The Lost Plot

by Genevieve Cogman

  She struggled frantically for speech again, but nothing came out: she shaped words in the Language but couldn’t give them voice.

  Qing Song considered. “You may be right,” he said grudgingly. “If she’s been acting as his servant throughout, that would explain a great deal. Hu, can you confirm this?”

  Hu seemed reluctant to take the limelight. “The Librarian was in company with another man earlier, my lord. The photographers didn’t manage to get a picture of him. The best description they could give of him was that he was dark-haired and handsome. She’d said at the time that he was another Librarian—”

  “It’s quite clear that she lies a great deal,” Jin Zhi said, cutting him off. “I don’t know how they keep their little thefts straight. But has it occurred to you that if she’s here and he’s not, then he’s busy doing something else?”

  Irene glanced at the reflection of the gunmen in the mirror. They were both doing a good job of looking blank, but she was certain they were paying attention. The professional part of her mind noted that expert conspirators didn’t discuss this sort of thing in front of the hired help.

  Or at least, not in front of hired help who were going to survive the next few hours.

  Qing Song surveyed Irene sidelong, as if pricing up a piece of second-hand furniture. “You think that the son would exchange the book for her?” he asked.

  Irene forced all telltale emotion from her face. Because yes, Kai probably would hand over the text—which would leave Qing Song holding Evariste’s daughter, Irene and Kai compromised, and the situation even closer to the edge. She twitched a shoulder in a silent shrug, attempting to convey that Kai wouldn’t exchange a piece of cold toast for her.

  “It would help if she could speak,” Jin Zhi said. “But she’d probably lie again. How long till the drug wears off?”

  “It should last for at least a few hours,” Qing Song said. “It’s hardly been tested on these people. Only on . . .” He paused, his eyes flicking to the guards, and let the sentence drop with a meaningful shrug.

  Jin Zhi walked towards him. “Qing Song, much as I regret doing this, I’m going to suggest an alliance.”

  Qing Song looked as unenthusiastic as Jin Zhi sounded. “Really,” he said. “An alliance. With you.”

  “I know it’s unconventional,” Jin Zhi said. “But Her Majesty has been known to reward results and ignore tradition. I will be honest with you. My searches in China have been unprofitable. We have three days left: there is no time to waste. If we can bring Her Majesty the text together, then perhaps she’ll set us some other challenge, one that will allow us to compete fairly.” She studied Qing Song carefully. “My lord of the Winter Forests, has it occurred to you that both of us may die over this? And what will that achieve? Will our families thank us if we both fail and shame their reputations? There’s more to be gained by looking at the situation from a new angle.” Her tone turned sour. “Such as using a Librarian.”

  “As always, you make an appealing argument,” Qing Song said. His tone was neutral, but the wolves were raising their hackles and stretching, their heavy muzzles dropping open briefly to show long white rows of teeth. Hu made a small gesture of contradiction—negation, even—but Qing Song ignored it. “So. We keep the Librarian as a hostage. If Ao Guang’s son contacts us, we are prepared to exchange her for the book. If my men locate the other Librarian, then he may have the book too. But if neither option plays out in our favour, what then? What do we do with her?”

  “It would be wasteful to kill her,” Jin Zhi said. She didn’t even bother to look at Irene. “But it’s too risky to keep her here. Place her in one of our private territories. Even if Ao Guang’s son can track her, he can’t intrude there without violating our territory and making it a political matter. Keep her away from books—use drugs and shackles, of course—and she should be safe enough.”

  For a moment Hu caught Irene’s eye, and the expression on his face was one of sympathetic regret. I did try to warn you, his eyes seemed to say.

  Panic and fury chased each other round Irene’s brain like angry cats. She knew what the Library would do if this played out: they’d disclaim all knowledge of her actions, claim that she’d been working on her own—just as Melusine had warned her. But even that might not be enough to save the Library from the political fall-out. And it certainly wouldn’t save Irene. Drugs and shackles. The words whispered in the back of her mind like a little musical-box tinkle from the depths of nightmare, and wouldn’t go away.

