CHAPTER 21

The passage to the Library from the Richelieu Library had been destroyed. That was quite clear. There wasn’t enough left of the room it had been in to support a way through.

Fortunately, the rest of the building still contained enough books, enabling Irene to create a temporary connection. She found a remote area where she wouldn’t be disturbed by students, guards, or visitors. Then she chose a door and wrote on it in the Language, THIS DOOR OPENS TO THE LIBRARY. The connection would only be stable for half an hour or so before it vanished. Hopefully that would be long enough to get some answers.

Swaying a little from the drain in her energy, but unwilling to wait long enough for her head to stop swimming, she grasped the handle. “Open to the Library,” she said, and walked through into her true home.

In the large room beyond, heavy bookcases filled with thick leather-bound volumes filled the walls between pillars of crimson marble, and polar bear skins dotted the dark stone floor like icebergs, their white fur mottled with dust. There was a computer outlet in the room, Irene saw with relief: she wouldn’t have to go searching for one. Ignoring the books on the shelves, she checked the room’s designation and quickly sat down and logged in, composing a hasty email.

She hadn’t wanted to do this, but she needed to contact Library Security. They were the only people who could answer some of her questions about Prutkov. Assuming that they were willing to do so.

Melusine,

I request an urgent consultation, based on my investigation into Ren Shun’s death. I’ve established a temporary link to the Library, so please can you arrange a transfer shift down to Security and back, or come to discuss this with me in person. I can’t afford to lose my passage back to the world where negotiations are taking place. I’m in Antarctic Literature, world B-23.

Irene

For a moment she debated signing off with yours sincerely or yours faithfully—or even channel Poe with for the love of God, Montresor! But none of those seemed likely to help. She hit the return key and stared at the screen. How long would Melusine take to read it? Was Melusine even available? What if she was having a half-hour nap and Irene didn’t get a response by the time she had to return …

The computer chimed. Irene checked her incoming email.

Visual connection set-up in progress. Please hold.

A new window appeared on the computer screen, expanding to show a webcam view of Melusine’s den. Melusine herself was in her wheelchair, looking much as she had done the last time Irene had met her; short-cropped dark blonde hair, battered checked shirt, comparatively young face, centuries-old eyes. Only the rug over her legs had changed, from a weathered tartan specimen to a bilious green one.

“This is not what I wanted to hear,” she said without preamble. “This is not the sort of call I wanted to be getting. What do you want a consultation about, and why, and why does it have to be with me?”

Irene didn’t waste time asking about the visual connection. Possibly the Library’s computer system had had an upgrade while she wasn’t there, or this was something exclusive to Melusine’s position. “You know about Ren Shun’s murder,” she said. “Did you know that the blame’s being put on a particular Fae—the Blood Countess—and we’re supposed to be tracking her down?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. What’s gone wrong?”

“The Countess is in Paris, and she doesn’t want a peace treaty signed, but I’m not so sure that she’s guilty of killing Ren Shun.” There had been something that had rung very true in Dorotya’s disclosure of how passionately her mistress disliked being falsely accused. “Also …” And here was the bit where Irene could possibly shoot herself in the foot. “I need you to check something for me.”

“What?”

“I want to know if anyone was entering or leaving the Library from this world last night.”

“Why?”

Irene wistfully imagined being able to bark out questions like that and expect an answer, rather than having to dance around the subject and grease it well with flattery. “Because they shouldn’t have been.”

“Wait.” Melusine pushed her wheelchair back from the computer, moving across to one of the many bookshelves in the background. She could guess what the head of Library Security was checking: the entry and exit logs for that particular portal to the Library. A cold trickle of fear made its way slowly down her back and clenched in her stomach. If her logic was wrong …

But Melusine slammed the book closed. “You’re right,” she said, turning back towards the computer screen. “There’s an entry and exit recorded for Borges. He’s one of the Librarians seconded to assist Prutkov. Eleven thirty local time, just before midnight. Now tell me what’s going on and why this is significant.”

