INTERLUDE

Vale and Kai

I trust you understand why I have requested this interview, under the circumstances,” Vale said.

Mei Feng nodded. “You have demonstrated that there may be a connection between Minister Zhao’s murder and this latest one—and we all want to bring Lord Ren Shun’s assassin to justice.” If it was distressing to face questions on her murdered colleague, Minister Zhao, she didn’t show it. She was sitting opposite him, as calm as any politician he’d ever questioned. There was little to learn from her appearance: her hair and make-up demonstrated the attention of careful servants, and her clothing, while slightly out of place for his own London, was appropriate for a lady of wealth and rank in this Paris and this time. She was in dark purple silk, with a light green scarf at her throat and emeralds of a matching shade in her bracelets and earrings. Winters had remarked previously that this was a sign of allegiance among the dragons. And that it indicated the woman’s immediate superior was a light green shade in her “natural” shape. She’d also said she believed Mei Feng’s personal affinity to be for wind, and any unnatural movements of air might indicate strong emotion.

Winters was a useful source of knowledge.

But Mei Feng herself provided more information than she might have realised. Her left cuff was already marked with a few ink stains, indicating that she was left-handed and that she preferred to make notes herself, rather than leaving it all to servants. The muscles of her arms and shoulders, even though the cut of her dress attempted to conceal them, indicated a dragon with more than the usual amount of upper-body strength. Her height was also impressive, matching Vale’s own six feet. (In fact, female dragons in general were about that height, equalling or exceeding their male counterparts. A topic for future research.) And Mei Feng had instructed her servants to check the room for hidden listening devices before their interview, which suggested that she might not want everything she said to be on the record.

“I will begin by asking why you wished to speak with me, rather than your cousin—the lady Mu Dan,” Vale went on. “I believe she has some sort of investigative rank among your people.”

“She does,” Mei Feng said. Her voice was high-pitched but not girlish. “However, she is accustomed to investigating crimes among the lower-ranked and human servants. It would be inappropriate for her to question one of Her Majesty’s most highly ranked ministers. You are a man of rank in your own world, I’m told. You should understand this.”

Vale had very little regard for his own rank, save when it was necessary to use it as a blunt instrument. While he technically held the position of Earl of Leeds, it was a ceremonial title rather than one with any genuine authority, and he had left his family as far behind as possible. Yet if it eased his dealings with these dragons, he would allow them to assume anything they wanted.

“But you are aware that I may discuss what you tell me with her and Winters, if it is necessary to resolve this current case?”

Mei Feng shrugged. “That will be your decision.” And you will be held accountable for it, her tone implied.

“Thank you for making that clear,” Vale said drily. “Now, you say that Minister Zhao was one of the most highly ranked ministers in the Queen of the Southern Lands’ court?”

“That’s no secret,” Mei Feng agreed. “He stood directly below me in rank, with only one or two others on the same level. His death unbalanced the whole court.” Her eyes, a clear shade of grey-lilac, darkened at the thought.

“And yet he was replaced by someone comparatively junior, after his death?”

Mei Feng wobbled a hand delicately in the air. “It was an awkward situation. While there were several older and more experienced courtiers who could have taken his place, they were all very well placed where they were, and several outright stated they did not desire the promotion. Her Majesty resolved to—what is the phrase?—bring some new blood into the position. Of course, this did mean that a few of the more onerous duties of the minister could be removed from the portfolio. And certain cliques at court were affected.”

Vale leaned forward thoughtfully. “So the queen took advantage of the situation, unwanted as it was, to dilute the minister’s power and break up several political cliques? Winters told me of the contest for the position. Was that to set two powerful families at each other’s throats, rather than have them potentially interfering with her rule?”

“You said that,” Mei Feng said. “It would be inappropriate of me to agree.”

“Madam, however important it may be to avoid dangerous statements and slanders, there are going to be certain questions which will require definitive answers.”

“I’ll do my best to give them,” Mei Feng said with a bland smile. “To those questions, at least.”

