The Invisible Library (The Invisible Library Novel)

by Genevieve Cogman

  With a certain amount of pushing from below and pulling from above, Irene was assisted up the swaying rope ladder. She decided to be grateful that firstly, she hadn’t just been left behind, and secondly, she was wearing traditional underpants rather than anything scantier. The rest of her mind was preoccupied with clutching the rope ladder with sweating hands, trying not to fall off and die.

  The pilot was a woman, in canvas and leather clothing—the first that Irene had seen in trousers so far in this alternate. Her goggles were shoved back over a coiled, heavy braid of hair, and she looked more suspicious than the guard had been. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, “but I’ll have to see some authorization.”

  “My name is Vale,” Vale announced. “I require your assistance to reach the British Library as fast as possible.”

  “That and a shilling’ll buy you a pound of onions,” the woman said. Unimpressed, she leaned back in her seat, a hammock-like sling of leather straps and creaking rubber. “Go find some other poor sod to risk their job if you want to chase criminals.”

  Irene considered the possible mental damage of what she was about to do. Librarians were generally supposed to avoid it, because of the risks of imposing on people’s minds, not to mention the universe occasionally backlashing in interesting ways. But they were running out of time.

  “Miss Jenkins—”

  “That’s Mrs. Jenkins to you,” the woman snapped. “I’m a respectable married woman, I am.”

  “Mrs. Jenkins,” Irene continued, switching fluidly into the Language, “you perceive that the detective here is showing you reliable and acceptable authorization.”

  Mrs. Jenkins frowned, staring at Vale. “Well, I can’t say as I like it,” she finally said, “but that seems to all be in order. British Library, you said?”

  “At once,” Vale said, with only a quick frown at Irene. “There is no time to lose.”

  “Very good, sir,” the woman said. “Kindly have you and your friends hang on to the straps further back in the cabin. This is going to be a bumpy ride. The wind’s against us.”

  Irene heard shouting in the background and looked down. Silver was standing on the roof, his cape billowing behind him as he pointed at the zeppelin.

  Kai saw him too and took rapid action, casting off the mooring-cable. The whole zeppelin rocked, and Irene had to grab for the straps, but they were moving, jerking away from the museum at the sudden loss of their tether.

  “Damn dilettante amateurs,” Mrs. Jenkins muttered, and ran her hands over the controls, flipping two switches and spinning a dial before hauling on a joy-stick. The zeppelin tilted and jolted into forward motion. “Passengers, we are now in the open air and heading for the British Library. Please talk among yourselves while I pilot this damn thing, because I don’t like being distracted.”

  “Yes,” Vale said, turning to Irene. “We need to talk, Miss Winters.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Irene could think of so many things that Vale might want to discuss that it wasn’t even funny. But she was going to sit down first.

  She decided, as she perched on a ledge that might be a seat, that this sort of transport must be reserved for very small antiques. The compartment was cramped, with hardly enough room for the three of them, let alone the storage of large items. The engine was also incredibly noisy, which was good—Irene didn’t really want Mrs. Jenkins listening in on this.

  Vale himself remained standing, holding on to an overhead strap, using the advantage of his height to tower over Irene. Possibly in response, Kai also stayed on his feet, moving over to loom behind Irene’s shoulder supportively.

  Irene wished that they’d both been poisoned too; perhaps then they’d be a bit more understanding about wanting to sit down.

  “Miss Winters,” Vale said, retreating into formality, “am I to understand that you have the Fae-like power to glamour and delude the minds of others?”

  Oh. So that was what had disturbed him. “No,” she said, then qualified it with, “not precisely. And you’re probably wondering why I didn’t do such a thing before.”

  “Or why you suddenly revealed it now, after using it on me without my realizing it,” Vale suggested, brows drawn together suspiciously.

  Damn. It was a logical suspicion she’d been hoping that he wouldn’t have. Why did he have to use those qualities that she admired against her? “I’m hardly that stupid,” she said.

