The Lost Plot

by Genevieve Cogman

  Lily stared at Irene blankly. “No, and no again. What would be the point?”

  “That was pretty much my thinking too,” Irene admitted. “And in answer to your question, I’m a Librarian.”

  “Oh, interesting.” Lily rolled the word out, savouring it. “I’ve heard about your kind before, but I’ve never met one. You’re the book thieves, right? The hoarders?”

  “We don’t like to put it that way,” Irene said, “but yes. For a higher purpose, of course.”

  “You just keep on telling yourself that,” Lily said sympathetically. “So what’s your name?”

  “I have many names but a single nature,” Irene quoted. “And if my real name did get to certain people’s ears, then I’d be in deep trouble.”

  “What makes you think you aren’t?”

  “We’re talking like rational people, aren’t we?”

  “Rational’s an arbitrary sort of concept,” Lily said. She might as well have been discussing drinks, or stockings, or a game of cards. “Some would say I wasn’t at all reasonable by nature.”

  “Then they don’t know Fae,” Irene said, from experience. “You choose a story to model yourself upon—and then you become it. You’re what you’ve made yourself.”

  “Now you’re saying something interesting.” Lily swung herself off the arm of her chair and paced towards Irene. Irene couldn’t help wondering how many guns the other woman was carrying, and how she managed to fit them under her tight knee-length dress. The smell of gun-oil and metal cut through the woman’s sweet floral perfume as she stood in front of Irene. Fae might have an aversion to cold iron, but apparently they had no problems with steel. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I am?”

  “I’ve met seducers and libertines,” Irene said. One of them, Lord Silver, was a frequent irritation back on Vale’s world. “You’re neither.”

  “True enough,” Lily murmured. “Guess again.”

  “I’ve met Machiavellian plotters.” And killed one. But that was in another country, and in another story, and hopefully Irene would never have to face the results. “I’ve met storytellers and snake-tenders, lords and ladies and minstrels.”

  “None of which is me.” Lily held herself like a drawn weapon. “If this was a story, you’d be on your third guess.”

  Irene took a deep breath. If she guessed wrong, then she might have overstepped for the final time. Once Fae locked themselves into story patterns and narrative tropes, they didn’t want to leave them. And if characters in a story guessed incorrectly three times, they often ended up as cautionary examples to the next protagonist.

  But she thought she knew what archetype Lily was choosing to embody. It all fitted.

  “You’re the faithful assassin,” she said. “You’re the cold killer who only cares about following the boss’s orders. If he says kill, you kill. If he says let them live, then you let them live. You don’t care. Your only concern is being the very best at your job.” She deliberately forced herself to look away from Lily and around the room, at all the guns hanging from the walls. “You’re an assassin. You’re a gun-moll. You’re his executioner.”

  Lily bent forward and picked up Irene’s free hand from the arm of the chair. She brushed her lips against it, in a mockery of a courtier’s salute. “You’ve got a real gift for words, Librarian.”

  “I read a lot,” Irene admitted. “It’s an addiction.”

  “And you’re used to working with your hands.” Her fingers traced across the old scars that laced Irene’s palm. “Perhaps you’re right, and we don’t have to be enemies for the moment. I can respect another professional who’s prepared to get her hands dirty.”

  “Unless your boss says differently,” Irene said.

  “Well, yeah, of course.” Lily made it sound like the most reasonable thing possible, and to her, Irene reflected, it would be. “A servant like me doesn’t disobey orders.”

  “Why a human boss, though?” Irene asked. “Why not a Fae one?”

  Lily made a rude noise as she released Irene’s hand. “Have you met some of the guys who’d like to take that sort of role? They’d be more interested in their own career than in mine. I need to be stronger before being the servant of anyone who really matters. A powerful patron needs a powerful servant. A weak patron just uses up servants like chewed lemon-peels.”

  “And a human boss is willing to take suggestions about the right orders to give?” Irene guessed.