So it was going to be one of those interviews, Vale noted resignedly. Still, he was hardly inexperienced on that front. “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to tell me about the death of Minister Zhao, in your own words, and with as much relevant detail as you feel you can share.” Facts and methods of murder would tell him more than political implications.

Mei Feng paused, as though marshalling the facts in her mind and deleting the ones she did not wish to reveal. “Minister Zhao was on a tour of duty, you might say. He was visiting a number of worlds under his authority in order to collect information. On one of them—under the peaceful governance of an empire based in Korea—he was found dead mid-afternoon in a local orchard. The autopsy revealed he had been poisoned, via some tainted crystallised fruits. The local staff were questioned, and the evidence examined. The plums had arrived as a present from a junior subordinate of his, Lu Bu. But when Lu Bu was questioned, he knew nothing of the fruits. We have reason to believe he was speaking the truth and that someone counterfeited his name on the package.”

“Was Minister Zhao fond of crystallised fruits?” Vale asked thoughtfully.

“They were a favourite delicacy of his,” Mei Feng confirmed. “Everyone who knew him knew that.”

Vale nodded. “And the poison was definitely in the plums, and not introduced by some other method?”

“Give our investigators some credit,” Mei Feng said. “We do not employ incompetents. He was definitely poisoned, and the poison was in those fruits.”

“What was the poison?”

“Cyanide,” Mei Feng answered.

“Sugar and alcohol should have retarded the effect of the cyanide,” Vale mused aloud, “but I imagine the proportions of the ingredients would be a factor.” He observed the twitch of Mei Feng’s face at the unseemly biological information. Clearly a woman who considered herself above such things. “Was someone present at the time, or was his body only discovered later?”

“He had intended to work without interruption,” Mei Feng replied. “And while he did have a human secretary with him, he was unavailable for questioning later.” She saw the frown growing on Vale’s face and amplified her answer. “Minister Zhao had a strong affinity with the earth. When he felt himself afflicted by the poison, he reacted … Well, that is, we assume he reacted emotionally. There was a minor earthquake as a result. The secretary was among those who died. We consider ourselves lucky to have been able to obtain what evidence we did.”

“I suppose I should be grateful my usual investigations are spared that level of destruction,” Vale reflected. “Can you be certain that there were no others present?”

Mei Feng hesitated. “We are as certain as we can be, given that it was an isolated country estate with no known visitors, and no Fae could have penetrated so far into our territories.”

“And that no strange dragons were observed in the sky …” Vale suggested.

“Yes, I was afraid you were going to raise that possibility,” Mei Feng said ruefully. “One must consider all alternatives, after all. However unlikely they are.”

Vale noted that she had not described it as impossible, however. Was this intended to convince him of her impartiality? Or did she seriously consider another dragon might have been involved? “Let us agree on the facts so far,” he said. “Minister Zhao was poisoned, by the fruits, in the orchard. The fruits were apparently sent by a trusted subordinate—I assume he was trusted?”

“Lu Bu is reliable, stoic, and lacking in imagination,” Mei Feng agreed. “His sole vice is tea, and I cannot see him being corrupted by it.”

“Who would have had the opportunity to send such a package, which claimed to be from him?” Vale asked.

“Naturally we questioned the minister’s staff and household. That world is close enough to disputed territory that Fae interference would be difficult but not impossible. Or a human agent for the Fae might have been involved. Two of Lu Bu’s human servants had recently been involved with new romances or friendships—with people who could not be traced afterwards. Lu Bu’s handwriting might have been imitated and his seal stolen. And he regularly sent Minister Zhao gifts of crystallised fruit. It was a noted product of the area, and …” Mei Feng shrugged. “Lu Bu was not an original person when it came to gifts.”

“All very plausible,” Vale said. “Tell me, how common are such assassinations?”