  “But you might have been that desperate,” Vale answered. “An explanation, if you please.”

  Irene sighed. She’d been hoping to avoid this. “All right. You know that I can use the Language to, in blunt terms, make things do things. I can’t change a door from a locked door to an open door, but I can make the lock on a door open itself. There are some subtleties to this, but I hope you’ll understand that I can’t explain everything in full detail and with footnotes. I can get away with telling my superiors that I explained some things to you, but there are limits.”

  “You show a sudden high regard for your superiors’ opinion,” Vale commented.

  She was suddenly furious, his words reviving Bradamant’s taunts on not involving others and doing the job—no matter what. “I’m not supposed to be sharing anything with you at all!” She could feel her control slipping, which just made it worse. She should be handling this dispassionately, like a capable Librarian, as Bradamant would have done. She shouldn’t feel this sudden lurch at the thought of ruining any sort of friendship with Vale. She was not supposed to be involved with him at all. With anyone.

  “Standard procedure is getting in and out, leaving no traces. Standard procedure does not involve investigating local murders, going to local receptions, getting involved with local secret societies—”

  “Or visiting local detectives,” Kai put in.

  Or forming friendships, Irene heard behind his words. She wished that she had a spare hat-pin to jab into Vale. Or possibly Kai, who wasn’t helping. “Standard procedure tends to advise against high-speed chases in borrowed zeppelins too,” she said flatly. “Bradamant would have told you all this. Perhaps she’s the one you should have been working with from the beginning.” Yes. Bradamant would never have got so . . . involved. “I still don’t understand why your, ah, foretelling urges pointed you at us rather than at her. If you’d been working together, you’d probably have managed to track things down a great deal faster.”

  Vale simply stared down at her. “None of this explains your ability to control the minds of others.”

  “Well . . .” Irene tried to think how to explain it. “When I use the Language to tell something to do something which is against its nature, the universe resists. This is why those stuffed animals are going to return to that state, probably quite soon. I hope Inspector Singh is there to sort that one out. It’s easy to tell a lock to unlock—these things are in a lock’s nature. It’s much harder to order something to behave in an unnatural manner.”

  “Such as having stuffed animals come to life,” Vale agreed.

  “Well, that’s only mostly unnatural,” Irene said. “After all, they were once living animals. I couldn’t require a building to jump up and fall on someone, but I could tell a roof tile to come loose. Do you understand me so far?”

  “I can see your logic,” Vale said, clearly interested but also clearly lacking patience. “But again, how is this relevant to controlling minds?”

  “I can tell someone that they’re perceiving something other than what they’re actually seeing,” Irene said, wishing that English was better adapted for this sort of discussion. “The problem is that the universe resists, as with objects asked to do unnatural things. Specifically, the person’s mind resists, and continually resists until—” She paused. “Well, some individuals manage better than others, but generally the results aren’t pretty. That’s what I was told in classes. But that’s not the same as what I just did,
and it won’t last like a glamour does, either.” She was fairly sure that Mrs. Jenkins couldn’t hear this. She certainly hoped so. “At the moment, Mrs. Jenkins’s mind is telling her that, no, she did not see full authorization. When that overcomes my temporary adjustment, probably within the hour, then she will remember everything. But would you rather I’d just let Silver catch us?”

  Vale gave Irene a cold look and glanced out of the window at London beneath them, not deigning to answer.

  Irene propped her elbows on her knees. “If the Library told us not to meddle with minds because it was unethical, that might be virtuous. But the fact is, it’s very unreliable. And once the subject regains their memory, it can make a mission so much more dangerous.” Irene tried not to dwell on her own lack of ethics. Surely she was more than just a book thief? Or was the only real difference between her and Bradamant that Bradamant looked good in black leather? It was easier to think of herself as a valiant preserver of books when there wasn’t someone looking her in the eyes and questioning that. “All I’ve done is applied a very temporary patch.” She looked up at Vale. “Because I couldn’t see any other alternative, and we were in a desperate hurry. As you saw.”