  “George is a good boss,” Lily said. She spoke with an affectionate tolerance, as though discussing a well-trained dog. It was the sort of tone that went with statements such as And he knows to go outside before doing his business. “I’ve taught him exactly how to use me. And he takes a hint when I want him to. I’ve spent a while cultivating him, and I don’t want it messed up. So what exactly are you doing here in my neighbourhood?”

  Lily had slipped the question in casually, but there was no doubt she wanted an answer. Irene turned her glass in her hand while she considered the best response. “I’m looking for something that’s been stolen,” she finally said.

  “A book?” Lily asked.

  Irene was tempted to say No, a child and ask for Lily’s help in retrieving Evariste’s daughter. But that wouldn’t help. Quite the opposite. The risk of ending up in Lily’s debt, and compromising the Library that way, paled in comparison to the risk of telling the Fae the full story. If the Fae caught wind of a dragon contest going on in their midst, there’d be no end to the trouble they’d cause. They’d see a weakness and move to exploit it—just as the dragons would do to them, if the positions were reversed. The situation would degenerate faster than the eye could follow. And if the dragons traced the leak back to the Library via Irene . . .

  She’d thought the situation couldn’t get much worse. She’d been wrong. The situation could always get worse.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t tell you. But it doesn’t involve you or your kind.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Lily said. “There are too many dragons in town lately, and they’re messing with me and mine. I’m concerned that they’re moving in on my territory. And I wouldn’t want to think you’re working with them.” She levelled her gaze at Irene again, like the barrel of a gun.

  The implied threat echoed in the room.

  “I might talk to dragons,” Irene said with a smile. But fear crawled its way down her spine and nestled in her stomach like a block of ice. She forced herself to keep on speaking. “But that’s not an excuse to shoot me on sight. Or them.”

  “Are you sure?” Suddenly Lily was holding a gun in her hand—a small sleek piece of metal that gleamed under the room’s lights like silver. It seemed to have its own gravity, drawing Irene’s eyes to it like a black hole. Lily had moved so fast that Irene hadn’t been able to track the movement.

  “I’m sure you aren’t going to shoot me without an order from your boss,” Irene answered, her throat dry.

  Lily actually smiled. “Just so long as you understand that I would put a bullet through you without the least little bit of hesitation. If he gave me an order.”

  The gun vanished into its holster. “Now, do you want me to fit you out with something before we go outside?”

  “That might not be the best idea,” Irene admitted. “I don’t want to risk the police taking me in on the Sullivan Act.”

  “Well, if you do change your mind, come back to me,” Lily said. “But we should go join the boys before they wonder why we’re taking so long. The drinks are on me, with no obligation to you. You okay with that?”

  “It’s a deal,” Irene agreed. She followed Lily towards the door at the far end of the room.

  It had insulating felt lining on the other side, and gave onto a short, deeply carpeted corridor, which led to another felt-lined door. Irene could hear the faint sounds of music on the other side.

 
; “Welcome to the Underground,” Lily said, swinging open the door. A wave of noise, music, and cigar-smoke swept into the corridor. “Come and sit over at George’s table so he can say bye-bye politely.”

  “And so I can be seen with him, of course,” Irene said with resignation.

  “That’s how it works,” Lily agreed. She kicked the door closed and led the way into the large room.

  Irene was very conscious of people staring at her and Lily—some obviously so, while others pretended to hide their interest. This was a speakeasy that served people who had money to spend or to waste. Everyone was well-dressed—even the waiters were outfitted in smooth black-and-white suits, and the fawning hostesses were clad in expensive, barely-there confections of fringe. A few couples drifted around on the small dance floor, but most people were clustered at their tables.

  The room buzzed with a febrile sense of tension. The laughter was too loud, too self-indulgent. Women in their cocktail dresses with bared shoulders and arms posed like marionettes’ in the dim lighting, exposing flashes of knee or thigh as they sipped drinks and played with long cigarette-holders. The men in their tailored suits, all wide lapels, big shoulders, and silk ties, were posturing as much as the women. And they all knew that at any moment the police might arrive. Irene could smell the nervousness in the air just as much as the alcohol or smoke.

