The Dark Archive (The Invisible Library Novel)

by Genevieve Cogman

No more than an intermediary, then, and probably a sacrificial pawn. “And believe me, I haven’t even begun to bully you. Now. Who are you working for?”

  She tried to say something but was having difficulty breathing.

  “I think you’d better let her down,” Catherine suggested. She didn’t look well. Maybe the poison was acting faster on her metabolism than on Kai’s. “Before she, you know, chokes.”

  Kai complied but kept his hand on the woman’s throat. “Talk. If it’s true that we’ve been poisoned, I’m not in the mood to waste time.”

  Irene and Vale should have been back by now. And what if all this was an attempt to distract him from their absence? Their contact for the book purchase would be here in fifteen minutes, and Irene would never miss that. A combined twist of fear and fury knotted in his guts. If something had happened to them while he was babysitting Catherine . . .

  The door creaked open, and an elderly woman shouldered her way in. She bore all the markers of Victorian widowhood: a heavy black bonnet shadowed her face, a dark woollen shawl hugged her shoulders, and her black bombazine dress dragged on the floor as she walked. It left a damp trail like a slug’s passage. Behind her followed a younger woman, modestly dressed, carrying a small suitcase in one hand and a hastily furled umbrella in the other. She was dripping miserably—clearly she hadn’t been the one under the umbrella. If these were their contacts, they were early.

  “Dear me,” the elderly woman said, leaning forward like a hungry stork. “Have I interrupted something?”

  Even as she spoke, Kai heard an explosion far out at sea. The island trembled in response, and Kai felt the waves mount in tumult, thundering in the aftermath of some cataclysm far below. He froze in shock.

  CHAPTER 4

  The explosion drew everyone’s eyes seaward. And even though Kai could already feel the ocean’s shuddering disquiet, he couldn’t help turning to stare at the tossing waves outside.

  But his affinity with water couldn’t tell him what he most wanted to know. Where were Irene and Vale? Had they been trapped out there? Were they dead? Every impulse urged him to take on his natural dragon form and plunge down into the sea to find them.

  “Oh, hello,” Catherine said faintly. Her eyes were fixed on Kai, begging him to do something, and she looked even paler now. “You must be Madame Pipet.”

  “What a clever young girl you are,” the old woman exclaimed. She sat down in the nearest chair, her attendant standing behind her. “So are you the Miss Winters I’m supposed to meet?”

  For a moment Kai was strongly tempted to say yes and leave it to Catherine to handle the situation while he went to find Irene. But he saw the sheer panic in Catherine’s eyes, and his sense of honour forced him to stay.

  “No, madam,” he said. “Miss Winters has temporarily stepped out. But we are empowered to act on her behalf.”

  It would only take a couple of minutes to exchange the money for the book. Then he could be out of here and looking for Irene. And besides, if he prioritised saving her rather than collecting the book, she’d make him regret it.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” the old woman said, a mercenary glint in her eye. “Assuming you have the money. And you still haven’t told me why you have your hand around Julie’s neck.”

  At least it wasn’t Take your hands off that woman or I’ll call the police! “She was trying to blackmail us by claiming she’d poisoned us.” A flash of inspiration made him add, “She was trying to interfere with the deal for some reason of her own. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  “Oh, was she now?” Madame Pipet spat something in the local Guernésiais, or Guernsey French. Kai couldn’t understand the meaning, but it clearly frightened the woman in Kai’s grip, who trembled under his hand.

  Madame Pipet shifted to English. “You, Julie Robilliard. You don’t have the courage to challenge me up on Pleinmont or in front of La Gran’ Mère, so instead you try to sneak round behind my back and steal what’s mine. What game are you playing?”

  Julie swallowed nervously. “We, ah, that is, I—” She looked round desperately at Kai. “You’ll protect me?”

  “Well, I won’t kill you on the spot,” Kai said. “I make no promises for Madame Pipet.”

