The Mortal Word Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE INVISIBLE LIBRARY NOVELS

  THE LOST PLOT

  “The Invisible Library series never runs short on intrigue.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A light and fun series.”

  —Library Journal

  “Cogman writes with a flair for both the dramatic and the succinct. . . . Cogman combines a beautiful writing style, filled with subtle nuances that the close reader will relish, and a fast-paced thread which drives the story through twists, turns, and pitfalls without ever feeling as if you have stayed in one place too long or longing to remain somewhere else.”

  —Fantasy Book Review

  “Irene, as always, remains one of my favorite heroines. . . . Cogman has a way of combining a unique idea with intriguing characters into a story you can’t put down.”

  —NovelKnight Book Reviews

  “The Lost Plot is full of life and wit from the start. . . . A pacy-to-breakneck-speed adventure through prohibition America, The Lost Plot is a hi-gin-ks read.”

  —SFF World

  THE BURNING PAGE

  “Funny, exciting, and oh so inspiring, this is the kind of fantasy novel that will have female readers everywhere gearing up for their own adventure[s].”

  —Bustle

  “The Burning Page is action-packed from start to finish and will keep you hooked until the very last page.”

  —Nerd Much?

  “Imaginative and suspenseful with a touch of magic and science fiction, the worlds of the Invisible Library are ones I want to visit again and again. . . . What makes this series magical are the incredible scenes and creative imagination of the author. The creatures, portals, attacks, and investigation are all surrounded by a feast for your mind’s eye.”

  —Caffeinated Book Reviewer

  “Libraries, Librarians, dragons, Fae, chaos, dastardly baddies, and a Sherlock Holmes–style detective all thrown into the mix equal an excellent read. . . . It’s packed with chaotic and dramatic adventures and is witty, to boot.”

  —The Speculative Herald

  THE MASKED CITY

  “This witty fantasy also includes a Holmesian detective, a wondrous magical train, some fascinating Fae politics, frequent funny moments, and a very limited time for Irene to rescue Kai, all making for a thrilling and deliciously atmospheric adventure.”

  —Locus

  THE INVISIBLE LIBRARY

  #2 on the Independent’s (UK) Best Fantasy Novels of 2015 List

  On Library Journal’s Best Science Fiction/Fantasy Books of 2016 List

  “Satisfyingly complex . . . a book in which to wallow.”

  —The Guardian (UK)

  “Ms. Cogman has opened a new pathway into our vast heritage of imagined wonderlands. And yet, as her story reminds us, we yearn for still more.”

  —Tom Shippey, The Wall Street Journal

  “A dazzling bibliophilic debut.”

  —Charles Stross, Hugo Award–winning author of The Nightmare Stacks

  “Surrender to the sheer volume of fun that appears on every page . . . thoroughly entertaining.”

  —Starburst

  “Fantasy doesn’t get much better. . . . If you’re looking for a swift, clever, and witty read, look no further.”

  —Fantasy Faction

  “Series fans will be thrilled to learn more about dragon-kind and the capricious Fae, and will be eager for Cogman’s third in the series.”

  —Booklist

  “Another fantastic adventure . . . fast-paced and entertaining. The books in this series make for light, fun popcorn reads.”

  —The BiblioSanctum

  BY GENEVIEVE COGMAN

  The Invisible Library

  The Masked City

  The Burning Page

  The Lost Plot

  The Mortal Word

  ACE

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Genevieve Cogman

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cogman, Genevieve, author.

  Title: The mortal word: an invisible library novel / Genevieve Cogman.

  Description: First edition. | New York: BERKLEY, 2018.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018023853 | ISBN 9780399587443 (trade pbk.) |

  ISBN 9780399587450 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Librarians—Fiction. | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction. | Alternative

  histories (Fiction)

  Classification: LCC PR6103.O39 M67 2018 | DDC 823/.92—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023853

  First Edition: November 2018

  Cover images: Eiffel Tower by Titov Nikolai/Shutterstock Images; daggers by Kuryanovich Tatsiana/Shutterstock Images; paper texture by Lukasz Szwaj/Shutterstock Images; framework by bomg/Shutterstock Images; cat by Hein Nouwens/Shutterstock Images; Colorful Thailand Sky by rattanapatphoto/Shutterstock Images

  Cover design by Adam Auerbach

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  To my parents, with love and thanks for everything

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to my agent, Lucienne Diver, and my editors, Bella Pagan and Rebecca Brewer: I greatly appreciate all your help and edits. (And I’ll try to cut down on my use of the word that . . .)