  Electric light-fixtures hung from the ceiling above, but they were deliberately dim. The light picked out the glitter of necklaces, cuff links, and tie pins, and sparkled on full and empty glasses. The only well-lit spot in the whole room was the bar: the bottles behind it gleamed like a distant promise of heaven from the outskirts of hell.

  “Over here,” Lily said, leading the way through the scattered tables. Irene noticed that even though many of the female guests and the hostesses were tolerating wandering hands from male companions, nobody so much as tried to swat Lily’s passing rear. Irene wasn’t surprised.

  Then Lily stopped. The table ahead was obviously the best one in the bar, with a commanding view of the entire room. And, unless Irene was very much mistaken, there was a concealed door hidden in the wall mouldings behind it. George and Dave were both sitting at it, nursing their drinks.

  So was Hu.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Come and have a seat, Lily,” George said, beckoning her forward. “You too, Miss Jeanette. This gentleman’s like you. An entrepreneur from out of town.”

  Dave pulled out chairs for Lily and Irene. Lily took the chair on the other side of her boss, watching Hu and Irene as if she expected to see the dragon and the Librarian exchange secret code-words and meaningful handshakes. Which meant that Irene had to sit with Lily on one side and Hu on her other.

  “This gentleman here’s Mr. Hu,” George explained. “He’s come from Hong Kong, looking for business opportunities. And this lady here’s Miss Jeanette Smith from England, who’s doing similar.” He smiled at the two of them. “All I can say is, if either of you is thinking of an exclusive contract with me, well, business is business.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Miss Jeanette Smith,” Hu said. He offered his hand to be shaken.

  Oh, so that’s how we’re going to play it. Irene shook his hand politely, conscious of everyone at the table—and quite a few at other tables—watching them. “Charmed,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “For me as well,” Hu said. His eyes glittered with vicious amusement.

  “I’d love a drink,” Irene said, turning to George. “Straight whiskey, if you don’t mind. I’d be interested to test the house quality.”

  George snapped his fingers and a waiter was at his side a moment later. “Straight whiskey for the lady. Gin for my Lily. Gin and tonic for Mr. Hu here, and what was it you said before? The best ice in the house.”

  Hu casually lit a cigarette. “Do you intend to be here in New York for long, Miss Smith?” he asked. “Or should I call you Jeanette . . . or something else?”

  Irene shrugged. Across the room, the piano music changed to something with a faster beat. “As George here knows, I just want to finish my business and get out of town.”

  “Yes, I hear you’ve been interviewed by the chief of police.” Hu gestured with his cigarette to where a folded newspaper lay on the table. “Very dramatic. Do you really go round hypnotizing people?”

  Irene could sense Lily’s tension on her other side, like a coiled spring. Having a dragon at the table must be grating. “I suppose he had to give the papers some sort of excuse for why he let me go,” she said pleasantly. “Clearly the man’s wasting his time as a policeman. He should be writing cheap novels featuring sinister masterminds.”

  George and Hu both laughed, and Dave joined in a moment later in quick sycophantic agreement. Lily didn’t laugh. Her gaze shifted from Hu to Irene like a gun’s sights.

  “So why did he let you go?” George asked.

  “Why do you think?” Irene tapped her handbag.

  “A policeman’s bank account is limited,” Hu agreed. “Like most professionals, really. Doctors, policemen, even librarians . . .”

  “Not my problem, fortunately,” Irene said.

  “Come now, Miss Jeanette,” George said as the waiter set drinks in front of them. “Money’s everyone’s problem. A sensible businessman doesn’t turn down a good deal. Nor does a sensible businesswoman.”

  Irene felt a shift in the atmosphere at the table. She picked up her glass and took a sip to buy herself time. The whiskey was adequate—or at least it wasn’t obviously brewed in a backstairs still. “Am I missing something?” she asked lightly.