  “And which of us keeps her?” Qing Song demanded.

  “I do.” Jin Zhi raised a hand to cut off his objections before he could make them. “One of us has to. Why not me?”

  Qing Song didn’t mince his words. “Because I don’t trust you.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you if you keep her?” Jin Zhi asked. “Given your recent behaviour?”

  “You have a habit of using what other people give you. How else would you have found me here, except by tracing my token?” An undertone of bitterness ran through Qing Song’s voice like a vein of ore in stone. “We did once exchange tokens and vows, but you were the one who told me that time was past. But now you seek me out and propose a new alliance. How can I trust you?”

  Irene shifted her weight and took the opportunity to check her guard’s grip on her arms. His hold was still firm, but less so than earlier. If she could only manufacture a distraction . . . Qing Song and Jin Zhi seemed absorbed, rehashing what sounded like an old love affair and break-up. But she could also hear the desperation in their voices. They were almost as trapped as she was, with no way out except to get hold of the book. To them, Irene, Evariste, and his daughter—and the whole of this world, and the Library itself—were acceptable collateral damage.

  If pure anger had somehow made her able to use the Language at that moment, then Irene would have burned down the entire room, with them in it.

  Hu refrained from comment, as a subordinate. But the hint of sourness in his expression suggested that he wasn’t enjoying the discussion. His eyes were distant with thought, as if he was trying to formulate an effective objection to the plan.

  Faint music drifted in through the open windows, an accompaniment to Jin Zhi and Qing Song’s debate on how they were going to avoid mutual betrayal, who took custody of the Librarian, whose fault it was anyhow, and whose fault it had been fifteen years ago.

  The ringing of the telephone cut through the room like a knife, cutting all talk dead. Qing Song and Jin Zhi both turned to look at the device as if it should be executed for improper behaviour.

  Hu picked up the receiver. “Hello?” he said.

  A pause.

  He turned to Qing Song. “My lord, ‘Lucky’ George Ross requests an audience.”

  “He has my permission,” Qing Song said without hesitation. “Bid him approach.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jin Zhi asked, as Hu murmured into the phone. She nodded, very slightly, towards Irene and the two guards.

  “These men are in my service. I trust their discretion—and George could be useful.” Qing Song didn’t move, but the wolves rose simultaneously to their feet and padded towards the men—and Irene. “And my pets have their scent, should it prove necessary. They can, and will, find them.”

  Irene heard the man holding her catch his breath, and felt his hands tighten sweatily on her wrists. She wasn’t entirely sure how long the two men would remain loyal, but she had no doubt that for the next few minutes they were going to be very loyal indeed.

  One of the wolves sat down at Irene’s feet. Its eyes were deep amber, as clear and rich as thick honey. It was odd, Irene decided with the calmness of terror, that a simple wolf should be so much more frightening than all the werewolves she’d stared down in the past. Perhaps it was because Irene had been able to use the Language then: she hadn’t been weaponless. Or perhaps it was beca
use werewolves were ultimately people, and Irene could deal with people. But she couldn’t lie to an animal—only run from it or kill it. And right at this precise moment, she couldn’t do either.

  “And her?” Jin Zhi indicated Irene.

  “She can say nothing. Besides, I’d rather have her under my eye than in another room, even if she is guarded. The woman is slippery.”

  Irene decided to rate that as a compliment.

  Hu put the phone down. “George Ross will be joining us in a moment, my lord. He will have attendants with him.”

  “You think he’ll know something useful?” Jin Zhi queried, directing the question to Qing Song. She barely looked at Hu; he was apparently beneath her notice.

  “If he does, then it might remove the need for an alliance,” Qing Song said smugly. He settled back in his chair.

  “Assuming that you’re the one he makes any deal with,” Jin Zhi said with a smile.