Just before midnight, the words chimed at the back of Irene’s mind. If it had been just after midnight, then Borges might have been trying to reach the Library to report the explosion, or to check that he could still reach the Library from the Paris where the peace conference was taking place. But just before midnight?

“Prutkov’s up to something on his own account,” Irene said, getting the words out before nervousness could stop her.

Melusine’s face shuttered. There was no better word for it. Expression drained out of her eyes, and her mouth became a thin line, giving nothing away. She could have been an old photograph, the sort where the camera required several minutes of exposure, and as a result the subject’s expression was flat and impassive, drained of life. “You know that’s a serious accusation. Explain.”

“He’s trying to set things up so all sides blame the Countess, to encourage both sides to cooperate. I can understand that, but he also made an approach to me in private. He was trying to sell me the idea that the Library’s future depends on us being essential to both sides, ostensibly as peace brokers—but actually as manipulators behind the scenes. As a faction who’d hold the balance of power.” A fragment of speech brushed her memory again. “And when discussing the Countess’s failed plan to blow up the negotiation hotel, with one of his female agents, the woman called it karmic justice for him.”

“Why is that last point relevant?” Melusine was still unreadable, but at least she hadn’t immediately called Irene a liar or taken her off the case.

“The note found in Ren Shun’s pocket mentioned ‘hell’—which is enfer in French—and a set of numbers. And the title of a book—Myths, by Herodotus. You’ll have seen the report.” A fraction of a nod from Melusine was confirmation. “And you presumably know the Richelieu Library was bombed last night, breaking our connection to the Library. Which is why I’m on a time limit.”

“Yes,” Melusine said. “And?”

Irene leaned forward. “I believe Prutkov was behind the bombing. The Enfer, the part of the library where they kept erotica, was one of the areas bombed. I know we get coincidences where there are Fae around, but that’s too much of a coincidence. Let me theorise here. Someone left that note in Ren Shun’s pocket deliberately. They wanted the investigation to follow the trail to the Enfer and to find Herodotus’s Myths there—just as Ren Shun’s note suggested. Combine that with the rumours that Ren Shun had said he’d heard at least one Librarian making a private deal to get hold of rare books? Suspicion would point right at the Library. So I think Prutkov decided to get rid of all the evidence.”

“The first part of your theorising holds water,” Melusine said slowly. “If someone wanted to sabotage the negotiations using the Library, and the rare book turned up where the paper on Ren Shun indicated it would be—combined with the overheard conversation—then it would be impossible to prove the Library wasn’t guilty of something. But you haven’t given me any proof that Prutkov’s involved …”

Irene swallowed. Her throat was dry. “The rest of my theory is that Prutkov himself organised that bombing, in order to make us look like victims of the Countess to everyone else—and to hide any evidence that there had ever been a copy of the Myths in the Enfer. But if the book’s so important, as a Librarian, he wouldn’t want to destroy it. But equally he couldn’t risk hiding it here in Paris. If I was him …” And how easy it was to imagine the chain of events, the tidy concealment of evidence. “I’d have taken it through to the Library itself. Then I’d have come back to set off the explosives—or have my agents do so, such as Borges—during the middle of the diplomatic state dinner when I’d have a perfect alibi. That’s why Borges made a transit to the Library just before the bombs went off. He’d been organizing all this. But if Prutkov did this, if he did any of this, then he did it without telling me.”

“You feel you should have been informed?” Melusine demanded. “You think you have some sort of right to know?”

“Yes!” Irene declared, her growing anger finally coming to a boil. She tried to gauge the shadow-play of emotions across Melusine’s face. And hoped against hope that Prutkov’s instructions hadn’t come from the top. “Prutkov’s already made it clear to me what he thinks the Library’s future should be. I disagree. We’re not in this to be power-players or manipulators. We’re not in this job for the power. And anyone who thinks we are is a dangerous liability. I’ve heard him talking when he didn’t think I was there too; I know he looks on me as a disposable tool. He’d never tell me what he’s up to behind the scenes. So I’m bringing it to you.”

