The Lost Plot

by Genevieve Cogman

  Lily didn’t answer, but she did incline her head very slightly.

  Irene considered the offer. If Hu could bypass Qing Song and get Evariste’s daughter back, then maybe she should at least hear him out. “I admit life’s different for us working-class types,” she said. “But I’m neutral. And you both know that. I haven’t made a deal with Lily, and I can’t make one with you.”

  “You should do,” Hu said, and his voice darkened. “You really should. It’d be better for you, and for anyone you’re hiding.”

  Irene raised her eyebrows and sipped her drink. “Threats? Again? And so quickly?”

  Hu took a long drag on his cigarette. “No. It’s a friendly warning—as you put it, between us working-class types. My lord is not the sort who appreciates being deceived, mocked, or betrayed. If he finds out that you’ve done any of those things, Jeanette or Marguerite or whatever your name is, I will not be able to protect you.”

  “Your lord seems to think that he has carte blanche to do whatever he wants,” Irene said, anger igniting inside her. “Since when have his rights and privileges included commandeering Librarians to work for him? Does he realize quite how dangerous his own position is?”

  “Don’t blame me for the world being the way it is,” Hu said. “If you don’t want to play politics, then don’t. All my lord wants is the book.”

  “Which book?” Lily asked curiously.

  Hu flicked a glance at her. “It’s bad enough that I have to sit with you. I’m not sharing information.”

  “Not even if I could help you find it?” Lily asked.

  “Based on the way they’re treating me—a theoretical neutral—how well do you think they’d treat you?” Irene pointed out. She wanted to stamp out this avenue of enquiry before it went any further. Especially as Hu would blame any leaks on her. “Besides, I thought that your job was shooting people, not stealing books.”

  “That would depend on whether George told me to steal it,” Lily retorted. “And think how much less fuss a book would make than a person, when you put it in a sack.”

  Irene forced aside a number of distressing mental images. “Fine. Far be it from me to get between you. I can only say I’m not interested—and no thanks.”

  Hu’s lips tightened. In the dim light his eyes gleamed like emeralds. “Fool of a woman! I’m trying to save your life here. You can call it whatever you like when you’re back at your Library. I’m not trying to win. I’m trying to find a solution that doesn’t involve either of us losing.”

  Irene liked compromises where both sides won. But Hu’s offer would involve her making a private deal to influence dragon politics—with all that entailed. This didn’t solve anything: instead it involved two Librarians transgressing rather than just one. With twice the potential for the Library to be dragged down with them.

  And even if Qing Song was the iron hand and Hu was the velvet glove, they were both asking for exactly the same thing. Besides, just because Hu might make promises didn’t necessarily mean he’d be able to keep them. Qing Song was the one in command.

  “No,” she said. “I can’t and won’t take your offer. And for the record, yes, the Library does know I’m here and why. Making me vanish without a trace isn’t an option.”

  Hu leaned back in his seat. “I never thought it was,” he said. “But I wish you weren’t ruling out other possibilities.”

  “Don’t try to put the blame for this on me,” Irene said calmly. She was keeping her voice down—Lily might be a lost cause, but she didn’t want anyone at other tables hearing this. But her anger and frustration sharpened her tone to a razor-edge, and she saw Hu draw back a little in response. “We have been drawn into this because of your power games. I am not going to make an agreement with you, and I will not be liable for any consequences.”

  “Sometimes you can only play the hand you’re dealt,” Hu said. “And if you’re following orders—well, then so am I.”

  His eyes flicked to the door, then to his watch. The movement was casual enough, but Lily tensed. “What are you playing at?” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

  Hu raised a thin eyebrow, his copper hair dark in the dim lighting. His hand moved to rest against an inner pocket. “Why do you assume I’m playing at anything?”

  “Because I’m not stupid.” Her gaze flickered across to where George was still glad-handing his way around the other tables, slapping shoulders and accepting gestures of respect. “Jeanette, or whatever your name is, you’re on your own. My responsibility’s to my boss.” She was out of her chair as smoothly as a lizard, her blonde hair catching the light as she headed towards George.

  Yet before Lily could reach him, a harsh alarm ripped through the piano music and quiet conversation. Irene looked round, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Suddenly the waiters were all moving at once, removing any evidence of alcohol. They scuttled through the room, scooping up glasses and bottles before retreating behind the bar. One waiter snatched up the drinks from Irene’s own table, moving with practised speed.

  More of the servers vanished behind the bar than was physically possible. Irene could hear the distant sound of feet rattling down steps underneath the growing turmoil, and realized there must be a concealed trapdoor and stairs. The bartenders were hastily dragging metal shutters in front of their ranks of bottles, and fitting veneered panels of wood in place to cover them up. Other waiters were hurrying with bottles of water and fruit juice, distributing them together with fresh glasses.

  Irene pushed her chair back to rise. “You knew about the raid . . .”

  “I wouldn’t move,” Hu said. He was holding a gun in his hand, concealing it from the rest of the room, and it was pointed directly at her. “I really wouldn’t.”

