CHAPTER 23

The Countess was frozen for a moment, the light reflecting on her eyes, and the smell of blood rose till Irene could taste it in her own mouth. Finally she said, “Is there a single reason why I shouldn’t tell my followers to seize you and rip you limb from limb?”

“Self-interest,” Irene said. She began to pace through the kneeling crowd towards the throne. “You might say that it’s my own driving interest as well. Good evening, your ladyship. I trust that you’re enjoying Paris.”

“I find it suits me very well. Better than it’s about to suit you, perhaps.”

Irene rated that threat as little more than hot air. The Countess had not ordered her minions to rip Irene limb from limb; ergo, she was interested in what Irene had to say—for the moment.

“I apologise for retreating so rapidly earlier,” she said. She nodded towards Dorotya, who was still skulking to one side. “The odds weren’t in my favour, and I don’t like negotiating from a position of weakness.”

“Then either your current strength is very well hidden up your sleeve, or this is one of the biggest bluffs I’ve ever seen,” the Countess said, cutting to the root of Irene’s position.

Irene removed her cap and bowed. “Would your ladyship say that I was suicidal?”

“Not at first glance,” the Countess mused, “but there’s a point at which anyone will beg for death.”

Irene felt her flesh creep. She made an effort not to show it. “Your ladyship, I am a low-ranking Librarian. My superiors are all old, and are likely to live for decades yet, if not centuries. I fetch and carry at their orders. I run their errands. But, your ladyship … I am ambitious.”

“Interesting,” the Countess said. “Approach.”

Irene came to stand a few paces away from Mu Dan—but, unlike the dragon, unrestrained. “Your ladyship wants something. I want something. It seems to me that at least for the moment, we could negotiate.”

“I’ve negotiated with Librarians before,” the Countess mused. She leaned forward. “Very well. What are your terms?”

“I would request the lives of your hostages,” Irene said. “And safe passage out of here, of course.”

“That is quite a large demand.” The Countess swept a hand in the direction of the chained prisoners. “A dragon prince. A Fae lordling. A human detective. And the maiden beside you, of course.” Her voice lingered over the word maiden obsessively. “You ask for a great deal. What do you offer me in return?”

“To clear your name, your ladyship.” Irene bowed again. “To shame your detractors by showing their false accusations for the lies they are … I’ll ensure that you aren’t blamed for Ren Shun’s murder. But it’ll be a great deal easier for me to do so with the rest of my team to help me.”

“Don’t trust her, milady,” Dorotya hissed, scuttling forward to snarl in Irene’s direction. “She’s a tricksy one, she is, sneaky and treacherous. If you want my advice, milady, you’ll hang her up by her heels and slit her throat right this minute.”

“You always give me good advice, Dorotya,” the Countess agreed. “Why should I trust you, Librarian? You’ve already thwarted me once.”

Irene felt the weight of all the eyes on her: Countess, Fae, humans, dragons, cats … Her throat was almost too dry to speak. “As I said, madam, I’m ambitious. I’m in a position where powerful people will see what I’ve managed to achieve. And the world is changing.” She gestured at Kai and Silver in their chains. “The Library has to change with it. We’re not going to be just book thieves any longer. We’ll be deal makers, go-betweens, manipulators.” I must thank Prutkov at some point for giving me such an excellent script, she thought. “This is my big chance to pull off a coup in front of a dragon king and some very powerful Fae. And if I manage to embarrass my superiors in the process, so much the better.”

The Countess was silent, considering. Even the cats were still. Finally she asked, “How would your superiors react, if we made a deal?”

Irene held up two fingers. “Possibility one, they won’t know anything about it. My colleagues here will keep their mouths shut. Or else.” She smiled, trying to imitate the way that the Countess’s own lips curved in a red arc. “Possibility two, they find out—but by that point we should have signed our little peace treaty, and they’ll have to keep it secret for their own sakes. And that’s assuming my superiors will be my superiors for much longer. There could be an accident. Leaving the Library to enter an alternate world is a risky business.”