Melusine’s fingers tapped against her desk. “I thought we were training you out of running to us with all your problems.”

Irene was past the point of being insulted by something that petty. “If he’s running this operation and you and Coppelia and Kostchei all know about it, then I’ll accept your orders. I’ll admit that I was wrong. But if he’s doing all this and you don’t know—then how far can you trust him to run this vital conference?”

“It’s been over twelve hours,” Melusine said slowly. “If he’d wanted me to know about this, he’d have got word to me by now. This is far too risky. All of it. Trying to carry off this sort of deception—and under the noses of top-level people from both sides? If Prutkov came up with this idea on his own, he’s on the edge of treason. And if he’s been subverted by someone like the Cardinal, that’s even worse.”

“The edge of treason?” Irene said.

“You know the old proverb. ‘If it does prosper, none dare call it treason’ … but he will have left evidence behind—we just have to find it. Assuming you’re correct.”

Irene wasn’t quite sure of Melusine’s current mood, but there was something uncomfortably brittle about it. “If I can deduce or guess at what Prutkov’s done—making sure that the Countess is blamed for bombing the Richelieu Library and destroying vital evidence—then someone else can certainly discover it. And if anyone who wants to discredit us finds out about this, and uses the information against us … our reputation and our overall mission will be damaged for generations.” It struck her that she’d shifted from blaming Prutkov for his morals to blaming him for his incompetence. But that wasn’t just it. There was a deeper underlying problem here. “We can’t afford to base the peace treaty on lies.”

“You’re one of the last people I’d have expected to be in favour of abstract truth, rather than practical results.”

Irene wondered, not for the first time, exactly what was in her Library records. “I can use as many tactful lies as you want, but in a situation like this, where it’s absolutely vital that all three sides come to the table honestly and trust each other … Blaming the Countess isn’t going to work if she’s not actually guilty. It’ll come out sooner or later. And then the whole peace process will be suspect. And us most of all, if we are the ones who meddled with it. This is not a situation where truth is the best course, it’s a situation where truth is the only course.”

“Go on,” Melusine said, tapping on her keyboard. “I can listen and type at the same time. Tell me what you have in mind.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t have any other feasible culprits for the murder. We can’t track most of the delegations that night. Half of them could have sneaked out without their servants knowing, and the other half could have had their servants lie about it. Li Ming’s the only person with any sort of reported grudge against Ren Shun, his half-brother—but they fell out over Ren Shun’s ethics. As a motive for disrupting the peace conference, it isn’t convincing. Assuming that he told me the truth. But I think he did.” Irene wanted to run her hands through her hair. “And if Ren Shun’s murder is linked to Minister Zhao’s assassination—which could also have ended the peace process previously—the culprit has to be someone who could reach right into dragon territory. If the Countess was responsible for Ren Shun’s death, then does she have a dragon ally who’s behind Minister Zhao’s murder? How many murderers can we actually postulate here, before our theories start getting ridiculous? The only culprit apart from the Countess who would satisfy all parties would be some other mysterious warmongering Fae—or dragon, let’s be fair—who’s currently hanging out in Paris and wants to break up the conference. But we have even less evidence of that than we do of the Countess.” A thought struck her. “Tell me—I know it’s very rare, but is Herodotus’s Myths as rare as I’m assuming it is? And is it significant if it’s from Beta-001?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m grasping at straws and looking for any evidence that could conceivably be related to what’s going on. If Ren Shun did hear someone discussing the Myths, then the book is connected to the case.”

“That book’s not the correct edition,” Melusine said. “And the Library reference on that note indicating the book’s location is misleading. There is a version of that book which has some very interesting information about the past history of dragons. But it’s not the one from Beta-001, the location in the note.” Her eyes narrowed at the flicker of interest that Irene couldn’t help showing in her expression. “And no, you don’t need to know which version it is. We already have a Beta-001 version, and there’s nothing unusual about that one or the half-dozen versions which exist in other worlds. It’s a collection of myths—a very good collection of myths—but it’s not something so unique and special that any Librarian, however insane, would destroy this peace conference to get their hands on it. If the note in Ren Shun’s pocket had mentioned, well, a specific reference, which I’m not going to give you, then I’d have agreed that was highly significant. But Beta-001? No. Only to a collector or a purist.” She checked her watch. “How much time do you have left?”

