The Mortal Word Read online

  Irene decided she might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. “If you see the full scope of the board, sir, then can you tell me who killed Lord Ren Shun?”

  “I can tell you whom I suspect,” the Cardinal answered imperturbably. “Not quite the same thing, but it will have to do for the moment.”

  For a moment Irene was elated. Then caution kicked in. It might be just another case of pointing fingers at the other side. “And that is?”

  The Cardinal leaned forward. “Have you ever heard of the Blood Countess?”

  The words hung in the air like a dark prophecy. Shadows seemed to congeal in the corners of the room. The hotel’s heat receded, and a chill ran down Irene’s spine.

  She pulled herself together. “Historically . . . I’ve heard of Countess Erzsébet Báthory, or Elizabeth Báthory, who was known by that name. In some worlds, at least.” It went without saying that history did not always progress in the same way in all worlds. “The lady had a bad reputation. But in terms of immediate problems, she hasn’t been one of them. And I’m not sure I’d want her to be.”

  “Sometimes we must all face things that go against our natural inclinations. I could not possibly allow you to leave, Miss Winters . . .” He paused before adding, “Without warning you about her.”

  Irene’s pulse, which had jumped mid-sentence, slowed again as he finished speaking. Is he deliberately trying to terrorise me, in the nicest and most affable way possible? Sadly, the answer was probably yes. It was the sort of person—the sort of Fae—that he was. The more powerful Fae couldn’t step outside their archetype—or, arguably, stereotype. It would be nearly impossible for him to have a conversation with anyone without it turning into a complex power game. And she had so much to lose.

  “Are you implying that she wasn’t a human being?”

  “The original woman was,” the Cardinal said judiciously. “But the legend is not. Legends and folklore and stories survive human beings. They persist. And those of my kind can fill the impression that they make in human minds. The lady who goes by the title of the Blood Countess lives up to her legend. The torture, the executions, the bathing in blood, the devil worship . . . When I heard a rumour that she was coming to Paris in order to disrupt the peace talks, I’m sure that you can understand how concerned I was.”

  Irene mentally flicked through what she knew about Erzsébet Báthory. Unfortunately, the few facts she remembered were more gory folklore than genuine history . . . though from what the Cardinal was saying, gory folklore might be a better guide to this Fae than whatever the true story had been. Sixteenth-century Hungarian countess. Reputedly tortured hundreds of maids and young women to death and bathed in their blood to preserve her youth. Brought to trial, sentenced, and walled up for the remainder of her life. This was not an encouraging résumé. “She’s opposed to peace?”

  The Cardinal smiled. “You’re quite right. She prefers an unsettled situation, because it gives her that much more opportunity to indulge her appetites. A dubious woman. She’s even supposed to have negotiated with your Alberich.”

  “I see.” Irene had nothing particular against devil worship, but the rest of the list sounded damning enough on its own. And anyone who’d dealt with Alberich—the Library’s first and worst traitor—was someone to be avoided with extreme prejudice. “Er, exactly when did you hear she was coming here, sir?”

  “Barely a day or two ago,” the Cardinal said, in tones that denied all possibility of contradiction. “And of course, it was only a rumour. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary alarm by suggesting that one of my own kind had somehow discovered our highly secret meeting. And that she might want to disrupt it by any means necessary. Just think of the consequences if the rumour had turned out to be false. The negotiations might have been permanently set back.”

  Irene opened her mouth to say As opposed to someone being murdered and the negotiations definitely being set back? Then she shut her mouth again. He was telling her too much. Spymasters and manipulators didn’t give people the facts this easily. Either he was lying and this was all a false trail, or he was setting her up to take action as his pawn. Neither option appealed.

  “What a difficult situation, sir,” she said, trying to sound sympathetic. Or credulous. Or at least neutral. “I can agree that if she is here in Paris, then she’s an obvious suspect.” Inspector Maillon’s words echoed at the back of her mind. We have had too many disappearances of young women lately . . . “Do you have any further information?”

  “Unfortunately my lines of investigation are limited while I remain in this world.” He moved his hand again. The light on his ring flashed and caught Irene’s eye, and she had to force herself to look away. “Many of my agents have already died to bring me this information. When the Blood Countess takes action, she is ruthless. She leaves nobody alive who might be able to provide information. If she is somewhere here in Paris, then she will be well hidden.” He paused for thought. “She is often associated with an elderly woman, her old nurse and teacher. That might be a valid avenue for you to explore.”

  Irene was ready to seize on the flimsiest thread of evidence, but even for her this was a little thin. She decided to try a direct approach. It might be more efficient than attempting to match an archetype of manipulators at his own game. “Your Eminence, you’ve given me all this information, but you could previously have shared it when the murder was first discovered. I grant you that the Blood Countess may be responsible, but why tell me? And why here and now?”

  “Don’t you want a personal victory?” the Cardinal asked softly. “Wouldn’t it be useful for you to be able to solve this case and obtain the peace you desire? I know your history, Miss Winters. That’s such an evocative name, isn’t it? I believe you might even deserve it. I almost feel that the two of us ought to have a history, as master to agent. Or perhaps that should be a future.”