Mei Feng’s shoulders stiffened. “Extremely uncommon,” she said. The wind outside strengthened a notch, making the fire jump in the fireplace. “The Fae might strike at us, or we at them, in the disputed territories—but not in the heart of our own lands! The affair has caused what I can only describe as paranoia in some of my kindred, who should know better.”

“You mistake my meaning,” Vale remarked. “I was not referring to assassinations by one side against the other. I meant, between dragons.”

Mei Feng guarded her expression so carefully that Vale knew she must have expected the question. A more natural reaction would have been anger or shock at his suggestion—especially from a mere human. “It is unheard of,” she said. “Such things haven’t been known since ancient times.”

But you’ve just described a murder which would have been extremely difficult for a Fae to commit, Vale reflected. Yet entirely possible—simple, even—for a dragon. “Then let us discuss something more recent. What were Minister Zhao’s political views? Or did his personal life provide any possible motive for his murder?”

“His personal life was rather lacking in interest,” Mei Feng said. “The usual sort of mating contracts, children, affairs, whatever. His political life was more … vivid. He was a member of the Red Plain family, and naturally he used his political influence to support them whenever possible. And because of his diligence and skills, he had accumulated a large number of portfolios. He was well-respected. And of course, he favoured the peace faction.”

“Let me be specific,” Vale said. “How much did he support this conference? Was he, perhaps, involved in organising it?”

“Involved, instrumental, and very important.” Mei Feng looked slightly smug at having found three matching adjectives. “He stressed to Her Majesty that a truce would in no way weaken the monarchs and it would offer opportunities for diplomatic inroads into disputed territories. One cannot deny that we are somewhat more organised and collaborative than the Fae.”

“Somewhat,” Vale agreed. What he had seen of the infighting between dragon families suggested that the cooperation only went so far. “Was he one of the most significant parties in favour of this peace, then?”

Mei Feng opened her mouth to speak, then paused, considering. Finally she said, “He is perhaps—was, rather—the most significant individual who was not one of the monarchs themselves, or one of the monarchs’ most favoured counsellors. He was also one of the few who knew that the monarchs were seriously considering a signed truce. Many who talked about such a thing considered it merely supposition, or a vague hypothesis to be worked out over the next century. He actually knew it was a viable proposition. Some people might well have thought removing him would remove any chance of peace. Though he was not one of those with the duty of discussing such a peace with the Library.”

“Who was that?” Vale asked, diverted for a moment.

“Tian Shu, a favourite of His Majesty of the Eastern Ocean, opened negotiations there. I am not privy to the full details.”

Vale noted the slight twist of discontent to her lips at those words. “Information has been kept strictly rationed throughout this affair,” he said. “An interesting approach.”

“But necessary,” Mei Feng said quickly, springing to the defence. “If Minister Zhao’s assassination was connected to Ren Shun’s murder—well, we can see the depths to which our enemies would stoop.”

“And if it was connected,” Vale probed, “who do you think those enemies are?”

“Fae, clearly.” Mei Feng’s voice and eyes were firm and unhesitating. “Some petty faction which is trying to brew open war between our two sides—by murdering some of our most trusted and valued nobles. The news about this ‘Blood Countess’ explains a great deal.”

“And yet Minister Zhao was murdered in your own territory,” Vale countered, “using a method which required knowledge of his personal habits and official duties, through your own internal postal service.”

Mei Feng’s gaze tightened to a full glare, and for a moment she looked as if she would have liked to have him dismissed from the room, the hotel, and the investigation. But her tone was amiable enough. “No doubt these suspicions are necessary on your part. But I submit to you that that information could have been gathered by human spies, dispatched by Fae into our territory. We hope our own investigations will identify them, and soon. Cyanide is a weapon anyone can deploy. Indeed, this Countess apparently did so last night—or at least, some kind of poison? Or so I was told?”

“Aconite,” Vale said, “though my analysis so far has been somewhat hasty. And that was directed against the Fae delegation.”