  “I was given something to put in your food,” she babbled. “I was told there would be three people, two women and a man, and your names, and that I was to give you the poison and then get you to come with me to the church. If I did that, then I’d get to keep the money you’d brought with you. But the other woman wasn’t with you, so I tried to go ahead with it, but then . . .” Her gesture took in the utter failure of the operation.

  “And who made this deal with you?” Kai demanded.

  “I don’t know his name,” Julie said hastily. Her eyes flicked to Madame Pipet. “He was from France . . . He was very polite, very upper-class, he had a beard . . .” She trailed off, clearly aware her story wasn’t very convincing.

  But Madame Pipet nodded as though she’d heard something she expected to hear. “Another attempt to make me step down, hmm? Working with the smugglers, maybe? Well, I’ll be generous, since you’ve spoken so freely. Get out of here and don’t let me see you again in a month of Fridays, or I’ll give you and your family reason to regret it.”

  Julie Robilliard stammered something unintelligible, squirmed free of Kai’s grip, and fled the room. He considered following her to bring her back but decided it wasn’t worth it: she was a pawn with no useful information.

  “You let her go? But she’s poisoned us!” Catherine objected.

  Madame Pipet shrugged. “That’s not my problem, little girl. Besides, you don’t look very poisoned. Nice bright eyes, a flush to your cheeks, good strong voice. I’m sure she was lying.”

  And if she was telling the truth, Kai thought, you don’t particularly care, as long as you get your money. “Very well,” he said. “We’ve delayed long enough. Shall we go through with the exchange?”

  At the side, Catherine was trying to catch his eye. “Kai,” she said through gritted teeth, “I want to become a Librarian. I don’t want to die in agony!”

  Kai wondered if he’d ever been that obstructive when Irene was trying to make a deal.

  Madame Pipet ignored the byplay and gestured to her attendant. The middle-aged woman put the suitcase she was carrying on a table and unlocked it, displaying a bundle of shawls. She unfolded them to reveal a heavy book bound in battered black leather, with a silver falcon stamped on the front.

  “There you are,” she said. “Malory’s La Vie de Merlin. The companion to his Morte d’Arthur, from a print run by Caxton. Very limited, for a very exclusive clientele.”

  The sight of the book distracted Catherine from her complaints. She leaned forward to peer at it, clearly itching to touch it. “Authentic?” she asked.

  “You’re free to examine it, though I know you’re in a hurry.” Madame Pipet shrugged. “But don’t let me make your decisions for you.”

  Kai knew exactly what Irene would do under these circumstances. He restrained himself from looking out towards the ocean, where the waves still churned in furious disruption. “Check it,” he told Catherine.

  Fortunately Irene had left the payment with him. Kai reached into his jacket and brought out a heavy buff envelope. He opened it, extracting a signed bank draft with a satisfactory number of zeroes attached to the sum. “I trust this will suffice?”

  In the shadow of her bonnet, Madame Pipet grinned hungrily. A couple of lonely teeth gleamed briefly in the café lights. “It will do.”

  Kai’s mind drifted as Catherine verified the book’s authenticity. He urgently wanted to know how Julie Robilliard had found out about Irene’s visit. The most obvious explanation was that Julie had spied on Madame Pipet . . . but that didn’t explain the mysterious bearded man from France. And it certainly didn’t cover what
ever had happened to Vale and Irene.

  If anything had happened to them, he would raze this island to the bare granite.

  “Correct binding, correct printer’s mark, correct chapter headings—I believe it’s genuine.” Catherine folded the shawls back over the book and closed the case.

  “Good,” Kai said with relief. “In that case . . .” He offered Madame Pipet the envelope.

  “Most generous,” she said, and tucked it into her bodice. Leaning on the arms of her chair, she levered herself to her feet. “I don’t suppose you’d like to buy a remedy for poison?”

  “I thought we didn’t look very poisoned,” Kai said.