  “Were we?” Vale turned away.

  Irene raised her eyebrows, even if he wasn’t looking at her. “I realize that you don’t see Alberich as a personal threat,” she said, “or even as a threat to public law and order.”

  “I admit the fellow did try to kill me,” Vale said generously.

  “He will continue to be a threat to you all as long as the book is here,” Irene went on. She felt Kai squeeze her shoulder encouragingly. “Once it’s gone, he and Silver won’t be competing for it any longer.”

  “Silver is hardly your concern, Miss Winters,” Vale said. “And I fail to understand your distress over one world, when you doubtless have so many to occupy your time. Why should you care about us, except as a source of books?”

  Irene swallowed and felt her cheeks flush with mingled anger and embarrassment. There was an uncomfortable grain of truth to what he was saying. This was just one alternate world, and one book. “So far, I have been assaulted, attacked by cyborg alligators, almost drowned in the Thames, had most of the skin stripped off my hand, been poisoned with curare, revived with strychnine, and chased by both werewolves and giant robots. Are you accusing me of not taking this seriously, sir?”

  “On the contrary, madam. I consider that you are taking this extremely seriously. Such devotion is worthy of a good cause. But consider this.” Vale leaned back, bracing his shoulders against the cabin walls. “I see a woman—and her assistant—who are prepared to go to extremes to secure a single book. I have watched you hijack a zeppelin in order to achieve your aims. I ask myself, Miss Winters, just how far are you prepared to go?”

  Wonderful. First Bradamant sneered at her for not going far enough, and now Vale was eyeing her as though she were a prize specimen of the criminal underworld. “I just want to do my job,” she said. “I have a duty to the Library.”

  “Has the Library laws?” Vale cut in. “Has it signed treaties with all the worlds, allowing it to steal books? Has it any authority save that which it claims for itself? I would like to know if there is any reason in the world why I should respect it or its servants.”

  Irene set her jaw mulishly. “Have I personally broken any laws?”

  “Not yet,” Vale said. “At least, none of which I am aware.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he suspected she wouldn’t hesitate.

  And would she? Well, it would depend on the law. Her body was humming like a high-tension wire, probably the effects of the mingled drugs. “I don’t want to harm your world,” she said quietly, bowing her head. “I just want a single book.”

  She could feel the weight of Vale’s accusing stare. “And so we have to hurry across London, deceiving the pilot and endangering her as well as ourselves, because you must have this book.”

  “Watch what you say,” Kai said softly.

  Vale shrugged. “I ask Miss Winters questions to which she should have answers—if such answers exist. If she has none, then perhaps you should consider your own allegiances. What is the point of this Library, if it demands such sacrifices?”

  Irene pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you, Kai, but you don’t need to defend me. In answer to your questions, Mr. Vale, I am going to get this book. Not just because the Library wants it, but also because Alberich wants it, and he is far more dangerous than you seem to think I am.” She gave him a withering look. “Has it occurred to you that besides trying to kill us, he has killed other people? Librarians, people that I know about, even if you don’t—and we have no idea what he may have done in this world? That if I don’t get this book out of here, he will probably kill others? And if I don’t get to the British Library first, then”—her brain caught up with what she was saying—“then he is going to kill Bradamant,” she finished.

  Vale snorted. “The woman is clearly capable of taking care of herself.”

  “Maybe she is,” Irene said. “But that’s not the point. I am not going to let her just walk in there and . . .” She thought of Dominic Aubrey and wondered with a shudder how his skin had ended up in that jar. She would not, could not, let that happen to someone else she knew when there was a chance of stopping it. “You may think of me as you wish. I intend to save Bradamant. I refuse to feel guilty for what I’ve just done.”

  “Ah.” Vale stepped away from the side of the zeppelin and offered her his hand. “Then I believe we can work together, Miss Winters.”