  “Just trying to be helpful,” George said. “I’ve got one new partner sitting here.” He tilted his cigar towards Hu. “And another new one sitting right there.” This time the glowing tip of the cigar pointed at Irene. “Mr. Hu’s saying that his boss would like to do some business with England. I figure it would be doing a good turn to get you two people heading up the aisle together, so to speak.”

  Hu’s smile looked a little pained. “It’s true that my superior is looking for a suitable contact. We did have someone in mind, but he seems to have vanished . . .” He shook his head sadly. “My superior was very unhappy. It’s going to take a lot to clear that slate.”

  “Yeah,” George commented. “It’s a false economy wasting your time on second-raters.”

  “Such as the ‘contact’ that Mr. Hu here was using previously?” Irene suggested.

  “But it’s not who a man buys first that counts,” George said. “It’s who stays bought. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Hu agreed. “And errors of ignorance are pardonable. It’s when you have continuous, knowing disobedience that one has to . . . bring the whip down. So to speak.” His cigarette snapped sharply down between his fingers, the point making a brief arc of brightness.

  Irene shrugged. “If your boss—sorry, your superior—can’t control his own people, that’s his problem. Not mine.”

  “But if you make a deal with my boss, then it becomes your problem . . . though such a deal could be to your advantage too,” Hu said pleasantly.

  “This is going far too fast,” Irene said sharply. She took another sip of her whiskey. “I’ve already made one arrangement today. I’m not going to be rushed into another.”

  “Perhaps we could discuss it while we dance?” Hu suggested, nodding towards the dance floor.

  “Perhaps not,” Irene disagreed. “I’ve got two left feet. You don’t want either of them treading on yours.” It wasn’t strictly true, but something deeply rooted in her brain, sited between the part that handled primal terror and the part that handled rational threat assessment, was very strongly against the idea.

  “I’m sure we could manage,” Hu said, a smile coating his voice.

  “I’d rather not try,” Irene said. She wished throwing her glass of whiskey in his face was a viable opt
ion. It would be so satisfying.

  “Are you sure you two don’t know each other?” George asked. “You’re certainly talking like a couple with prior acquaintance.”

  “Our organizations have been in contact previously,” Hu said. “There’s disputed territory between us. You know the sort of thing.”

  “Don’t I just. Well, I need to circulate, so I’ll leave the two of you to talk it out.” George favoured both of them with a toothy smile. “Dave, you’re with me. Lily, darling, you just stay here to make sure nobody actually kills anyone else.”

  “Not unless you say so, boss,” Lily said. Her visible eye watched Irene and Hu mockingly as George rose to his feet and strolled off, Dave a shadow at his shoulder.

  “And are you going to get involved?” Hu asked Lily, as soon as George was plausibly out of earshot.

  “Not unless I get told to.” Lily licked a drop from the brim of her glass. “I mean, it’s all one to me what you play at, as long as you don’t mess with my business. I know what you are, and I’d just love to put a bullet in your skull. But unless and until my boss tells me to, I guess I’ll behave myself. Frankly it’s amusing as hell to watch the two of you fence.”

  “We don’t have to fence,” Irene said bluntly. “We could just stop. I’m not making a deal with your superior.”

  “Make it with me, then,” Hu suggested. “An understanding between the people who actually get the work done.”

  “How do you mean?” Irene asked.

  Hu leaned across the table towards her. His body language was open, almost vulnerable, she realized. This wasn’t Kai’s casual arrogance or armoured pride. Hu was reaching out for understanding. It was almost as if he had a personal stake in the situation. “I believe we’re the people who do the work, while our superiors take the rewards. Which is reasonable enough. I’m no prince, and you’re no—well, whatever your Library has to fill such roles. Even the third party at the table understands that, I think.” His glance towards Lily wasn’t exactly courteous, but it was—just barely—polite. “What’s ordered at the highest level isn’t necessarily what’s done at ground-level. And it’s often easier to get a job finished first, and then make a report later when everything’s under control.”