  Qing Song’s expression froze.

  There was a knock on the suite door.

  Hu nodded to one of the two gangsters, who went to open the door. The wolves parted in front of him before settling back onto the floor. Their eyes showed in thin yellow slits under their half-closed eyelids.

  George strolled in, with Lily one step behind him, swathed in pale furs that could conceal half a dozen pistols. Her visible eye was narrowed and dangerous. Behind them, like a royal train, came two more gunmen. The place was getting crowded.

  This was a possible distraction, and Irene considered how she could use it. But she could also feel the level of danger in the room rising like a thermometer in boiling water. If guns were fired, a bullet could hit anyone. Including her. She really didn’t want a posthumous report finishing with Was shot by mistake and died.

  “Good of you to see me,” George said. He sat down in an armchair and crossed his legs. “I appreciate the prompt invite up here.”

  Both Jin Zhi and Qing Song were staring at Lily, their faces frozen masks of distaste. It took a moment before Qing Song turned his attention to George. “How may I assist you?” he asked coldly.

  “I think it’s more a question of how I can assist you,” George said. He reached into his jacket. “Mind if I smoke?”

  Qing Song flicked his hand. “As you wish.”

  George extended the ritual of lighting his cigar, clearly using this bit of incivility to assert his status. Finally he gestured with the cigar towards Irene. “I see you’ve got Miss Jeanette here with you. If you’d like her to be out of the room first . . .”

  “I guarantee that she will say nothing of the matter,” Qing Song replied. The twitch of his lips was as close to a smile as Irene had ever yet seen him give. “I am more interested in why you are here.”

  “Well . . .” George drew the word out luxuriously. “I know that you’ve been looking for something these last few weeks. Or should I say someone?”

  “Either is possible,” Qing Song agreed.

  George nodded, and puffed on his cigar. “You see, Mr. Qing—I can call you that, right?—just because you weren’t hiring my men didn’t mean that I didn’t hear about your little manhunt. A lot of people out there are real eager to do me a favour and get on my good side. So when your man Hu came by this afternoon, I already had some idea of what you were searching for and where to start looking.”

  “And your point is?” Qing Song asked. One of the wolves opened its mouth and ran its tongue delicately over its teeth.

  “Not long ago one of my people got a phone call,” George said. “A lot of foreigners are real ignorant about how the Teamsters Union works here in New York. They think that just anyone can handle museum deliveries. They don’t seem to understand that it needs an expert to handle that sort of delicate stuff, and that experts don’t like amateurs getting in the way. It’s the sort of thing that leads to those amateurs having accidents.” He waved his cigar sadly. “And it means that I hear about that sort of thing.”

  Inwardly Irene was putting two and two together and getting a horrifying four. What had Kai and Evariste tried? And were they already prisoners? She’d taken all these risks to keep them safe . . .

  Hu stepped forward and murmured in Qing Song’s ear, and Qing Song nodded. “So, your people know the whereabouts of the man I’m looking for. Where is he?”

  “At the moment he’s tagged,” George said, “and real soon now he’ll be bagged as well. Which is why I’m here. I thought you might like to talk price.”

  “Price?” Qing Song said. “I thought we already had an arrangement.”

  “Arrangements go out the window when one person has what everyone wants. It’s supply and demand.” He pointed at Irene again. “Miss Jeanette there, she knows when to fold and make a deal. I’m hoping you’ll think the same way.”

  “Are you open to offers from other people as well?” Jin Zhi asked smoothly, her tone like silk.

  “I’m prepared to listen, if you can show me the money,” George said generously. “I know Mr. Qing here’s good for plenty of dough, but I like to be sure that my customers can cover their purchases. Unless Mr. Qing here wants to vouch for you?”

  Jin Zhi’s face went still. Clearly she hadn’t expected this. She’d assumed that her word would be enough.

  The expression of pure delighted spite that flashed through Qing Song’s eyes was almost too fast for Irene to catch. “Reluctantly I must decline,” he said. “I am not sure that the lady is a safe risk.”