Part of Irene was silently hysterical with disbelief at this performance she was giving. It was almost a complete list of things she’d never do. What do I suggest for an encore? Seduce Kai and steal a dragon throne? Actually, she might believe that more readily … But the more pragmatic part of her mind was running on controlled panic. The Countess was not going to listen to pleas for mercy or threats. But she might temporarily cooperate with someone as self-interested and malicious as she was. As long as it was to the Countess’s advantage. And only for that long.

It just had to be long enough for Irene to get everyone out of here alive.

“You remind me of someone I once knew, centuries ago,” the Countess murmured. She sounded almost wistful. A cat wound its way up into her lap, and she began to stroke it. “As I said, I’ve made bargains with a Librarian before.”

“Then you know we can be trusted,” Irene said hopefully.

“Actually, he double-crossed me and stole from my personal collection. And then I had him chased across the country by my personal guards with whips—with instructions to knout him till there wasn’t enough skin on his back to bind a pamphlet, let alone a folio. And when he got away, he set the Inquisition on me. Ah, how I miss him …”

Irene could see the blank disbelief on Mu Dan’s face. But Irene herself had encountered this sort of behaviour from Fae before. Sometimes they didn’t care whether their interaction with other people was positive or negative, as long as it was intense. Also, if the Librarian (or ex-Librarian) in question had been Alberich, that explained where the warding scripts had come from—which took a weight off Irene’s mind. They were really old. One less reason for panic.

“Your ladyship,” Irene interjected, “time presses. If I am to clear your name, I need to do it soon. There are far too many people who hunger to blame you and blacken your name.”

“So what do you actually require? Besides me letting you and yours go, that is.” The Countess paused. “In one piece. With your blood. And your vital organs. And … you know, I think you’re getting rather the better part of the deal here.”

Irene felt the danger level in the room begin to rise again. The Countess might have been impressed by Irene’s promises, but it wouldn’t last. It was time to go on the attack.

Metaphorically. For the moment.

“What I require, your ladyship, is information,” she said briskly. “You’ve been set up, wrongly branded as the culprit for this terrible crime. But for that to happen, the person responsible must have known you were going to be here to blame. So—why did you come here?”

From the darkness of Vale’s alcove, she saw the very faint inclination of his head. He’d pieced that together too. She wasn’t surprised.

The haze of light around the Countess thickened. She was a mature woman now, with the gleam of forbidden knowledge and secrets in her eyes. “I was told that there would be people here whose blood I could … use. It can be difficult to find victims of quality.”

That made sense. Powerful Fae liked interacting with each other, repeating and enacting their favourite narrative patterns. But stories that ended up with one participant drained of their blood—and dead—might have significantly fewer volunteers to take part. And the Princess would be the perfect victim for the Countess. “But the bomb under the hotel?” Irene asked, confused. “That would have killed everyone.”

“Not the strong ones,” the Countess said, with a bare-shouldered shrug. “The resulting chaos and confusion would have allowed me to take prisoners. Besides, doesn’t everyone like blowing up peace conferences?”

Her gaze challenged Irene to contradict her. Potential violence hung in the air. The Countess might want all her audience to kneel and adore her for the moment, but if she changed her mind they’d swarm Irene. And that wasn’t even counting the cats.

Irene reminded herself that her job here was to get everyone out alive, and acquire useful evidence, not indulge in sarcasm. “I understand, your ladyship. But you still haven’t explained how you found out about these potential victims in the first place.” This was the crucial question. “Who told you?”

“Oh, I have spies listening out for that sort of thing …” the Countess said deliberately. Too deliberately? It felt like a test. Maybe she wouldn’t let them go unless Irene could prove she had what it took to find the truth.

Admittedly, Irene hadn’t had a great deal of success so far. But information was coming together now.

“You wouldn’t risk coming here in person unless you had something solid in the way of interest,” Irene hazarded. “And you said I was told at first, not my spies discovered. You knew who passed you the information, and whether or not you could trust them—whether or not they knew that you knew.”

The Countess considered, then waved a hand at Dorotya. “Fetch the letter, Dorotya. Yes, you’re right, Librarian. I traced the information back to the person who leaked it to me. People think of me as a blunt instrument, whom they can employ against their enemies. Yet I am extremely sharp. And even the most cunning of my kind can have imprudent agents.”

