don’t know why I’ve deserved your attention, but naturally I’m delighted to receive you here.” And how had Jin Zhi known where to find her? A question for later. “How do you take your tea?”

  “A little milk, no sugar,” Jin Zhi said. She waited for Irene to fill the cup. Clearly her gestures towards equality only went so far: the inferior person poured the tea. “Do you think that fulfils the requirement for professional courtesy?” she added.

  “Probably,” Irene said. She added a splash of milk to her own tea. “Though a ‘mere dozen’ worlds? I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important.”

  “It’s all admin,” Jin Zhi admitted. “There’s very little actual involvement in ruling them, and only from behind the scenes. None of them are actually at risk from the forces of chaos. But to get to the point . . .” Jin Zhi gave Irene what was obviously a well-practised smile of friendly sisterhood. It pinged every single one of Irene’s mental alarms. “It’s about a book.”

  Irene folded her hands around her cup. “I may not have it personally in stock, but I know most of this world’s major libraries by now, and a fair number of the best bookshops,” she said. “Can you tell me the author and the title?”

  Jin Zhi snorted. “If I’d just wanted an ordinary book from this world, then I could have sent a servant to find it. I wouldn’t have needed to discuss it with a Librarian.”

  “Then what do you want? And where do you want it from?”

  “I’m interested in a version of the Journey to the West.” Jin Zhi sipped her tea. “No doubt you know the work. It’s from a specific world—and not this one. I can give you the details. I’m sure you must have many different versions in your Library . . .”

  “I’m afraid that we don’t lend them out,” Irene said flatly.

  However, she did indeed know the Journey to the West—it was one of the four great classical novels of Chinese literature in many worlds. It was a sixteenth-century work of semi-history, semi-mythology, and semi-philosophy, about one monk’s travels to bring back Buddhist scriptures from India, with his supernatural companions. It involved hair-raising adventures, shape-changing, beating up monsters, and flying around on clouds. The monk’s contributions tended to involve standing around being useless—or being on the dinner menu for the monster of the current chapter, while his companions did all the work. The Monkey and Pig characters had all the interesting moments. Most Librarians would at least have recognized the name, even if they hadn’t read it.

  But some requests had to be refused, however dangerous the person requesting it. “This simply isn’t possible.”

  “Not even if you have more than one copy?” Jin Zhi’s eyes flashed with an angry light, like sun glinting off a sword.

  “It’s a strict rule. We don’t make exceptions.” Irene kept her expression calm. Showing fear would only confirm her as an inferior entity. “Though this does refer to the Library’s own copies. If what you’re looking for is a transcript of the text, then I could have someone make a copy—”

  Jin Zhi was already shaking her head condescendingly. “No. An original edition is required. Preferably Ming Dynasty, though later would do.” Even though Irene had just refused, Jin Zhi didn’t look discouraged. “Perhaps if I explain why?”

  Irene noted that Jin Zhi’s phrasing was extremely cautious. Not once had she actually asked Irene to obtain a copy for her, or even suggested that she wanted it personally. It was all I’m interested in or It is required. Very curious. “Bedtime reading?” she suggested.

  Jin Zhi laughed, surprised for a moment into genuine amusement. She helped herself from the tiered trays that had arrived at the table—laden with sandwiches, scones, little cakes, and macaroons—and gestured for Irene to do likewise. “Nothing so simple, I’m afraid. You see . . .”

  She paused, as if not sure where to begin, but there was something a little staged to it—as though it was all part of a demonstration of nearly human fallibility. We’re just women together. You can trust me.

  “The Queen of the Southern Lands is one of the four great queens who rule the inner dragon kingdoms. Or should that be queendoms?”

  “I understand that there are four outer kingdoms ruled by four kings, and four inner kingdoms ruled by the four queens,” Irene said. She’d managed to get that much out of Kai. “And the outer kingdoms lie closer to the worlds of chaos, while the inner kingdoms are closer to the worlds of order.”

  Jin Zhi nodded. “Recently Minister Zhao decided to . . . retire. And Her Majesty has decided to offer two of her junior servants a chance to take the empty place. So she has set us in competition with each other.”

  “She wants you to find her a book,” Irene said. And yes, perhaps Her Majesty the Queen of the Southern Lands had also set her servants trials of rulership and administration, and so on. But if not, Irene could only admire her. Go fetch me this book. The woman—the dragon—the queen—clearly had her priorities right.

  Jin Zhi dissected a cucumber sandwich. “Yes,” she finally said. “She wants us to find her a very particular book, in order to demonstrate our abilities. The courtier who brings her the book will get preferment. The one who doesn’t . . . will pay the price. Those who aspire to high office must accept the high risks of failure.”

  Irene buttered a scone thoughtfully. “I understand why you considered going to a Librarian,” she said. “But I can’t give you a copy from the Library, and there are so many different versions of that particular book out there, in any case . . . I wouldn’t even know where to start looking. You said you knew which world it was from, but I don’t think dragons and Librarians use the same terminology for alternate worlds. Even if we did take commissions . . . which we don’t. I’m not even sure where you heard my name in the first place.” In fact, that last point was making Irene nervous.