“The Fae are petty creatures who will even strike against their own kind,” Mei Feng said, with an air of generous tolerance. “Still, I suppose we should be grateful that some are civilised enough to restrain themselves and negotiate this truce.”

“And what exactly will come after the truce?” Vale asked.

“We see who’s prepared to abide by it,” Mei Feng said crisply.

“And if some dragons are not?”

“Then they will have directly disobeyed the eight monarchs and will be subject to judgement,” Mei Feng said. “A simple enough scenario.”

And one which will give the dragon kings and queens official and legal sanction to strengthen their authority over the dragon families, Vale reflected. Wheels within wheels. And the more political Fae will likewise be able to use any of their own infractions against enemies on their own side. I do believe the benefit of peace to humans in the middle is hardly relevant to either group. What a surprise.

Still, the humans in the middle would benefit too, even if it wasn’t a priority for either dragons or Fae. And that would be the Library’s gain from the truce—Vale had picked up enough from Winters to understand that. And Vale’s own.

He spent another half-hour questioning her, looking for facts or evidence that might relate to the current investigation—rather than theories. But she had no further information of value. Finally he allowed himself to take visible notice of her glances at her watch, the window, and the door. “Thank you for your time, Lady Mei Feng,” he said. “You have been of great assistance to me.

“It is my pleasure,” she murmured. “I hope that I can trust your discretion about what we have just discussed. I will not bear witness to any wild suppositions.”

“Of course,” Vale agreed cynically. It would be his own unsupported word, if he used any parts of their conversation later to imply the murderer was a dragon. “But one final question, if I may?”

“Of course,” Mei Feng said.

“Who do you actually think murdered Lord Ren Shun?”

“This Countess, of course,” Mei Feng said. “Any other solution is quite unacceptable.”

And there one had it, Vale reflected as she left the room. That was the dragon position. Any other solution was not wrong, but … unacceptable.

• • •

Strongrock came blowing in with a slam of the door and threw himself down in a chair. “Vale,” he said dramatically, “I’ve found something.”

Vale lifted his gaze from the bomb components strewn across the table. “Useful, I trust.”

“Would I have bothered you if it wasn’t?”

“Probably not,” Vale allowed. He carefully lowered the fuse he’d been examining, releasing the tweezers and setting them down next to it, then wiped his hands on a napkin. “What is it?”

Strongrock leaned forward. “I’ve found something in Ren Shun’s papers,” he said. “I think it may be relevant to where the Countess is hiding.”

He showed signs of strain—the wrinkles between his brows, the tightness of his expression, the over-meticulous care given to his clothing—but Vale was inclined to write those off as due to the stress of playing secretary for his uncle. “Kindly give me the full details,” he said.

“My lord uncle had told me to go through Ren Shun’s notes for the last few days, to make sure he had the full background on a particular situation,” Strongrock began. “While doing that, I found a misfiled report, from when Ren Shun and his people were surveying this Paris—and another linked one from a later time. They identified the Grand Guignol Theatre as a source of concern, and the report noted that it had a higher-than-natural chaos level.”

“But not high enough for immediate investigation?” Vale queried.

“It was rated as a low priority,” Strongrock said. “Especially if Fae had been visiting and contaminating the place. It’d be the sort of thing that interested them, after all … But the second report was actually dated on the day Ren Shun was murdered. The agent, whoever it was, was wondering whether the Fae delegation at their hotel was using the theatre as a secondary base. Perhaps to hide backup or something like that? But if the Countess is the second Fae presence in Paris, that would explain everything.”

While his words were very proper, and conveyed sentiments his uncle would have approved, Vale could see the flicker of interest in his eyes. He could sympathise. The Theatre of the Grand Guignol was a fascinating place. Even if a good half of the plays catered to the lowest and most depraved imaginings of the population, with their depictions of blood, torture, madness, and murder, it was still an interesting psychological study of human mentality. And he was rather curious about how they achieved some of their make-up and stage effects.

A piece fell into place in his mind. “If Ren Shun’s men investigated and found a higher chaos level than normal,” he said, “it is most intriguing that Lord Silver didn’t think so.”