A dizzying flush of success swept through Irene. She felt as if she’d just stepped back from the top of a skyscraper. She stiffened her knees before they could tremble; this was no time to suggest weakness. “I will try to be more prudent myself.”

The Countess laughed. “You’re here, surrounded by my servants, talking to me, bargaining with me, and you call yourself prudent? You’re almost entertaining enough to leave alive … after this is over, of course.”

Her voice was sweet and confiding, demanding respect, somehow bridging the obvious threat in her words and making them sound reasonable. The Library brand on Irene’s back flared up in response, and Irene set her teeth, resisting the Countess’s will. “Please don’t do that, your ladyship,” she said. “If I go out of here with your power smeared all over me, someone’s going to notice. I have to look impartial, for the moment.”

“For the moment,” the Countess agreed. “Very well. To business, then. The letter Dorotya holds can be traced to the Cardinal. That’s what you suspected, isn’t it?”

It was indeed what Irene had guessed. She would have liked to claim that she’d deduced it, but her theory had been based on personalities and possibilities rather than solid proof. “He seemed a more logical candidate than the Princess,” she agreed. “And certainly more so than Ao Ji.”

The Countess smirked. “Never trust any ruler, Librarian. They’re all untrustworthy. I will enjoy seeing what happens next. The Cardinal shouldn’t have tried to endanger me. Dorotya, give her the letter.”

Dorotya twitched forward and offered Irene the envelope as if she wished it was drenched in contact poison. Irene took it and tucked it inside her coat. “Thank you, your ladyship.”

“But I still think that the bargain’s in your favour,” the Countess mused. “Yet I can be generous. You may go. And you may take two of your friends with you.”

“Two?” Irene said, startled.

“Yes. Two. I think that’s a fair deal for what you’ll do for me. But as I said, I’m generous. I’ll let you choose which two you take away with you … and which two will remain here with me.”

“But they’re all valuable to me, your ladyship,” Irene argued. Her mind was racing. She could tell the Countess wasn’t going to give way on this one. Forcing Irene to make a sadistic choice like this was her ideal entertainment—at least, until one got to the stage involving sharp edges and iron maidens. “I beg you to reconsider—”

“I think not.” The Countess rose to her feet, tipping the cat to the floor. She dominated the room. “Pick your favourites. Or leave without any of them and listen to them screaming as you go.”

“Leave me,” Mu Dan said through gritted teeth. “Take His Highness and the detective. You need them more than you need me.”

Irene glanced to Silver. He shrugged. “My little mouse, you will no doubt do precisely as you wish—but your political life will be very difficult if you have to explain my absence.”

“You’re wasting your time, Lord Silver,” Vale commented. “It’s quite obvious what choice Winters will make. We will be left to the mercy of this common or garden psychopath.”

“Common?” the Countess murmured. A bloody light gleamed in her eyes and was reflected in the pupils of the surrounding felines. “I will be proving otherwise to you very shortly.”

Time for the plan of last resort.

“I’d appreciate it if you wait till I’ve gone,” Irene said, doing her best to sound bored. “The sound of screaming does not excite me. As for my choice, I’ll take the dragon prince and the other dragon here beside me. I’ve invested too much … time in him, to waste it now.”

“Like that, mm?” The Countess smiled. “In that case, I’ll tell you a secret.” She stepped down, approaching Irene.

Every muscle in Irene’s body wanted to flinch away. The buzz of ambient chaos around the Countess made her skin crawl. This was far worse than the Princess; the Princess’s aura had at least been relatively benign. But the Countess carried the echo of distant screams with her, the memory of pain, the shadows of torture and despair. If the Princess was a dream, and the Cardinal was a bad dream, then the Countess was a full-fledged screaming nightmare with no hope of waking up. She took a deep breath, tasting the stink of blood and sweat that filled the room, and braced herself.

The Countess stopped barely a foot away from Irene. Her pale flesh was the colour of rotten fungus and pollution, and her dress and hair were the shade of dried blood. The darkness seethed in the corners of the room, ready to rush in and bury Irene forever. Mu Dan had flinched away, hanging in the arms of the men holding her like a victim of radiation sickness.

“Do you want to know a secret?” the Countess breathed.

“Always.” The word came out harsh and ragged.