“Ten minutes if I’m lucky, five minutes if I want to be safe.” Thoughts buzzed in Irene’s head. If the Myths from Beta-001 wasn’t significant, then why the reference to it? Was it because someone was trying to frame the Library, for both Ren Shun’s murder and for general treason and peace conference disruption, and had chosen the reference to Beta-001 by mistake? They might have known that a version of the book was significant, but not which one—and so they’d written down a Library world designation at random, hoping that Beta-001 would sound significant enough to any non-Librarian. That would fit with the theory that the Library was being framed. But that didn’t fit with anything that the Countess had done so far, or that Irene had learned about her. So if not her—then who?

“Right.” Melusine glanced at a second screen out of Irene’s view. “I’ve just had one of my runners check on the room which used to link to your Paris. The copy of Herodotus’s Myths is there. Or at least, it’s a copy of the Myths. We can’t be sure which world it’s originally from without more detailed checks, but it’s certainly not from the world where the peace negotiations are taking place. It was never written there. The book wasn’t very well hidden either, but they probably didn’t have time to do better. That part of your theory checks out. But if I pull Prutkov out in the middle of the negotiations, that’ll destabilise the talks, and we need more answers.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “All right. I’m going to bring in someone with enough authority to handle Prutkov and help you, but it’ll take me a few hours.”

“Can’t you come yourself?” Irene suggested.

“I don’t leave the Library,” Melusine said. She might as well have said it in the Language, binding herself with an oath: it was a statement of fact that was not going to change, even if the universe itself did. “I can’t promise who you’ll get, but they’ll give you a password to show they’re directly from me and you can trust them. Let’s make the password …” She typed again. “The password is Nevsky. That should be original enough. In the meantime, try to shake some answers out of your friend Vale, even if he doesn’t want to share them. He probably knows more than you do. It’s his job, after all. And make sure nothing else happens that might derail the talks. Can you do that?”

“I can try.”

“Why didn’t you take this to Coppelia or Kostchei in the first instance?”

“Because I was afraid Prutkov would find out if I asked for a private conversation with them in Paris. And if it came down to his word or mine without proof, when I wasn’t even sure if he’d done something wrong or just been careless …” Irene shrugged. “Also, they’re being kept busy in meetings all the time.”

Melusine nodded. “Probably his work too. All right, you’d better leave while the link still holds. Be careful. I’d like Paris to still be in one piece by the time I can get someone to you.”

And she cut the connection before Irene could make any sort of comeback.

• • •

Mu Dan seized on Irene the moment that she returned to Le Meurice. “Your bedroom, now,” she said grimly. “We have another problem.”

Irene let herself be dragged up to her room, her heart sinking. “What is it?” she demanded.

Mu Dan glanced around the room dubiously. “Will we be overheard?”

“Just a moment.” Irene switched to the Language. “Listening devices or listening magic, malfunction and stop working.” There were no signs of anything happening at that—but then if there weren’t any listening devices, there shouldn’t be any consequences. “All right, unless there’s someone actually with an ear to the door, we’re safe. What’s happened?”

“Prince Kai has dropped out of sight too—as well as Silver,” Mu Dan said. She sat down. If it hadn’t been for the corseting under her dress, it would have been a despairing collapse. As it was, the chair creaked with the force of her movement. “And so has Vale. Apparently Prince Kai came to the hotel while we were both away, and met Vale. Then they went out together without telling anyone where they were going. I cannot believe that nobody has the sense to leave some sort of message behind them when they go to investigate—”

There was a knock at the door.