  “There you have it,” George said with a shrug. “So, Mr. Qing, I guess it’s just you and me now.”

  Jin Zhi’s eyes glittered like rubies, and patterns of scales fleetingly marked her bare arms like lace, momentarily enough that one might have imagined it was simply a trick of the light. “I am not accustomed to being dismissed in this way,” she said, her voice hissing like water on molten metal.

  “I’m a businessman, sweetheart. I don’t have time for people who can’t pay their bills.” George turned back to Qing Song. “Shall we talk price?”

  In three steps Jin Zhi was standing in front of him. Her right hand closed around his neck and she lifted him out of his seat. The muscles in her arm stood out like polished metal as she held him there, dangling him in mid-air, his feet kicking a foot above the floor. “We will start with an apology,” she murmured, “and then—”

  “You’ll put him down.” Lily had stepped forward, her fur coat swinging open, and she had a pistol in each hand. She shifted the gun in her right hand to cover the room, and forced the gun in her left hand into Jin Zhi’s ribs. “Or we see how large a hole I can make in your spine.”

  Jin Zhi’s free hand came up to catch Lily’s left wrist, forcing the gun away from her body.

  The room was abruptly full of shouting men and snarling wolves.

  Irene brought her heel down on the foot of the man who was restraining her, cracked her head back against his nose, and wrenched her arms free. He grabbed at her, but she danced away.

  She’d never be able to reach the door. But there was another way out, and she was desperate enough to try it.

  The next moment she was out through the windows and swinging herself over the edge of the balcony.

  CHAPTER 22

  Evariste nearly dropped the book he was holding.

  Kai had more control. To be honest, he had been waiting for something to go wrong—well, more wrong—so it was a relief for it actually to happen. Things could be worse, he reminded himself. They weren’t yet being beaten to their knees by scores of minions while being collared by evil Fae overlords. The situation was still under control.

  “Worst-case scenario, they’re clearing the museum before coming down on us in force,” he said. “Can you open a door to the Library from here?”

  Evariste frowned, looking round at their surroundings with an assessing eye. “Probably. There are enough books. You’re sayi
ng we should run for it?”

  “No, that’s not it,” Kai said. “We—that is, you—open a door to the Library, take the books through, and leave them there; then you come back and close the door. The books are safe, we retrieve them when we have the opportunity, and in the meantime we’ve still got them and they haven’t.” He could hear running feet and slamming doors as the few remaining people evacuated the archive section. “Then we get out of here and contact Irene.” And Irene can decide how we handle the next step, he thought with relief.

  Evariste nodded. He gathered the stack of half a dozen volumes into his arms, staggering slightly from the weight, and kicked the nearest door shut. His forehead drew into lines as he focused. “Open to the Library,” he said, his voice taking on a sharp tone of authority, deep with the harmonics of the Language.

  He reached out to open the door, struggling to keep the books balanced. The door opened to reveal a different room beyond, high and arched, shelved and walled in pale wood. Electric candelabra filled the chamber with light. The smell of graciously old books drifted through to mingle with the archive’s odours of dust and chemical preservation.

  “Hold the door open,” Evariste ordered. He staggered into the Library with the books and across to the nearest table, putting them down with a gasp of relief, then grabbed paper and pen to scribble a quick note.

  Kai took hold of the door’s handle and inserted his foot in the gap, just in case. He could feel the wood of the door trembling under his hands, shuddering with the tension of being forced to hold open a gap between worlds. He’d seen Irene keep a door like this open before for a couple of minutes. But Kai wasn’t sure Evariste had the same deep-rooted strength that Irene did. And maybe it would be better if he stayed in the Library . . .

  Evariste was an uncertain factor. He was unreliable. If Kai just shut the door and broke the temporary link between this world and the Library, it could take hours for Evariste to find his way back again. It would be easier to handle things without him.