The Mortal Word Page 12

  Green led the way deeper into the hotel, past several normal-looking servants and hotel porters who grew tense as the group approached, then relaxed again at a casual sign from Purple. They passed frescos that rose from floor to ceiling and then spread out onto the ceiling, and drooping chandeliers almost too ornate to support their own weight. The whole place breathed wealth and good taste, though in a different way from the dramatic gold and white of Le Meurice, or the themed colours and rich luxury of the Ritz. Irene could only hope that it would improve the mood of the Fae delegation.

  But as they ventured farther in, Irene began to feel the power of the Fae who were staying here. It was like being in the proverbial boiling frog’s saucepan. One moment there was nothing to worry about, and everything was fine—and then somehow, imperceptibly, they had entered a zone of high chaos. Its influence was strong enough to make her Library brand itch and burn, without Irene being quite aware of when the transition had taken place. She stole another glance sideways. Mu Dan had a feverish colour to her cheeks, and her forehead was lined as if she was clenching it against a headache, but she wasn’t slowing down.

  Green knocked on a random-looking door, then thrust it open. “Librarian and a dragon to see you,” he announced.

  “Show them in,” a voice came from inside.

  And Irene suddenly realized that she knew that voice.

  She stepped quickly into the room, half eager to see if her hypothesis was true, and half wanting to know the worst as soon as possible—because if it was who she thought it was, that person might have a significant grudge against her.

  The woman inside had been sitting behind a desk covered with stacks of paper, but she rose as they entered. Her hair was pinned back in a neat bun, and while her features were attractive, they were so bland that it would have been hard to describe her afterwards. While her pearl grey dress was well-made and appropriate to the period, it was styled for the wearer to blend unobtrusively into the background rather than thrust herself forward. It could have been a textbook illustration for a secretary’s outfit. Matching silk gloves sheathed her hands. “Clarice!” she said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “Or should I say Irene?”

  “It had probably better be Irene for the moment,” Irene answered, shaking the other woman’s hand. She could feel hard moulded plastic and metal through the silk glove. “Sterrington. It’s been a while.”

  It had been several months since the incident when Kai had been kidnapped and Irene had needed to impersonate a junior Fae in order to rescue him. She’d made several acquaintances on that excursion, and Sterrington had been one of them. Of course, Sterrington had signed up with the other side that time and had helped hunt Irene across Venice. And had nearly got her hand blown off in the process.

  Irene really hoped that Sterrington wasn’t the sort of Fae who held grudges. She’d seemed the sort of person who saw things in terms of profit and loss, last time. A true . . . businesswoman. Hopefully that hadn’t changed.

  “You know each other?” Mu Dan enquired. She didn’t sound pleased.

  “We have met,” Irene admitted. “Mu Dan, please allow me to introduce Sterrington. Sterrington, this is Mu Dan, who’s the dragon representative on the investigative team.” Technically she should be introducing the lower-ranking person to the higher-ranking one first, but she had no idea who outranked whom in the current situation. Possibly as the Librarian on the investigative team she outranked everyone. Now wasn’t that a frightening thought?

  Neither of the other two tried to shake hands. “Good morning,” Mu Dan said.

  “Good morning,” Sterrington replied.

  “Of course, we met previously in a great hurry,” Irene said, trying to bridge the gaping hole in the conversation. “We didn’t get time to do much more than exchange names. I’m sorry that things ended up so—ah—inconveniently for you, Sterrington.” That was true enough: Irene had absolutely no qualms about what had happened to Sterrington’s patrons, but she could sympathise with Sterrington herself.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just one of those things that happen in the course of business.” Sterrington sat back down again, seeming genuinely unconcerned, as if the previous affair had been no more important than closing a bank account or failing to show up for a lunch appointment. “Now, won’t you pull up a chair and let me know how I can help you today?”

  There was one additional chair, besides the one that Sterrington was occupying. Irene and Mu Dan looked at each other.

  “Let me be brief,” Irene said, gesturing Mu Dan towards the chair. She wasn’t sure she trusted Sterrington, but she didn’t need trust to work with her. “We’re here to investigate Lord Ren Shun’s death. We’d like to join up with the Fae representative on our team. I’d also like to meet the Librarians—the ones staying here—so that I can get their statements. And anyone else, if they’ve information to give us about the murder. And if you know anything about it yourself, this would be a wonderful time to share.”

  Sterrington picked up a fountain pen and toyed with it thoughtfully. “Of course, I am naturally eager to give you all cooperation possible. Not only because of the investigation, but because of how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Irene said.

  “After your little escapade, I was able to use the information I had to leverage my position.” Sterrington’s smile actually looked genuine. “I made myself extremely valuable to a number of people in high places. It allowed me to get this replacement made.” She flexed her gloved right hand. “And I’ve managed to advance my career much higher and much faster than I’d planned. The positives far outweigh the negatives. In fact, if you’d consider doing a wash-up session at some point with me later to discuss it further . . .”