  “You’ll be in real trouble if you shoot me.” Irene knew she could use the Language to blow up the gun—but could she do it before he pulled the trigger? “Besides, you don’t want me dead.”

  “No, but injured is a perfectly valid option.” Hu tilted his head as though listening. “We can both be arrested together, if you like.”

  He’s playing for time, Irene suddenly realized. He just has to make me hesitate for long enough for the police to stop me escaping . . .

  Then the door by the dance floor slammed open and cops came pouring through, jostling each other in the narrow space. The piano music abruptly stopped, and the dancers on the floor stuttered to a halt, exclaiming in overdone annoyance.

  “What’s going on here?” George demanded loudly. He still held his cigar in one hand, and paused to take an arrogant puff. “Who’s responsible for this gross invasion of a private club?”

  The ranks of the policemen broke, and Captain Venner stalked through. “We’ve received notice that there’s alcohol being sold in this establishment,” he said. “Contrary to the Volstead Act, Mr. Ross.”

  “My name is on the ownership papers,” George said graciously. “But I’m entirely shocked at your accusation. All the gentlemen and ladies here are good, law-abiding citizens. Isn’t that so, people?”

  Amidst the raucous yells and raising of water-filled glasses, Irene counted exits and discounted them just as quickly. Which left the possible hidden exit behind this table, perhaps George’s own private way out. But she could be wrong. And even if she was right, how could she get through it without being noticed?

  Hu had slipped his gun back inside his jacket and was watching her in a way that made the back of her neck prickle.

  “My men are going to be looking into just how law-abiding you all are,” Captain Venner announced. “Boys, spread out. We’re going to be stripping this place down to see if there’s anything here that shouldn’t be.”

  “You’re taking a hell of a step, Venner,” George said. “You know your bosses are going to be hearing about it if you make a mistake.”

  Venner pointed a meaty finger a
t him, unconsciously echoing George’s own play with his cigar. “Yeah. Bosses. And some of us still think that the best way to deal with a boss of your sort is to put ’im behind bars. Whether they’re American or English.” His gaze slid across the guests and came to rest on Irene.

  Irene suppressed her instinct to hide, which at the moment was screaming for her to crawl under the table. This wasn’t the sort of situation where that would help. To be honest, very few situations were. Instead she raised her glass of water to Captain Venner in an ironic toast, aware that she’d only keep George as an ally if she played the part. “I’m fairly sure that’s what we call slander, over my side of the Atlantic,” she said. “Harsh words for a woman who only came to New York to do some shopping.”

  “Book shopping?” Hu murmured, and Irene almost laughed.

  Captain Venner stamped towards her table. “You! Jeanette Smith. You’re under arrest, lady, and you’ll be coming with us.”

  Irene rose to her feet. Hu didn’t try to stop her this time, but then he didn’t need to. This was just what he’d wanted. She could hardly help Evariste from behind bars. Several of the cops lowered their hands to their holsters, but she raised her hands, showing they were empty. “This is really unnecessary. And what’s the charge, anyway?”

  “Trust me, we’ll have a whole lot of them before we’re done.” Captain Venner came to a stop a few feet away. More quietly he said, “And don’t think you’ll pull that hypnotism trick on me again.”

  Genuine anger twisted his jowls into a frown. Irene realized, with a pang of guilt, that his fury wasn’t just because she’d twisted his will. She’d offended his professional pride as a cop. From his perspective, she was a master criminal who’d posed as an FBI agent, hypnotized him, and was now sitting in the speakeasy run by one of New York’s biggest crime bosses. Perhaps it was unrealistic to expect him to go easy on her.

  “All right,” she said, playing for time herself and taking a step back. She looked across to George. “Mr. Ross, please excuse me for a little while. And perhaps you can recommend a lawyer?”

  Captain Venner took a step towards her. “You can call one from the station,” he snapped.

  “Don’t be like that, Venner,” George called. “Let’s not be harsh to a poor helpless English visitor on her own in New York. She’s got the cutest accent, hasn’t she?” he confided to the crowd, who laughed on cue. “I’ll be hospitable and send one of my lawyers to advise her.”

  “Sure you will,” Venner said in tones of deep bitterness. “We all know that you’ve got every mouthpiece in town on a contract, Ross. You don’t need to tell us.” He turned towards George, allowing Irene to back a few steps farther towards the wall.

  “You know a lot about me, Venner,” George said. “And you know we could help each other . . . Life could be a hell of a lot easier for you that way.”

  “Save your money for the cops on your payroll,” Venner growled. “Right now I’m the one in charge. Boys! Let’s get this place turned over. Guns and booze, you know the drill. And you, Miss Smith—”

  Irene could feel the wall at her back. “I’ll come quietly,” she said. “I mean, what do you expect me to do? Snap my fingers and say”—she switched to the Language and raised her voice—“lights out!”

  And there was total darkness.

  CHAPTER 17

  Irene dropped to the floor and started crawling sideways the moment the lights went down. It wasn’t one of those situations where everyone remained quietly in their seats, waiting for the lights to go back on. The room was full of screaming, as if caged animals were turning on each other in the darkness. Glass hit the floor and smashed. She made out Captain Venner’s voice through the hubbub, yelling for his men to restore order. Irene hoped he’d find someone else here to arrest besides her. It would be a shame to have completely wasted his time.