“I had a warning that the princeling and the detective were coming. A letter.” Her hand fluttered to her bodice, in the sort of gesture that Vale would have classified as highly revealing of where she’d hidden it. “You should take better care of your investments, Librarian. They can be taken away from you so very, very easily.”

And just like that, Irene’s priorities altered. She needed that letter. The stakes had risen. And she could tell that the Countess wanted her to ask for it. No doubt there would be a promised favour in return—one that Irene couldn’t afford.

The odds were not in her favour. A hugely powerful Fae was within arm’s reach of her. The room was full of hostile agents—Dorotya, humans, cats. Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, how many were there going to St. Ives? a nursery rhyme echoed at the back of her mind. Her allies were in chains, or incapacitated by the ambient level of chaos, or both. And the whole situation was hidden from the eyes of everyone else in Paris who might have helped her, by the wards that Alberich had created long ago.

Library wards. Written in the Language.

“I appreciate the warning,” she said, gathering her will. “And I can only say—” She shifted to the Language. “Wards of Alberich, force out chaos!”

It was like being in an aeroplane or an express lift that had dropped thousands of feet in a single second. Even though there was no physical gravity or pressure to the change, it felt as if Irene’s ears had popped. She abruptly lacked the strength to stand: her head buzzed with weakness, and she wanted to simply lie down and close her eyes. She’d fallen to her knees, swaying with the effort to even stay upright.

It took her a moment to realise that the reason she was still looking into the Countess’s eyes was that the Countess was on her knees as well. Alberich must have done very impressive work with those wards, to be able to inconvenience a Fae of her power. But it wouldn’t last: either the wards would revert to their original nature, or they’d burn out, or both.

For the moment everything was still in confusion. Irene fumbled the flick-knife out of her pocket, leaning forward to grab the Countess by the shoulder and press it against her throat. A sharp edge was a sharp edge, and at this precise moment, robbed of her normal power, the Countess would bleed. “Don’t move,” she ordered. “Don’t try anything. Mu Dan!”

There were thuds. “Here,” the dragon said. Her skirts brushed against Irene’s back. “I’m loose. What next?”

“We kill you!” Dorotya screamed, huddling behind the throne. She wasn’t as powerful a Fae as the Countess, so was less affected by the sudden change in the metaphysical atmosphere. “Kill the—”

A gunshot cracked. Dorotya fell silent. Irene couldn’t tell if she’d been hit or had simply taken cover. There wasn’t time to find out. She pulled herself together, trying to ignore the gaze that the Countess was levelling at her. It promised the sort of death that would last for days or even weeks. Instead she shifted to Chinese to address Mu Dan—the Countess would probably understand it, but Dorotya and the mob might not. “Be ready to use your affinity with the earth to raise the floor towards the ceiling. I’ll handle the rest. Chains, unlock and release the captives!”

This time the drain of energy wasn’t as bad. There was apparently nothing special about the shackles. But a prickle of warning began to tingle in Irene’s hand where she held the Countess: the return of the Fae’s power, or just Alberich’s ward failing? Her time was limited.

“Mu Dan, help me up,” she ordered. She felt the dragon’s arm round her waist, supporting her till she was upright, and she dragged the Countess up as well, keeping the knife to her throat. “Nobody try anything,” she said more loudly, “or the Countess dies.”

“You seriously think you can kill me?” the Countess snarled. Her face was like a mask now, white porcelain over something depraved and rotting beneath.

“I can certainly try,” Irene retorted. “And I’m sure you know more than I do about what a knife can do to skin. Vale! Silver! Get Kai over here!” She saw Vale and Silver supporting Kai, pushing through the crowd towards them. Nobody was trying to hold them back: her threat to the Countess had cowed the audience for the moment.

Mu Dan released Irene and backed away. “I can’t call the earth to help me so close to that creature,” she murmured, still in Chinese.

The Countess laughed like fracturing glass. Around them, the men and cats shifted, like a pride of lions moving into position, waiting for the moment to spring. “This is not the sort of story where anyone comes to help you, maiden. This is my story. This is my domain. You are a victim here!”