  Irene didn’t need to look at Mu Dan—now seated—to guess what this was doing to Irene’s credibility in her eyes. No dragon would be enthusiastic about trusting a Librarian when Fae were running round saying how much they appreciated the Librarian and wanted to work with her. Sterrington was deliberately torpedoing Irene’s position. And Irene couldn’t let her continue.

  So she smiled in return. “I’m delighted you’ve done so well for yourself. Would you consider that you owe me a favour?”

  The pen in Sterrington’s hand stopped moving mid-twiddle. “Well, you know,” Sterrington said, “I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

  If a Fae admitted they owed a favour, then they’d have to pay it at some later point.

  “Oh?” Irene said blandly. “But you were just saying how grateful you were, and how helpful I’d been.”

  “Not to the point of a favour,” Sterrington said flatly, all her effusiveness gone.

  “It’s a good idea to get this sort of thing in proportion before any of us start misjudging the situation,” Irene said, letting her own smile fade. “We’re not hostile to each other. That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. And in the meantime—the Fae team member, the Librarians, the statements, and any other information?”

  “All in progress,” Sterrington said. She put down the pen. “The Fae member of your investigative team is being briefed on the situation. Incidentally, where’s your human detective?”

  “He’s looking into an attempt by someone to kidnap us.”

  “Well, clearly we weren’t involved in that,” Sterrington said quickly. “Can you give me any further details?”

  Mu Dan finally spoke. “So that you can keep us sitting here even longer? I think not. We are an active team, not some sort of moribund committee.”

  “That’s far too harsh! Not all committees are moribund.”

  “Mu Dan still has a point,” Irene said. If they needed to play good cop, bad cop to get past Sterrington, then Irene would go along with it. At least she got to be good cop. “Sterrington, you know how urgent the situation is. It’s not efficient for us to be s
itting here and waiting. If we have to leave and come back later, then we can certainly do that.”

  Sterrington frowned. “I’m not trying to be inconvenient. The situation’s complex.”

  “Then perhaps you could explain it?” Irene suggested.

  “Your Fae team member is receiving his briefing from the Princess herself,” Sterrington said. “I can’t break in on that. And your Librarians are playing chess with the Cardinal. I don’t want to intrude there either. Neither situation will be helped by interruptions.”

  “Nor will it be helped by us sitting here and waiting.” Irene leaned forward, placing her hands on the edge of the desk. “I appreciate that you need a good excuse. Here’s one. Just earlier this morning, before breakfast, someone attempted to assassinate His Majesty Ao Ji. Someone who may have been under Fae influence. He was stopped, of course, but don’t you think that we should make absolutely sure that nobody’s going to try the same thing here?”

  Sterrington opened her mouth—and then shut it again, clearly working through the political implications. “You should have said this earlier.”

  Irene shrugged. “So far this morning we’ve had an attempted assassination and an attempted kidnapping. And it’s not even midday. Can we please get things moving?”

  Sterrington came to a conclusion. “The Cardinal will need to know about this, even if it means interrupting his chess.” She rose to her feet. “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The drapes in the Cardinal’s suite were a charcoal velvet so dark that they were nearly black. The window looked out over an inner garden somewhere inside the hotel, a distant sunlit landscape of pale winter bark and gravel paths. But inside the suite, the shadow was deeper and more intense than any lack of light. It clung to the corners of the room and smothered the colours of the walls and carpet. It veiled sight and muffled sound.

  The strange thing was that in spite of all the darkness, Irene could still see perfectly well. The two men seated at the centre of the room playing chess were distinct, not obscured or hidden. The shadow was more metaphysical than real, and it centred around one of the chess-players. The Cardinal. Irene realized that the other player must be one of the Librarians she’d come to see, but it was difficult to look at him—not because of any quality of his, but because the Cardinal drew attention like a lodestone.

  Chaos welled deeply in the room, intense enough to make Irene’s Library brand ache painfully. She squared her shoulders and waited. Each breath of Mu Dan’s hissed as if it came between gritted teeth.

  “My lord,” Sterrington said, stepping forward and curtseying. “The Librarian Irene Winters and the dragon representative Mu Dan are here to see you.”

  The Cardinal turned away from the chess table—and on the other side of the board, the Librarian caved forward with a sigh of relief, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the pieces. The shadows seemed to retreat a little, as if sunlight had touched the room and brought a smile to the Cardinal’s face. “My dear young people,” he said. “What a pleasure to see you. I’ve heard many good things about you, and I know that I can have confidence in your work.”

  Irene deliberately bit her tongue. The pain cut through the courtesy, the friendliness, the sheer plausibility of the Cardinal’s words, like a pinch when one is on the edge of falling asleep. But a deeper fear ran beneath the pain: she heard the echoes of another man in the Cardinal’s speech, saw shadows of him in the Cardinal’s face. Lord Guantes. The Fae who’d kidnapped Kai and tried to force a war. A manipulator, a Fae who’d played with humans just as the Cardinal here was playing with chess pieces. The man whom she’d killed, and who’d very nearly broken her will before that. For a moment her throat was dry, and she couldn’t find any words—appropriate or otherwise.