  Thank you to all my beta readers—Jeanne, Beth, Phyllis, Anne, Iolanthe, Phyllis, and everyone else. Thanks to my father for research sources on Belle Epoque Paris, to my sister-in-law Crystal for Mu Dan’s name, to Beth and Walter for ways to dispose of chlorine, and to all other contributors of helpful information. Many thanks to my supportive co-workers and colleagues who endure my scribbling notes and muttering at inappropriate moments. Thanks to the authors of the various research volumes which I’ve read while writing this, whether on Belle Epoque Paris or the Theatre of the Grand Guignol. And thank you to everyone who’s read my books and enjoyed them—it does help. It really does.

  Thank you to my family for their support and encouragement.

  And apologies to the city of Paris and to all its history. Any errors are my fault and mine alone.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for the Invisible Library Novels

  By Genevieve Cogman

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  PRELUDE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9
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  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  INTERLUDE

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  About the Author

  My lord father,

  Please forgive the haste and informality of this letter: you know my respect for you and my obedience to your will. You will have heard that I was expelled from the Library’s service under conditions of high scandal and because of personal fondness for one of the Librarians. This is absolutely not true and is a gross misrepresentation of the facts.

  Minister Zhao, a high-ranking royal courtier, was assassinated. You will have heard of this, my lord father. The Queen of the Southern Lands then held a competition to fill the minister’s position from the dragons who had been in his service. What you may not know is that a junior Librarian was implicated in grave misconduct relating to this competition. And Irene, my current superior at the Library, was tasked to investigate. I accompanied her.

  We were eventually forced to give evidence before the queen herself. Irene capably and efficiently identified a member of the queen’s court as the guilty party. You would have been impressed by her bearing and her intelligence, Father: though she is only a human, her self-control and courage are truly admirable, and she carries herself with an inner power and strength that reminds me of the best of us.

  However, as I am a dragon, and was working for the Library, I was in serious danger of compromising both us and the Library. I was forced to claim I’d joined the Library as a boyish prank, without your knowledge. I told all present that I’d been in human form, so the Librarians were unaware of my true nature. As a result, I had to renounce my position as an apprentice there.

  I realize that this is not in accordance with your greater plans, Father. Although my joining the Library was irregular, you had seen advantage in my gaining influence with the Librarians. You have said many times that they are secretive and take full advantage of their ability to hide in their Library between worlds. And while our kindred are not currently hostile to them, more information and access to their secrets can only serve our cause. My lord father, you are the eldest of the dragon kings, and the most respected of all the dragon monarchs. What serves you serves us all. It was my honour to be able to infiltrate their ranks and observe their behaviour.

  I do not wish to now disappoint you by failing. I no longer have any formal ties here, but I humbly beg for your permission to remain in my current location, so I can consolidate my contacts. Notably, Vale, a master detective, and Irene, my former mentor.

  Naturally I will return at once if you desire my presence, my lord father. Your word is my command. But I would not want to leave my work half-done.

  Your obedient son,

  Kai

  Note at bottom, in different writing—“Tian Shu, the boy’s babbling. I haven’t heard so many excuses for dubious behaviour since that duel defending his mother’s reputation. Find out what’s going on, and for the love of gods and men alike, don’t let him get anywhere near the peace conference.”

  CHAPTER 1

  The braziers in the torture chamber had burned low while Irene waited for the count to arrive. The stone wall behind her back was cold, even through her layers of clothing—dirndl, blouse, apron, and shawl—and the shackles scraped her wrists. Down the corridor she could hear the sounds of the other prisoners: suppressed tears, prayers, and a mother trying to soothe her baby.

  She’d been arrested at about three o’clock. It must be early evening by now: there were no windows in the dungeons, and she couldn’t hear the bells in the castle chapel or the village church, but it had been several hours at least. She wished that she’d had a bigger lunch.

  The door opened, and one of the guards poked his head in to check that she was still there. It was a pro forma inspection, not serious; after all, she was chained to the wall, in a locked torture chamber, deep under the castle. How could she possibly go anywhere?

  His assumptions would have been correct, if she hadn’t been a Librarian.

  But for the moment, they thought she was a normal human, even if they did believe she was a witch, and she had to play the part.