“Silver’s already been there?”

“Winters did assign him to look into theatres,” Vale reminded him. “I pried the details out of him last night. He said that he’d called on the Grand Guignol, but a cursory examination had been fruitless, and he’d gone on to cast his net wider. Curious.”

“So either he’s lying or he’s blind,” Strongrock declared, leaping ahead of Vale’s reasoning in a sadly unsupported way, “or the chaos level there has gone down since Ren Shun had it checked out.”

“You know more about such things than I do, Strongrock. How likely is the third possibility?”

Strongrock frowned. “Well, levels could drop naturally, or the fall could be the result of dragons passing nearby. But I wouldn’t expect this to happen if Fae were still visiting the theatre—and according to those witness statements Irene examined, some Fae had been there.”

“An anomaly, then,” Vale said with satisfaction. “And in keeping with levels dropping, I would put forward the theory that someone at the Grand Guignol is now attempting to conceal their presence—whether it is the Countess or someone else entirely. These reports of yours from Ren Shun—they are reliable?”

“Absolutely,” Strongrock said swiftly. Then he paused. “Well, they’re certainly authentic. I’ve seen enough of his handwriting over the last couple of days to be sure of that. Whether or not they’re accurate might be a different issue.”

Vale nodded. He rose from his chair and began to pace. “This agrees with certain details I have already established. Chlorine purchases—explained as for stage effects. The fact that several of the anarchist assailants were apparently devoted Guignolers—and that one of them mentioned a theatre. It requires investigation. Can your uncle spare you for a few hours?”

“That’s not a problem,” Strongrock said with slightly too much heartiness. “He told me to go and occupy myself elsewhere for the rest of the day. He doesn’t need me for the moment. I did try to raise the possibility of the Guignol being a Fae base … but he dismissed it. He said, why look for additional imaginary enemies when we already have quite enough.” For a moment he caught Ao Ji’s tone and disdain. “He said that he felt I was seeing shadows rather than looking at facts, and that I had clearly been spending too much time with … my own imagination.”

Vale suspected the words had been stronger than that, and more specific, but he was tactful enough not to ask for details. It was, he admitted privately—in an overly sentimental part of his mind—a pity that uncle and nephew didn’t get on better. Instead he nodded. “Very good. Then we can get down to work without interruptions. I suggest we scout around the area, which would allow you to determine if there are any overt signs of chaos.”

“We might need to approach the theatre more closely, if signs of chaos are hidden,” Strongrock said. “Should we bring in the others?”

“Winters and Mu Dan are off on some investigation of their own,” Vale said with irritation. He’d returned from a discussion with Inspector Maillon to find Winters had taken off on a scent and Mu Dan had followed her. “And Lord Silver is still hunting bakers and cakes. Besides, I’m not certain that we should bring him in at this stage …”

He and Strongrock exchanged glances. They’d both been present that morning when he’d attempted to blackmail Winters. Even if he wasn’t working for the Countess, his loyalties could not be entirely trusted.

“And even if Irene was here,” Strongrock said slowly, “it could be better if we find some independent proof of the Countess’s presence, without her being involved. Not everyone believes—that is, there are some people who claim that the whole ‘Countess’ thing is a fabrication.”

“A fabrication who assembled a bomb, filled a cake with chlorine, organised a kidnap attempt at the Paris Morgue, and sent poisoned apples to the Princess,” Vale said drily. “How much evidence of malicious intent do they want?”

“He wants evidence that doesn’t depend on Librarian or Fae testimony,” Strongrock muttered. “I’d swear to Irene’s good faith, but he says that my judgement’s suspect.”

Vale had to agree with the he—Ao Ji, obviously—in that respect. If Winters should ever lie to Strongrock, Strongrock would never doubt her. And doubting factions could use this.