  Irene nearly said Huh?—which would have been inappropriate in so many ways. She just stood there limply.

  “But, you were saying . . .”

  “Tch,” Vale said. “Really, madam. I can accept that you are an effective agent, much like your colleague Bradamant. I wanted to be sure that there was more to you than that. If the Library employs persons like yourself, then I suppose there must be something to be said for it after all.”

  “Excuse me,” Kai began.

  “You were doing your duty in following orders, and no man could ask for more,” Vale said. “But Miss Winters is your commanding officer. The truth needed to come from her.”

  Having won the point, Irene felt a curious mix of emotions—including rage. How dare he consider her ethics from such a lofty height? How dare he judge her? She took a deep breath, forcing down the anger with whatever justifications she could bring to mind. He had to make his own decisions. He needed to understand her to do so.

  Still, it stung.

  She reached out and clasped his hand briefly. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

  Kai stepped up and laid his hand across their joined hands. “Together we shall put Alberich down and rescue Bradamant. Though personally, as she’d so disloyally betrayed—” He caught Irene’s glare. “Still, I am under your orders,” he said heroically.

  Irene disengaged her hand as tactfully as was possible. Heroic fiction had plenty of manly handclasps in it, and she’d read enough of them. But it had never gone into how you retrieved your hand afterwards, and whether there were any relevant squeezes or other manoeuvres. “I’ve been trying to think how to deal with Alberich,” she said, though she didn’t add in my copious spare time as she was tempted to, “and I’d be interested to know if you have anything to suggest.”

  “Shoot the bounder,” Vale suggested. “That works on vampires or werewolves, and even on Fae under some circumstances.”

  Kai flexed his long-fingered hands. He seemed, for once, to be hesitating.

  “Kai?” Irene prompted.

  “There are certain ways that we—that is, um, my family”—which was probably the closest he was going to come to saying the d-word for the moment—“can reinforce an area against chaos. Alberich uses chaos, so he must be contaminated by it, so it should work against him too.”
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  “How large an area?” Vale said. “And can you make it permanent?” Clearly he had grand visions of driving the Fae out of his entire world, or at least the British Empire part of it.

  Kai shook his head. “If we could, then we wouldn’t have this ongoing problem. We could just push them out and keep them out. The best I can do is mark out an area and ward it. And it has to be an area that I can travel around in a set period of time.” He brightened up. “Greater powers like my father or my uncles could guard an entire ocean within a single turning of the sun!”

  Irene bit the inside of her cheek hard before she could make any comments about putting a girdle round the world in forty minutes. It probably wasn’t an appropriate moment for Shakespeare, and she didn’t think Kai would find the analogy funny. “And yourself?” she asked.

  Kai’s shoulders slumped, showing a hint of sulking adolescent. “I’m more bound by physical constraints,” he mumbled. “And I can’t actually force one of those creatures out if it’s already inside my wards. I can only set up a boundary so that it can’t get in or out.”

  “Yes, but how large an area?” Vale pressed. “The whole of London?”

  “Maybe,” Kai said. “If you gave me all night. And I’d have to— ah, it would attract attention.”

  “From whom?” Irene asked. “The Fae?”

  “My relatives,” Kai said. He looked as if he’d like to shrink into a corner at the thought. He seemed to be displaying the heroic nobility of a teenager doing the right thing, combined with the hang-dog despair of anticipating the removal of privileges for the next decade. She wondered how old—or how young—he was in terms of dragon ageing. He was so mature in some ways and so young in others.

  Irene frowned. “Well, I can ward an area against chaos by attuning it to the Library. That might force Alberich out of an area if he’s already in it—but I can only cover a relatively small area that way. And there are issues of power . . .” Yes, that was one way of putting it. Warding Vale’s rooms the previous night had been fairly simple. Trying to block a larger area of reality, as it were, would take much more of her energy. She would also need a very thorough description of the area that she was trying to ward. But there had to be some way that she could use this . . .