  Irene’s mouth was dry. She knew the Dumas stories about the Three Musketeers just as well as the Cardinal did—how Milady de Winter had been one of Cardinal Richelieu’s most efficient (and erratic) agents, and how she’d ended up dead. Irene had absolutely no desire to link herself with this Cardinal in that way. It wasn’t even her fault she’d ended up with the pseudonym Winters—Kai was to blame for that, months ago, picking aliases for the pair of them at short notice.

  “I’m already sworn elsewhere, sir,” she answered. “And while I do want peace, yes, it’s for everyone’s sake and not just mine.”

  “Really.” The Cardinal’s tone suggested that he didn’t believe her. “The stories that I’ve heard about you suggest that you have very personal motives for peace and alliances.”

  “The Library is neutral,” Irene said quickly.

  “Neutrality can involve alliances with both sides simultaneously. Balance is a wonderful thing, Miss Winters. Checks and balances, rewards and threats . . .”

  “My parents are already hostages to these negotiations.” Again Irene felt the shadow of fear brush over her. Were they safe? What would happen to them if, any gods forbid, the dragons took offence or the attempt at a treaty failed? “I don’t require any further encouragement.”

  “Your parents?” the Cardinal said thoughtfully. “I had heard a different story . . .” He trailed off suggestively.

  “My parents in every way that matters.” Irene heard the ice in her own voice. She had questions about her parentage, and how she’d been adopted, and why her “parents” had lied to her. But that was the point—they were still her parents, they had raised her, and they had loved her. Genetics were not important. Affection and protection were the truly important things.

  He nodded slowly. “As I said earlier, I think it’s very important to truly understand yourself. And I see that you do. Let’s look at matters from another viewpoint, then, Miss Winters. You acknowledge that I have a high personal investment in the outcome of these negotiations?”

&n
bsp; “I’d say that was obvious, sir,” Irene answered cautiously.

  “So.” He leaned forward. The shadows drew further in around the two of them. Irene’s Library brand ached like a fresh burn at the swell of his power. “Consider my reaction if they fail. I would have suffered a personal loss in terms of reputation and resources. I would need to take very definite steps to amend this. I will not waste my time threatening physical destruction in the way that my potential partners in this treaty would. I will be more productive.”

  They were together in the darkness now, a thousand miles from anywhere else, from promised safety or hope of rescue. The daylight beyond the windowpanes was very far away. Irene might as well have been in some oubliette, forgotten by the rest of the world, with nothing to hold on to but the Cardinal’s voice and the gleam of his eyes and ring.

  I am your only hope of safety, his presence said on a level deeper than conscious thought. It was subtler than Lord Guantes’s attempts at domination had ever been, and more compelling. I am the fear of what might happen to you, and the promise of everything you desire. I punish those who fail me, but I protect my own.

  “Librarians are valuable assets.” His voice was as patient as time itself, and as inexorable. “There are levers which can be used to compel them. The safety of the worlds they love. The welfare of their friends. Fear for themselves. I promise you that I will collect Librarians, Miss Winters, in order to redress my losses should I fail. I am very well-informed. I will find them, wherever they try to hide. And you will be the jewel of my collection. The first among my agents. My protégée. My demonstration to everyone who would oppose me that I do not take losses lightly.”

  The air was so thick inside the room that it seemed to curdle inside Irene’s lungs, and she had to struggle to breathe. The last flicker of light burned on the chess-board between them: the white pieces and squares were as pale as bone, and the black ones as dark as the void.

  “No,” she said.

  “No?”

  “The game is still in play.” She forced herself to look away from his ring, to raise her eyes and meet his. “If you try to break me here and now, you will ruin the investigation. That will derail the peace talks. You need me as myself—not as your agent or pawn. If the dragons think that you’ve compromised me, they won’t trust anything I discover.” Her logic was a light and a wall against the currents of fear that webbed the room like a spider’s nest. She held on to it, setting brick on brick with every word she spoke. “I understand your warning and I accept it. You wanted to make me afraid? You have succeeded, Your Eminence. You have absolutely succeeded. But we both know you’re going to let me walk out of this room untouched.”

  The Cardinal smiled. It was paternal, understanding, a blessing against the cruelty of the world. It was also the expression of a man who knew that he was in control of the situation and who was appreciating her quick wits rather than in any way losing a battle. “I do so enjoy talking to young people like yourself. It gives me hope for the future. And bearing in mind what we’ve just said, Miss Winters, do you understand why I can’t go round warning everyone about the Blood Countess?”

  It fell into place in Irene’s mind. “Because if you tell them, they will assume it’s just another Fae ploy. But if I discover it independently and can prove it, then the dragons will trust my findings.” This depended on the other side being paranoid and untrusting . . . and the logic was contorted and devious. Which was, Irene reflected, only to be expected from the Cardinal.

  “Yes.”

  The darkness receded, and the chaos and power ebbed from the room. Once more they were two human beings sitting across a chess-board from each other.

  Or, Irene reflected, two entities that looked human. The Cardinal certainly wasn’t human. But she herself was—wasn’t she? How far could a person change and still remain human?