Fortunately Vale’s own judgement was rather better. And he was certain Winters was telling the truth about what she’d experienced. But he could see the direction of Strongrock’s argument. “We’ll need to keep Winters informed, of course,” he said. “And this is in the nature of a scouting expedition. We must assume that this Countess may recognise us, so a change of appearance is in order.” He glanced at Strongrock’s clothing—proper morning dress, suit and cravat. Rather too obvious. “We will simply wander the streets nearby, and your own metaphysical senses should reveal whether we need to investigate further.”

“Of course,” Strongrock agreed. “We can fetch the others later. But I wish we knew where Irene and Mu Dan were. If we’re wrong about the Grand Guignol, they may be walking into danger themselves.”

“I think they are quite capable of doing that, whether or not the Countess is hidden at the Grand Guignol,” Vale said. “I’ll leave a message for Winters …”

• • •

The streets around the Grand Guignol were busy, and Vale was able to blend into the crowd with ease. He and Strongrock were just one more pair of gentlemen strolling out for an evening’s diversion, near anonymous in their hats and battered overcoats. They’d taken care to avoid observation while leaving the hotel, whether by humans or felines. And he was relatively certain that if the Countess or anyone else was present at the theatre, then their approach would be unexpected.

Since he had no way to observe any metaphysical abnormalities, he left that to Strongrock. Instead he observed the city of Paris and its inhabitants. It had been a year or two since last he visited, in his own world—and it reassured him to discover that despite the lack of certain technologies, and the divergences in history, this Paris and these people were much the same. Similar geography, similar men and women, similar police and criminals. It explained why the Librarians were able to function as an organisation. Whatever the world, human beings were still human beings.

A two-tone whistle sounded somewhere in the background, behind the noise of revellers and the sounds of music, and Vale concealed a frown. That was far too similar to the sort of communication a gang would use when they’d sighted a target and were signalling to close in. Perhaps he had underestimated the Grand Guignol’s level of security—if this was connected. “Do you notice anything unusual?” he remarked to Strongrock, keeping his tone conversational.

Strongrock’s eyes swept across their surroundings as if he was doing no more than inspecting the cabarets and entertainment on offer. “That man on the right—the one with the scar on his right cheek—is following us, I think.”

“Yes,” Vale agreed. “And the one over there on the left, under the black sign, the one with the single glove; he passed us two turnings back. We’re being bracketed.” The realisation was unwelcome.

“Options?”

“Best to retreat and return in force,” Vale said with regret. “Take the second right turning. If I remember my local geography correctly, we can fall back to one of the main streets.”

“If we do that, we’re risking her escaping—if she is based at the theatre,” Strongrock pointed out.

Vale grunted in annoyance. “This is not the time or place for heroics.”

“My objection’s purely strategic.”

“If the Countess is here and does evacuate her base, then she’ll be off balance and unlikely to stage any immediate attacks. And she may leave evidence behind that we can trace.”

They strolled on together, Vale watching the two men now keeping pace with them on either side of the street. They passed through the crowd like sharks. “Of course, if we are assaulted during our retreat and can take some prisoners, then our little trip would not be entirely wasted,” he added.

“Excellent,” Strongrock said, brightening. “Oh, did you notice that new pair behind us?”

“Of course,” Vale said, a little annoyed. He would hardly have missed such obvious followers. Clearly the men had decided to forgo caution and close in. “Turn right here …”

The alley was a narrow one, overhung by the houses on either side, and twisted back on itself before turning towards the main thoroughfare …

With an unpleasant shock, Vale saw that the alley was blocked by a wall that had clearly been there for years. As a difference between this world and his own, it was very minor, but it meant he and Strongrock were blocked. Trapped.

The two of them exchanged a glance, before turning to face the group of men now slouching into the alleyway, moving towards them.

• • •

Shortly after, they encountered the Fae member of their team.

“How nice to see you both again,” Silver said bitterly, as Vale and the unconscious Kai—beaten into unconsciousness and chloroformed to make sure he stayed that way—were chained up in alcoves opposite him.