The Burning Page

Zayanna had made herself comfortable on the further divan, leaning her chin on one hand as she contemplated Irene. She was in clinging black satin that trailed over the edge of the divan, giving her a serpentine air. ‘Do come in,’ she murmured, her eyes mocking. ‘My pets are all perfectly safe.’

‘I remember you used to look after snakes for your patron.’ Irene wasn’t quite certain that she wanted to walk between those cages to reach Zayanna. The scorpions in the closest terrarium looked too active for Irene to be comfortable anywhere near them. And far too big.

‘I do prefer snakes,’ Zayanna admitted. ‘But I like other pets, too.’

‘This many of them?’ Irene indicated the cages and terrariums with a gesture.

‘Oh well, I might have got a tiny bit carried away there. I just went to do a teeny bit of shopping, to get a few little ones to start with, and you know how it is.’ Zayanna shrugged. ‘Wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said that nothing succeeds like excess? I thought I’d try it with giant hornets and see if it was true.’

‘Sadly – well, I suppose it’s sadly for you, not me – it didn’t quite work,’ Irene said. She ignored the impulse to ask exactly where Zayanna had read Oscar Wilde. ‘I’m here, after all.’

‘I did hope you’d make it, darling.’ Zayanna reached across to pick up one of the bottles that stood on the table. ‘Can I offer you something to drink? Strictly no obligations, my word on it.’

‘And no poison?’

‘My word on that, too,’ Zayanna promised. ‘Darling, I do realize you might be a tiny little bit suspicious of me at the moment, but we’re not going to have a proper conversation if we have to keep on shouting at each other across the room like this. Won’t you come and sit down? I’m not going to try to kill you while you’re walking over here – it’d spoil everything.’

It was the same logic that Irene herself had used, after all – she won’t kill me because she’ll want to gloat at me – but it was a little less comforting when she was face-to-face with it. ‘All right,’ she agreed, knowing that her caution was audible in her voice. ‘But you must understand that I’m rather annoyed with myself at the moment.’

‘Why?’ Zayanna asked. ‘And what would you like to drink?’

Irene began to walk carefully between the cages and heaters, holding her full skirts close to her legs. Her multiple layers of clothing – overcoat and ballgown – were swelteringly hot. ‘Well, I am supposed to be good at my job, rather than falling for the first sob story that comes along.’

‘But I was convincing,’ Zayanna said smugly. ‘And let’s be fair, darling, we had history and I was well prepared.’

‘Oh?’ Irene tried to make the question sound only mildly curious. ‘And do you have any brandy there?’

Zayanna shook her head vigorously, her dark curls tousled over her shoulders. ‘Brandy’s so dull. I’ve got tequila, absinthe, jenever, baijiu, vodka—’

‘Brandy is not dull,’ Irene protested. The feeling of time running through her hands like sand gave her a nagging ache of urgency. But the more Zayanna relaxed and focused on Irene, the easier it would be for the men to break in unobserved. Thinking of it as a military operation helped Irene suppress her own anger. ‘And aren’t you hitting the spirits a little bit heavily?’

‘Who needs a liver?’ Zayanna picked up a bottle whose label proclaimed it as Best-Quality Amsterdam Jenever and splashed clear liquid into two glasses. ‘Now then, darling. Sit down and we can talk. I’m sure you have lots of questions for me.’

Irene seated herself on the divan opposite Zayanna’s, with the table between the two of them. ‘I should probably get to the point. Zayanna, you are the person who’s been trying to kill me, am I right?’

‘I’m definitely one of them,’ Zayanna said. She pushed one of the glasses across the table to Irene. ‘There may be other people, too. I wouldn’t necessarily know.’

‘Why?’ Irene tried to keep her tone level, to treat the subject as casually and lightly as Zayanna, but the word twisted in her mouth and turned sharp. ‘Perhaps it was stupid of me, but I hadn’t realized we were on those terms.’

‘Which terms?’

‘The terms that involved trying to kill each other.’

Zayanna tilted her head, looking puzzled. ‘Well, on a practical level, we are, but that doesn’t mean we have to be unpleasant to each other. It’s been such a challenge!’

‘A challenge,’ Irene said flatly. The stings on her hand throbbed as she reached across to pick up the glass.

Zayanna nodded. ‘You were an inspiration to me, Irene darling. When we met in Venice, you were so calm, so controlled, such a perfect agent! I did tell you at least a bit of the truth. My patron threw me out. He showed me the door. He turned the metaphorical dogs loose on me. And the real dogs, too! He said I should have been more proactive, more aware. So when Alberich offered me a job, I thought, I can do better. I can be just as good as you were!’

Irene stared into the jenever. She couldn’t quite bring herself to take a sip, even though alcoholic oblivion was oh-so-very-tempting at that precise moment. ‘You know, Zayanna, usually I’d be pleased and proud to think that I was an inspiring teacher, but right at this precise moment I’m feeling a bit conflicted on the subject.’