  “A friend of a friend,” Jin Zhi said, “knows Kai, son of the King of the Eastern Ocean . . .” She stopped. “Forgive my formality, but it’s hard to break the habit. Anyhow, I heard that Kai was spending time in this world and that he had a Librarian serving him. I wanted to ask a Librarian some questions. I’m sure you can see my logic.”

  “Absolutely,” Irene agreed. Her inner alarm was rising to a low boil, but she didn’t show it. Jin Zhi knew far too much about Kai, Irene, and the Library. This was not good for Irene’s safety, and might be dangerous for Kai as well.

  But why did you visit while Kai was elsewhere? the cynical part of her mind commented. And why didn’t you go to him first? This story does not hold water. It positively leaks.

  Irene kept her expression neutral. She couldn’t call this dragon a liar to her face. Dragons were not ge
nerally concerned about collateral damage when they took offence. “But I’m afraid I’m not actually working for Kai. I’m also surprised that you found me here—in York.”

  “I employed servants to locate you,” Jin Zhi said with a shrug. “I’m not one of those people who tries to do everything herself. I prefer to employ experts.”

  “Like a Librarian,” Irene agreed.

  “Well, exactly.” Jin Zhi leaned forward. “Now, naturally I don’t want to make any sort of arrangement with you. It would be highly inappropriate. I’m glad to hear that you’re so definite about your independence.”

  Irene’s danger signals were going off all down the line. Was this some sort of test by the Library, to see how she’d react? No, that had to be too paranoid. But was Jin Zhi skirting around asking for help so that she could claim innocence in future? And if so, what did she want from Irene?

  Jin Zhi had admitted that this was the pivot for an internal power struggle in the dragon court—but had avoided saying how important it was. Which suggested it was very important indeed. As such, Irene—and all Librarians—needed to stay well out of it.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Irene said briskly. “Because I really am neutral, the Library really is independent, and we absolutely do not get involved in dragon politics—let alone dragon court politics. I appreciate the tea and sandwiches, but anything more is out of the question.”

  Jin Zhi’s eyes narrowed as she sat back in her chair, her mask of civility gone. She picked up a biscuit and snapped it between her fingers, and for a moment her nails were longer and claw-like. “How interesting,” she said, making the word sound like a curse. “And I’d thought I was just evening the scales.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The door blew open as a group staggered in from the night, hats and umbrellas drenched from the pouring rain. Even at this hour of the night, past midnight and with the rain coming down and the river flooding, York hummed with activity.

  “I understand that my competitor has already secured a Librarian’s assistance. Apparently not all Librarians are quite as principled as you, Irene.”

  Irene shrugged, but a chill ran down her spine. “I know nothing about that,” she said. She didn’t keep track of most Librarians’ schemes. Apart from them all collecting books, of course. That went without saying. But surely no sane Librarian would get involved in something like this? It would mean drawing the Library into dragon politics. And that could make other Librarians in the field easy targets for any dragons with a stake in the situation. As for the Fae reaction, if they found out—or even if they just suspected—that the Library was collaborating with dragons . . . Kai was apprenticed to the Library, possibly the only situation where a dragon-librarian working relationship was permitted. Even so, Irene had been scrupulous about not involving herself and Kai in dragon politics. Anything else would not be tolerated.

  “Really.” Jin Zhi’s tone was edged metal. “Don’t you talk to each other at all?”

  “We probably aren’t as well-organized as you dragons are,” Irene said, obfuscating. She needed more information. “And I’m surprised you’re so well-informed about your competitor’s actions.”

  “Well, if I fail to get the book due to Librarian interference, I won’t forget it. And I’ll make sure that others hear about it too.”

  Irene put down her cup and leaned forward. “Are you threatening me?” she asked gently.

  “No,” Jin Zhi said, a little too quickly. “Of course not. I wouldn’t think of blackmailing you to persuade you to do something unethical. I’m not trying to involve you in this on my side. I’m simply suggesting that you even the playing ground. I want you to make sure that my opponent”—her voice seethed with anger for a moment—“doesn’t get help. That sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?”

  She watched Irene from under lowered lids. Piano music filled the silence, with an underlying hiss of rain against the windows.

  “I would need some proof of what you’re saying,” Irene said slowly. At the moment this was merely supposition, based on Jin Zhi’s story. But if this was true . . . then a Librarian somewhere had just made a huge mistake and had put the whole Library in danger. This would undermine the Library’s hard-fought neutrality, the work of centuries. The average Fae would not overly object to Irene having tea and sandwiches with a dragon, any more than the average dragon would object to her having tea with a Fae—though both of them might sneer at it. But trying to affect dragon court politics? Getting involved in a life-and-death competition for high office, with the possibility of influencing the winner? Taking sides on that level? That would turn the Fae as a whole against every single Librarian they came across. And that could destroy the Library.