  Irene knew that the people in the small Germanic village next to the castle would be particularly devout in their prayers that night. For another witch—namely, her—had been arrested by the count’s guard and hauled off to be put to the question. Otto, the Count of Süllichen—or rather, the Graf von Süllichen—was superstitious, paranoid, and vindictive: he was constantly on the watch for witches and plotters against his rule. The villagers would be afraid that she’d name them in her inevitable confession.

  The sound of weeping was hushed as the thump of marching boots echoed down the corridor. Irene swallowed, her throat abruptly dry. This was where she found out whether her plan was quite as clever as it had seemed earlier.

  The dungeon door was flung open brutally, crashing into the wall. Haloed in the torch-light beyond, the Graf loomed there, his arms folded. His heavy black velvet doublet suggested shoulders wider than was actually the case, but the two soldiers at attention behind him were muscular enough for any manhandling that might be necessary. He considered Irene, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “So,” he finally said, “the newest witch who dares sneak into my domain and plot against me. Have you not learned, wench, that all those who came before you failed?”

  “Oh, forgive me, most noble Graf!” Irene begged humbly. She knew that her German was too modern for this time and place, but he would probably be only too happy to take it as additional proof of witchcraft. “I was a fool to come here. I cast myself at your feet and beg for mercy!”

  The Graf looked surprised. “You admit your guilt?”

  Irene looked down at the floor, trying to squeeze out a tear or two. “You have chained me in iron, Your Grace, and there is a crucifix on the door. I am bound and my Satanic master will no longer help me.”

  “Well.” The Graf paused, then rubbed his hands together. “Well, this makes a pleasant change! Perhaps I will not have to question you as harshly as I did your sisters. Confess all your evildoings and name your accomplices, and you may yet be spared from damnation.”

  “But I have done such dreadful things, most noble Graf . . .” Irene managed a heartfelt sniffle. “How can I befoul your ears with my confession? You are a nobleman, far above such things.”

  As she’d hoped, that got his full interest. “Wench, there is nothing you can tell me which I have not already read. You may not know this . . .”

  In fact, she did know it—and it was the reason she was there.

  “. . . but I am the most learned man in all Württemberg. Men come from across Germany to admire my books. Many of the treatises of the great holy men and witch-hunters adorn my library. The Malleus Maleficarum of Kramer was my childhood reading. I have studied the confessions of witches from across the world. Yours will be no different.”

  An idea of how to get rid of at least one guard came to Irene. “Then I beg you to summon a priest, most noble Graf. Let me make my final confession to him as well as you, so that I may be saved from the flames of hell.”

  The Graf nodded. “You show wisdom, woman. Stefan. Fetch Father Heinrich here at once.”

  “But, sire,” the guard protested, “he said that he wanted nothing more to do with the questioning of witnesses—”

/>   “Fool.” The Graf cut him off. “This witch is begging to confess her sins. Hah! This will prove to him that I was right in my suspicions all along. Fetch him and be quick about it . . . I don’t care if he’s in the middle of mass or the middle of supper, but drag him down here so that this foul wench may cleanse her conscience.”

  Irene noted that the guard rolled his eyes heavenwards but that he was careful to do it when the Graf had his back turned. “Of course, sire,” he muttered, and left at a trot, closing the door behind him.

  “Now, wench.” The Graf was practically salivating at the thought of licentious confessions. “Tell me what brought you to my domain and into my hands. And the hands of Mother Church, of course,” he added as an afterthought. “Be warned: if you attempt to hold anything back, I will be forced to put you to the question after all. You see those irons heating in the brazier? You see the rack, and the iron maiden in the corner of the room? Many before have tried to keep silent and have failed.” He pondered. “Tell me first why your hair is shorn in such an unwomanly way. Did you sacrifice it to your dark master in return for powers of seduction or disease?”

  Irene couldn’t think of a way to get the second guard out of the room. She’d just have to deal with him before the first one came back. Time to move to stage two of the plan. “He cut it from my head as I knelt before him, most noble Graf,” she confessed. “He spoke words of power as he did so.” Not remotely accurate. Her hair had been cut by her friend and ex-apprentice during a recent excursion to Prohibition America. It was so difficult maintaining a consistent hair-style between alternate worlds. But nobody in this place and time—sixteenth-century Germany—would believe that a woman would choose to have her hair cut short.

  “Really?” The Graf walked over to where a book lay open on a lectern and dipped the quill there in the open inkwell. “Recite his diabolical words for me, so that I can have a record of these spells.”

  “He said—” And Irene shifted to the Language. The time for pretence was over. “Ink, fly in the eyes of the men: chains, open and release me.”