“No,” Irene said softly. Her hand ached as if she was trying to hold on to a live power cable, and her Library brand vibrated in her bones. Chaos was strengthening, but she could see a way to use it. The Countess was blinded by her own narrative and hadn’t seen Mu Dan as anything other than a maiden and a victim. But that was only half the story. “No, you’re wrong, your ladyship, and do you know why? Mu Dan has the power here, she has all the power she needs—because this is the part of the story where the law comes to take you down and imprison you, and she’s a judge-investigator!”

And the floor trembled. It rippled as if Mu Dan was the single still point, with a wave of motion sweeping out through flagstones and earth, swelling and expanding to shudder against the walls. Humans fell to their knees, crying out in shock, their thrall broken for the moment; cats pressed themselves against the floor, their hair bristling, as if they could somehow make themselves invisible. Dorotya screamed curses, pulling herself away and scrabbling against the wall.

The Countess herself reared back and struck at Irene, claw-like fingers extended to rake at her face. Irene lost her balance and, more important, lost her position; she had to fall back, the knife still clasped in her hand, shifting her balance to stay on her feet.

“Winters!” Vale’s voice cut through the noise, and out of the corner of her eye she saw something spinning through the air towards her. She extended her free hand and, by a miracle, caught it—it was Vale’s cane.

The aura of chaos in the air was thickening with every breath. “Are you going to try to beat me to death with that?” the Countess taunted her.

With her words came the impulse to do it; Irene felt the urge to see blood run and hear pleas for mercy. The cane seemed weightless in her hand, and all her hatred for this Fae, for what she was, and for what she’d threatened to do to Irene’s hands, came together in a blinding flash of purpose. This was what Irene had come here for. To see the Countess dead, to gut her, to hear her screaming …

No. No, it wasn’t.

Irene dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor, and swung the cane towards the Countess’s outstretched arm, triggering the switch in the handle that electrified it just as it hit her.

The Countess went down with a shriek. It didn’t kill her—it didn’t even knock her out, which was a testament to her unnatural nature—but for a moment it inconvenienced her, and that was all Irene needed. She bent down and thrust her hand into the Fae’s bodice, forgetting any ideas of decency or proper conduct. Her fingers brushed hard folded paper, and she pulled it out.

She didn’t pause to read it. Instead she retreated towards Mu Dan and the others, who had formed a defensive ring. Silver had Mu Dan’s pistol now; he shot one man in the head as he attempted to charge.

Vale plucked his cane from Irene’s hand as she came within reach, pushing her behind him and next to Mu Dan. “Winters, if you have a way to get us out of here, this would be a good moment.”

“Take us up!” Irene gasped to Mu Dan, pointing at the ceiling.

Mu Dan’s stern features creased with effort. The ground beneath them rippled again and then rose into a small hillock under the influence of her power, climbing farther with every second. A couple of the mob threw themselves at it, trying to get to Irene before she was out of reach, but within a moment the slope of the rising earth was too steep.

Irene looked at the ceiling above. She could only hope she had guessed their location accurately and that they were directly under the stage. She summoned the last of her strength. “Ceiling of this room, and floor of the theatre above us, part to let us through!”

The ceiling above their heads split apart in a ripple of layers—rafters, timbers, stones, pipes, cement, and mortar flaking away, earth tumbling down …

Light came with it, harshly bright after the dim redness of the Countess’s lair. Irene raised her arm to shield her head as the five of them rose through the floor of the theatre and into the room above. It wasn’t the stage; it was the theatre’s cellars. But there must be a cellar beneath the stage for storage and for sudden exits via trapdoors above. Lines of light showed through the ceiling—the stage floor—marking the outlines of those trapdoors and planking. But Mu Dan’s mound of earth wasn’t slowing, it was still rising towards the stage floor above, filling the gap that they’d come through in the floor and cutting off the screams and screeching, but still not stopping.

“Stage floor, open for us!” Irene gasped, an instant before they hit it.

The wood peeled back. The stage lights shone down. They emerged into a domestic scene—some sort of family household, probably the setting of one of the social comedy russe plays. Except, of course, that the play had not previously involved a group of battered strangers emerging from the bowels of the earth.

Silver stepped forward and bowed to the stunned audience. “Gas leak,” he said. “The theatre must be evacuated at once.”

They escaped in the screaming and confusion.