  She pulled herself away from philosophical digressions—or maundering distractions, depending on how useful one considered such trains of thought—and bowed her head. “Thank you for your advice, Your Eminence. I appreciate your time and attention.” And I hope to avoid it for the rest of my life, if at all possible. “If you will excuse me, I’ll collect the rest of the team and the witness statements and be on my way.”

  “Of course.” He waved towards the door. “Please forgive me if I don’t accompany you. An old man like myself enjoys the chance to sit down. And ask Sterrington to join me, if you would be so kind.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Irene said.

  She didn’t quite flee the room, but she was conscious of overwhelming relief when she shut the door behind her.

  Mu Dan grabbed her arm, and Irene flinched before she could catch herself. “Don’t do that!” she demanded.

  Mu Dan didn’t let go. She had a briefcase in her other hand. “I’ve got the statements,” she said. “We need to get out of here—now.”

  “Why?” Irene could understand if Mu Dan was unhappy in the high-chaos atmosphere, but there were questions she still needed to ask the people in this hotel. “Look, if you have to leave, then I can stay a little longer . . .”

  “No, now,” Mu Dan insisted. Her fingers bit into Irene’s forearm with draconic strength, and she started to tow her down the corridor. “I’ll explain in a moment, but we can’t afford to be caught—”

  “Ah, just in time.” The voice from the far end of the corridor was far too familiar. “My favourite little mouse, and her newest friend.”

  Mu Dan hissed in annoyance.

  The man standing there would have made a perfect illustration for any scandalous magazine of the period. His elegant suit was in the same shade of grey as Sterrington’s dress earlier, but it somehow suggested libertine excess—an implication Irene knew was very well justified. His pale hair was tied back from his face in a loose tail, ensuring that all onlookers could fully appreciate his handsome face, and an overly familiar smile lingered on his lips. “How lucky that I caught you. A few minutes more and I might have missed you entirely.”

  “Lord Silver,” Irene said flatly. She didn’t add what a pleasure to see you, even though it would have been the polite thing to do. In fact, she really wanted him to understand how little of a pleasure it was. As he was the most powerful Fae in Vale’s London, she’d had dealings with him before, and they’d never been comfortable. His deserved reputation as a notorious rake and rogue didn’t help either. And while he held the rank of ambassador from Liechtenstein, according to Vale he was actually the country’s main spy in England. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  “I’m sure you hadn’t.” He sauntered towards them, top hat swinging in his hand. “But fortunately we’ll be seeing a great deal of each other in the near future.”

  “We will?” A horrifying suspicion abruptly solidified. “Don’t tell me—”

  Silver smiled sweetly. “I’m the Fae representative of the investigative team. This will be interesting, won’t it?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Irene looked around the table, and for a moment she allowed herself the luxury of imagining that she could walk away from the current situation. She was good at stealing books. She was good at reading books. She was by no stretch of the imagination remotely qualified to organise this team and handle diplomacy.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else was even less qualified or interested than she was. Vale and Mu Dan were going through the piles of witness statements. Silver was sprawling in his chair, nursing a cocktail. And lines of demarcation had been very visibly drawn across the table by means of deposited documents and glasses—this side for work, that side for drinking. The afternoon sun slanted in through the window and made the glasses sparkle prettily.

  Irene resigned herself to reality. “Perhaps now we’re all in the same place, we might sum up our findings,” she suggested. Said same place being Le Meurice—the theoretically neutral ground, and the logical headq
uarters for the investigative team.

  “You go first, little mouse,” Silver said with a wave of his glass. Liquid sloshed and nearly spilled. Irene could smell mixed brandy and absinthe. “I’ve barely dipped my toes in the waters so far.”

  “Yes, you might as well, Winters,” Vale muttered, barely looking up from the documents. “I assure you that I am paying attention.”

  “I suppose some sharing of information might be useful,” Mu Dan agreed. Her tone suggested that the operative word there was some, and that if Silver expected full disclosure, then he would be waiting till the next ice age.

  Which, given the current weather and temperature, might not be that far away. Ao Ji must be in a bad mood. Did he have any others? Irene wondered gloomily.

  Focus, she reminded herself. “Everyone at this table knows each other, I think?”

  “Two of you I know already,” Silver said helpfully, raising his glass in Mu Dan’s direction, “but the judge-investigator over there is comparatively new to me. I look forward to finding out about her in full and interesting detail.”

  “Our current task is more important than our personal circumstances,” Mu Dan said primly. “Rest assured that I have no interest in your own debauches.”

  Before Silver could respond, Irene rapped a knuckle on the table. “Please,” she said, as they both turned to look at her. “Can we—at least for the moment—agree that solving this murder is more important than our personal feelings about each other? No, not more important. It’s the most important thing. Otherwise the peace negotiations are finished.” She had to find a way to get some genuine cooperation out of them. She tried to think of channels of persuasion. “Lady Mu Dan, I know you want to find the person who murdered your compatriot. Lord Silver, I know from our past history that you would prefer peace to war. Myself . . . the Library has put its reputation at stake here, and my parents are hostages for the safety of this deal. I have everything to lose.”