  “We appreciate your gracious attitude,” Mu Dan said, covering for Irene’s hesitation. Her tone was polite but strained. “We apologise for having interrupted your game. There have been certain developments of which you may need to know.”

  Mu Dan continued with a summary of the day’s events so far—so far, Irene thought uncomfortably—while Irene regained her mental balance. Guilt gnawed at her. She knew that she should be taking a more active part in the conversation. Lord Guantes was dead. She’d killed him. She couldn’t let the past control her like this.

  She did notice that Mu Dan hadn’t mentioned what was written on the paper that had been in Ren Shun’s pocket, eliding it into the general category of ongoing investigations. That suited Irene too. She wanted to discuss it with her own superiors before anyone else investigated it further.

  Mu Dan faltered to a stop. “I think that is all. But you see how urgent the situation is.”

  “Of course,” the Cardinal said, and again his tone was steeped in paternal concern. “I believe you did absolutely the right thing in bringing this to me directly. I’ll have our security raised here, and I’ll notify the Princess as soon as possible. Thank you for letting me know, my lady. I appreciate that.”

  Mu Dan’s nod of acknowledgement was very cautious, as though she didn’t trust her own judgement.

  “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a private word with Irene Winters. If the rest of you would wait outside, I’m sure that we’ll only be a moment.”

  Irene’s hard-won calm began to fray at the seams. There was no good way to refuse this. She couldn’t even think of any bad ways, short of running out of the room screaming. “Of course,” she said, her voice automatically polite. “I am at Your Eminence’s service.”

  “Do be seated,” the Cardinal said, as the others shuffled out of the room. He gestured at the chair that the other Librarian had been occupying a moment ago. “And really, ‘Your Eminence’? I’m not sure I deserve the honour.”

  Irene let herself down onto the chair, wishing she had an excuse to stay standing. It was too easy to relax when sitting down. “Well, you are referred to as ‘the Cardinal,’ sir,” she replied. “I apologise if I’m using the wrong form of address.”

  The Cardinal made a graceful gesture with one hand. A heavy ring flashed dark red in the sunlight. “Sincere respect is good enough. I won’t stand on trifles.”

  Irene tried to focus on his face. Once before she’d met—well, been in the presence of—a very powerful Fae, and his appearance had flickered between different images like the frames of an old movie, strobing from one archetypal form to another. The Cardinal was more settled: he was definitely male, and elderly, and his hair was white. Or grey. Or salt-and-pepper. And he was bearded, or he wasn’t, or possibly just moustached, and he was wearing a business suit, or maybe priestly robes, or . . .

  With an effort she folded her hands in her lap: it would have been too easy, and too obviously a demonstration of nerves, to fiddle with the chess pieces. “Would it be possible for you to control your power, sir? It isn’t conducive to meaningful conversation. Not on my part, at least.”

  “Naturally.” Her perspective of the Cardinal settled, like a television set’s image coming into focus, and abruptly the man sitting opposite her was no stranger than any other human being. Far less strange than a dragon, something whispered at the back of her mind. Far closer to what I am . . .

  “Thank you,” Irene said gratefully. “Now how may I assist you, sir?”

  The Cardinal stroked his goatee. It was the same shade of greying brown as his hair. His robes were dark and vaguely ecclesiastical. “I believe we have an acquaintance in common.”

  “Do you mean Sterrington?”

  “A servant and dependant. Hardly an acquaintance yet. No, I was thinking of an older acquaintance, a former pupil of mine. When you met him, he was calling himself Lord Guantes.”

  Irene’s stomach lurched and dropped. It took all her composure to keep her face bland and her voice even. She remembered a moment in Venice when she’d almost lost control and agreed to serve Lord Guantes—and betray every oath she’d swor
n. Only Vale’s intervention had saved her. “He seems to have been on a different political side to you, Your Eminence, if you are in favour of peace. He was attempting to start a war.”

  “You will notice that I said former pupil.” The Cardinal shook his head sadly. “It’s such a shame when an apprentice whom one trusted, who seemed to have truly understood the principles of power and manipulation . . . falls. Or rather, fails.”

  “Would you have wanted him to succeed?” Irene ventured.

  The Cardinal considered. “On the whole, no. I prefer a more stable game.” He tapped the chess-board meaningfully. “Games of strategy which rely on agreed rules and which avoid all semblance of luck are far more to my taste than cards or dice. I like to know where all the pieces are. I like to know what’s possible in a game. I don’t appreciate being surprised. Would you agree, Miss Winters?”

  A headache pressed across Irene’s forehead like an overly tight bandage, trying to worm its way into her temples and behind her eyes. Her mouth opened to agree.

  She pinched herself, her fingers biting into her palm. “To an extent,” she jerked out. “I work in situations where random events happen. I can’t forbid them to happen. I can only make allowances for them and deal with them when they occur.”

  “Interesting.” He leaned back, regarding her. “So you accept your status as a piece, rather than a player.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Irene disagreed.

  “On the other hand, it’s what I understood. Please don’t feel upset. I think it’s important to actually understand what you are. That was Lord Guantes’s error—well, one of them. He failed to see the full scope of the board, and he involved himself in direct action.”