The Masked City

‘School?’ Vale queried.

‘Ah. There was one minor incident. An international criminal gang were hiding out in the nearby chalets, and then there was this flood—’

‘Later,’ Vale instructed. The queue had begun to move forward.

However, they had to endure a brief episode when the dogs suddenly refused to enter the Embassy. They had to be lured in by their handlers brandishing beef jerky, prompting several stray dogs to make a determined bid for it. The Embassy staff ended up throwing buckets of water over the lot of them. The two handlers were screaming in Russian, and the flautist was yelling that his sheet music was soaked. But Vale and Irene finally made it through the door and into the Embassy, brushing wet dog hair off their cloaks.

The small receiving room they were shown into was a disappointment. Irene had been expecting something rather more dramatic from the Fae’s inner quarters, but instead the room looked like any shabby below-stairs lounge in London.

Vale leaned forward to speak to the bored-looking maid who’d brought them in, and there was the clink of coins changing hands. ‘We need to speak to Mr Johnson,’ he murmured. The maid bobbed her head and left the room in a rustle of wide skirts.

A long five minutes later, Johnson stepped into the room. ‘You have a private message for me?’ he enquired curtly, his usual civility absent.

Vale nodded to Irene. She took a deep breath and pushed her hood back to show her face. ‘We need to speak to Lord Silver urgently,’ she said.

‘Ah.’ Johnson drew a thoughtful breath through his teeth. ‘Yes. Please raise your hood again. Nobody in the Embassy must know you are here. If you and your friend will follow me, Miss Winters, we will take the back stairs. Lord Silver will see you at once.’

CHAPTER TEN

Silver’s private study surprised Irene. It actually looked like a place where a human being might live and work, rather than an overdone stage set. The divan, although it was upholstered in red velvet, showed the scuffs and traces of regular use, and the tooth marks of something small and gnawy marred one of its legs. The large mahogany desk had stacks of paper on it, rather than being dramatically bare, although the manacles at its corners were a little worrying. The ether-lights in the corners had been turned down, bathing the whole velvet-curtained room in a rich amber gloom. A bookcase in the far corner made Irene itch to wander over and examine its crowded shelves, but she controlled the impulse, looking instead at their owner.

Silver himself was sprawled coatless in a wide chair behind the desk, his cravat hanging loose at his throat. He looked the very model of raffish disreputability, turning a glass of brandy in his hand. He glanced up languidly as Johnson led Irene and Vale into the room, remarking, ‘I must say that you have cut it rather fine. I was expecting you and Miss Winters earlier, Mr Vale.’

Vale pushed back his hood to show his face, and Irene followed suit. She had agreed with Vale that he should take the lead in the interrogation. He had known Silver for longer, and might be able to prod him into a useful revelation. ‘I would hesitate before coming to any appointment with you, sir. You should not be surprised that I am late - you should be surprised that I have arrived at all.’

‘But you received the note, then.’ Silver sipped his brandy.

‘I received it,’ Vale agreed.

‘And you believe I sent it.’

‘I know that you sent it.’

‘And your suspicions as to my motivations?’

‘Hardly suspicions. Certainties.’

‘Entertain me by explaining them, then. I am surprised by so few things these days.’

‘Very well.’ Vale strolled a few steps further into the room. ‘Your dispute with the Guantes is well known. You will not argue that point, I imagine.’

‘My dear Vale, I take pains to cultivate it. You may go on.’

Irene noticed the twitch that passed across Vale’s face at being addressed as an intimate. She drew her cloak closer around her, so as not to show off her ankles, and stepped back, fading into the shadows as she watched the men. Silver might be a master of glamour, but while he was focused on Vale, he wasn’t watching her. And observing from the shadows was her area of expertise.

‘You were aware that Mr Strongrock might be abducted,’ Vale said. ‘And you attempted to give him something that might be charitably described as a warning, when you met him and Miss Winters a few days ago. Possibly you were hindered by observers from telling them more.’

Silver shrugged. ‘I was delivering warnings - I’ll admit it - and there are no laws against that. My advice to you would be to cease meddling in my affairs, or you’ll come to regret it.’

‘As will you, if you continue to interfere with mine.’ There was a whole new quality of iciness to Vale’s voice. ‘Or if you simply continue to play your games with the lives of others.’

‘But why would I play such a game, do you think?’ Silver tapped one nail against his glass, and the crystal chimed prettily. ‘Surely that should be your question, under the circumstances.’

Vale stopped his pacing for a moment to turn and look at Silver. ‘The paper used for the note - purporting to be from Mr Strongrock’s family - was tainted with Fae glamour.’

Silver waved a vague hand. ‘Anyone could have done that. Johnson? Couldn’t you have done that?’

‘No, sir, but I can bear witness that many people in the Embassy might have done so,’ the man murmured.