  She traced her fingertips along the wall as she crawled. Suddenly she felt a breath of cooler air through a crack in the moulding. Biting back a sigh of relief, she followed the crack up and round, rising to her feet as she worked out the rough dimensions of the door.

  Standing to one side of it, she said softly in the Language, “Door, open.”

  The door swung back into the wall, but unfortunately the corridor behind was illuminated. Light came spilling out into the dark room, falling across the struggling mob.

  Irene flung herself through the door, hunching to make herself as small a target as possible. There was a crack as a bullet hit the wall next to her, and she heard Venner shout, “Get after her!”

  With panicked haste she pelted along the corridor, turning a corner to find a flight of stairs blessedly leading upwards. The door at the top was locked, but the Language opened it, and another few words closed it behind her.

  She’d emerged into a garage. It was large and well lit, with several expensive-looking cars, and several more hefty-looking mechanics. They were looking at her in surprise, and she raised her hands again to demonstrate that she wasn’t holding a gun.

  “Who’re you?” one demanded.

  If this was George’s private escape route, these would be his men. “I’m with George—we’ve just done a deal. But the club’s being raided. Would you mind if I left before they come through?”

  “They won’t be coming through,” the speaker grunted. “Jim, Luigi, you know the drill. Lady, you’d better be telling the truth.”

  “George knows where I’m staying. That’s a major incentive not to tell him any lies.” Irene watched two of the men drag heavy crates in front of the door she’d just come through. “And I need to catch a cab?”

  “That way.” He pointed to an unobtrusive door.

  “Thanks,” Irene said, and dipped into her handbag to pass him a few bills. He took them with a nod of acceptance, clearly reassured by this normal gesture of everyday sanity.

  Irene hurried through the door, out into a side alley, and from there onto the main street. It was late afternoon by now, on the cusp of early evening: the skyscrapers above filled the street with shadows. Traffic was chugging past in both directions, clogging the street with a stream of cars and buses. People just released from work hurried along, turning the pavement into a solid block of crowd—a mingled assortment of ages and races, accents and languages, well-off and poor, all seething together in a loud and cheerful stream. Irene lost herself gratefully in the mob for a couple of blocks.

  This would be the ideal moment to really lose her pursuers and shake them off for good—then locate Evariste and Kai. And perhaps she should acknowledge that she was out of her depth, running just to stay a step ahead of her enemies. Police, mobsters, and dragons. Oh, and Fae too. Morbid humour made her wonder if she ought to collect anyone else, to have a complete set.

  But standing around feeling guilty about her own recklessness wouldn’t get her anywhere. She forced her way through the crowd and hailed a cab.

  “Where to, lady?” the driver asked as she clambered in.

  “New York Public Library,” she answered automatically. “As fast as you can, please.”

  The cab peeled away from the curb and into the traffic, with the driver honking on his horn as though sheer sonic power would help clear a path. Irene gripped the edge of her seat and pondered her next tactics. There would probably be someone watching the entrance to the New York Public Library. All she had to do to continue her diversion was let herself be seen . . .

  “Why are we slowing down?” she asked.

  “Police check-point ahead,” the driver replied. He pointed to where a couple of black vans were half blocking the road at the next junction. Irene recognized the same model that had transported her and Kai to the police station. Was it only this morning? It felt like longer ago. “Seems like they’re looking for someone.”

  Irene felt her stomach clench. They could be looking for any number of criminals, but she had a feeling her na
me was high on the list.

  Of course there was a standard method of dealing with this—and it would be the perfect way to keep the hounds on her tail.

  Two cars to go. Then one. Then it was her cab.

  The cop checking the driver didn’t see her immediately, but the one peering into the car grinned as he caught sight of her, with the delight of a man who’s pulled the winning lottery ticket. “Hey, aren’t you—”

  “Policemen, you perceive that I’m not the person you’re looking for,” Irene said very quickly. That turn of phrase had caught on extremely fast among Librarians, once it entered popular fiction. She decided to up the stakes. “In fact, you perceive I am a pregnant woman about to give birth and I need to get to the hospital.”

  The driver frowned at her in the mirror in bewilderment, but both cops reacted as the Language adjusted their perceptions. “Right you are, lady,” the one who’d been looking at her said. He stood back and blew on his whistle, waving other cars to a halt as the other cop gestured them forward.

  Fortunately the driver didn’t hesitate. He stamped on the accelerator and the cab jolted forward to the sound of more aggrieved horns, before burning rubber down the street. It was a good couple of minutes before he said, “What the hell—”

  “Just keep on driving and I’ll double your fee,” Irene said.

  “Right.” A turning later, he spoke again. “You’re her, aren’t you? That English boss?”

  “If I was, would I tell you?” Irene was listening for the sound of police sirens behind them.

  “Sure you would,” the driver said cheerfully. “I mean, hey, this is New York—people like you are famous here! Look, if you are, can I have your autograph?”