  “I can’t give you proof that another Librarian’s involved.” Jin Zhi opened her handbag and took out some sheets of paper. “But these are details of the book we have been instructed to find, and its world of origin. What you do with this information is up to you. I wouldn’t want to be accused of putting any sort of pressure on you. Though no doubt you’ll bear in mind that, now that we’ve met, I’ll be able to find you again.” Her lips moved in a smile. “Even if you’re far too professional to let that affect your choice of action.”

  “I am a professional,” Irene said flatly. “I don’t waste my time on empty threats.”

  But she reached out to take the sheets of paper.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was raining back in London as well. Water cascaded down the brickwork of the lodgings that Irene shared with Kai, slicking the pavement outside. The heavy clouds and driving rain laid an overcast shroud across London, and it was already dark enough that lights showed in the upper windows along the street.

  There were no signs of forced entry on the door, and Irene turned the key with a feeling of reasonable security. She stepped inside, hauled in her suitcase, and began shedding rain-sodden outer garments as soon as the door was closed. Kai wouldn’t be back yet, so her next step had to be contacting the Library—

  Footsteps came from the upper floor. She froze, then relaxed as she saw Kai step into the halo of lamplight at the head of the stairs. He was in formal clothing for their current world and period, his coat unrumpled and his shoes so newly polished that they gleamed.

  “Irene . . .” He hesitated, then his voice grew firmer. “I think we need to talk.”

  “Absolutely we do,” Irene said. “Though I have something to say too, unless you already know more than I do. I don’t suppose there are any hot drinks up there?”

  “Because if you insist on—oh yes, I just made some tea.” He frowned down at her. “Are you trying to distract me?”

  “Kai.” Irene unpinned her hat and veil and draped them on the hat stand. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining outside, and there was a very long queue for cabs at the zeppelin port. I am soaked through. Please get me some hot tea before I catch a cold. And then we’ll talk. Incidentally, what are you doing here? I thought you were away for at least another three days.”

  “I came back early,” Kai said with a shrug. “And it’s the best weather we’ve had in weeks.” He retreated towards the lounge and Irene followed, thinking uncharitable thoughts about dragons and their love of rainy weather.

  A few minutes later she was sitting in one of the armchairs in their scruffy, book-crowded lounge, with a cup of tea warming her hands. Kai was still on his feet, and was drifting round the room in short undirected tangents. He had every sign of a man choosing his words carefully before an argument got into full swing.

  He was every bit as handsome as Jin Zhi was beautiful. All dragons were gifted in this way. The harsh white ether-light brought out the dark blue tinge to his black hair, giving it the shine of a raven’s wing, and turned the lines of his face into an ink drawing, all perfect cheek bones and pale skin. His eyes were a shade of blue that was almost too dark to define as standard �
��blue,” and he moved with the effortless grace of someone who’d been born with it and then trained for years on top of that. Next to him, Irene always felt as if she should be fading into the background rather than spoil his artistic perfection. Fortunately she liked fading into the background, for it suited her work, but it could occasionally be demoralizing.

  All right, often demoralizing. She tried not to brood about it.

  He stopped pacing and glared at her. “We agreed you weren’t going to go on solo missions.”

  “It wasn’t intended as such,” Irene said defensively. “It was supposed to be a straightforward book exchange. And why are you assuming that I’ve been on a mission—and ran into trouble—anyhow?”

  “I don’t know,” Kai admitted. “I just suspect. Mostly because you came back early, by zeppelin rather than by train. And because you aren’t denying it . . .”

  “I left you a note,” Irene said. “And you’ve been away for days. I can’t simply let everything else slide while you’re not here, Kai. I’m the full Librarian, and you’re the apprentice.” And as a Librarian, she needed to investigate Jin Zhi’s claims as soon as possible. The fact that it would distract Kai was a convenient bonus. “Please sit down and stop looming. We have a serious problem and I need your advice.”

  That caught his attention. He flung himself down into the chair opposite. “So ask. You know I’m at your service.”

  “What can you tell me about the court of the Queen of the Southern Lands?”

  “Well, it’s . . .” he began, then paused. “Irene, why do you want to know?”

  “Tell me what you know first; then I’ll tell you. I don’t want to bias your opinion until I have the information.”

  “You can’t expect me just to sit back and give you information, after a lead-in like that,” Kai complained. “Can’t you at least tell me why?”

  “Kai,” Irene said firmly, and sipped her tea. “Talk.”

  Kai sighed. “Oh, very well. Her Majesty’s personal name is Ya Yu, but neither of us is ever likely to have the opportunity to use it. The Queen of the Southern Lands has an excellent reputation for fairness and for a sympathetic attitude towards her subordinates. In practice, I think that means that she gives them plenty of rope if anything goes wrong, before expecting them to hang themselves with it. She’s only ever had to move against the Fae herself twice, and each time she was very decisive.”