“What is it now?” Mu Dan snarled. She looked as if she would like to rip out her hairpins and use them to impale whoever was interrupting.

“Just a moment,” Irene said, as calmly as she could. Melusine’s words echoed in her memory. I’d like Paris to still be in one piece by the time I can get someone to you. She crossed to the door and opened it, to find herself staring at a hotel page. “Yes?”

“Message for you, madam,” the page said. He offered her a sealed note on a tray.

Irene recognised Vale’s handwriting. Vast relief and hope bloomed inside her. “Thank you,” she said, finding a coin for a tip. “Where and when were you given this?”

“Just a couple of hours ago, madam, downstairs. The gentleman said to give the note to you when you came back.”

“Was the gentleman doing anything else?”

The page frowned, trying to remember. “He was with another gentleman, madam, though not one staying at this hotel. He asked for you, and when you couldn’t be found, he left the note and they both left together.”

“Thank you,” Irene said, handed over the tip, closed the door, and turned back to Mu Dan. “A note from Vale. Apparently he had some sense after all.”

“Well, thank the heavens and earths for that! What does he say?”

Irene broke the seal on the note and opened it. “Winters,” she read aloud, “I hope your investigations have been more useful than mine. Strongrock has found information among Ren Shun’s papers which suggests the Countess is hiding in the Theatre of the Grand Guignol, and we are going to investigate. Kindly join us there as soon as possible, and bring Mu Dan. And Silver, if you must.”

She looked up from the note at Mu Dan. “That’s curious.”

“Which of the many possible things within is curious?” Mu Dan asked. She looked slightly less ready to explode than earlier—possibly because Vale had remembered to mention her in the note, or possibly because there was a note at all.

“If Kai found information in Ren Shun’s papers, which are presumably at the Ritz, then why didn’t he tell you about it? You were there earlier.”

Mu Dan snorted. “You overrate the prince’s willingness to speak to me. He would far rather communicate with you.”

“Maybe,” Irene said. Perhaps it was true that Kai’s first reflex had been to tell Irene and Vale, rather than a comparatively new acquaintance. But something still felt wrong about it. She mentally filed the thought for later. “All right. I’m guessing that Vale and Kai haven’t actually been absent for that long, and that nobody’s raised any alarms yet?”

“You’re right. But something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Mu Dan rose and began to pace angrily back and forth, constrained by the length of the room. “First Lord Silver goes wandering away and doesn’t come back, and now those two are off on their own. If you hadn’t returned, I wouldn’t even have had that note, and then where would we be?”

Irene reread the note thoughtfully, then held it up to the light to see if there were any hidden messages or pinpricks, or any other secret ways of passing information. Nothing was obvious. “I agree,” she said. “I know that we shouldn’t be worrying on the basis of just an hour or two’s absence. But if they have found the Countess’s lair, then they’re walking into danger.”

“Much as you were earlier,” Mu Dan sniped. “And you didn’t have backup either.”

Irene sighed. “We don’t have time for recriminations. Shall we just agree that hypocrisy is my middle name, and leave the matter there? Besides, I knew that I was walking into a possible ambush. And I had the advantage that she underrated me. I’m only human, after all. She won’t underrate Kai. She’ll recognise him as a dragon. But he’s young.” As she put words to her fears, they became firmer and more concrete. “We need to get to the Grand Guignol now.”

“Should we take backup?”

Irene hesitated. “I don’t know. If it is the Countess’s hidden base, and she sees us arriving in force, we may spoil Vale and Kai’s investigation. Or if they’re prisoners, she may use them as hostages.”

“And if we go in on our own and get killed as well? Marching in there two at a time for our own executions won’t help the situation.”

“No, it won’t,” Irene agreed. “But I think we need more information first.” She looked at Mu Dan thoughtfully. It would be very hard to disguise the other woman’s beauty or forcefulness, or the draconic perfection of her features. “You’re a judge-investigator. Your first instinct is to go in at the front door and get answers. I’m not. I’m a Librarian. And a spy. And it’s time I focused on that.”