  “I could be wrong. Julie has a real fondness for her herb garden. Her henbane, her foxgloves, her castor-oil plants . . .” Madame Pipet’s gaze was bright and sharp; she kept one eye on Catherine, who flinched. “I wouldn’t ask you very much for a cure.”

  “How much?” Kai asked, out of curiosity.

  “A certain suitcase with a book in it, maybe?”

  “But we just paid you thousands for it!” Catherine said.

  “Quite right too. But they do say that nothing’s more important than one’s health.”

  “No deal,” Kai said firmly.

  Catherine glanced sidelong at him, then set her jaw, trying to look stern. “No deal,” she echoed.

  “Ah well,” Madame Pipet said. “Adieu, my children. Enjoy your time on Guernsey. Whatever time you have left.”

  Her attendant opened the door for her, juggling the umbrella to shield the older woman from the driving rain, then followed her out.

  As the door shut behind them, Catherine turned to Kai. “So it was all a bluff, then, and we aren’t really poisoned?”

  “Actually, we probably are,” Kai admitted. “But we ate it rather than inhaling, which should give us sufficient time for treatment. First we need to find Irene—”

  Suddenly they heard the rattle of gunfire outside, and screaming.

  Both Kai and Catherine hit the ground, Kai snatching the suitcase as he went down. “Keep an eye on that,” he instructed Catherine, as he crawled towards the window.

  “I thought Guernsey was a nice quiet place, with cows,” Catherine muttered bitterly. “Since when did they have gangsters?”

  “I think they’re actually smugglers—they’re notorious here,” Kai said, cautiously peering through the window. “Four of them. Two have shotguns, two have pistols. Madame Pipet’s down. So’s her assistant. We’d better go out the back.”

  “What makes you think they won’t have people out there too?” Catherine demanded.

  “They did,” Irene said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchens, a bundle under her arm. “They don’t now. Let’s get out of here while we can.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Given the rest of the mission had collapsed into desperate improvisation, Irene supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find this part was also chin-deep and sinking. So much for a quiet journey to a pleasant holiday location, with some straightforward training for Catherine. And it was still raining.

  “Situation report, Kai,” she said, since he seemed to be having trouble pulling himself together.

  He blinked, then said, “We have the book. We may have been poisoned. And our purchaser’s just been shot down outside by a faction of local smugglers.”

  Irene’s heart clenched. She knew that she should have been faster, that she shouldn’t have gone hunting Lord Guantes. “What was the poison?” she asked.

  “Ricin.” Kai didn’t look as nervous as she’d expected.

  “Inhaled or ingested?”

  “Ingested, but we’re not feeling anything yet—”

  “Speak for yourself,” Catherine muttered. “I feel awful.”

  “That’s just nerves,” Kai said reassuringly. “We’ve at least six hours before we need to start worrying. What have you been up to, Irene? Why did something blow up out there under the sea? Where’s Vale?”

  “Long story,” Irene said, deciding the Lord Guantes update could wait till they were safely out of danger. The Fae had kidnapped Kai, had tried to auction him off, and had intended to start a war by selling him. So Kai wasn’t going to be very happy when he heard Lord Guantes had been alive all this time. Or raised from the dead. Whatever. “I’ll tell you later. We’ll leave through the back, this way.”

  Kai snatched up the suitcase and followed. They hurried through the kitchen and out to the side street.

  From the main road there came the mournful hoot of a steam whistle. “That’s the steam tram!” Irene exclaimed. “We can catch it to the Zeppelin port—Vale’s meeting us there, he went ahead to secure transport.”

  Even poisoned and carrying the suitcase, Kai outpaced both Irene and Catherine. Irene caught the younger woman’s arm, tugging her forward. The steam tram was just starting to pull away from its resting place, a plume of smoke trailing from the funnel that crowned the sleek maroon-painted engine. In the exposed carriages, hard-bitten travellers perched on the benches, stoically wrapped up against the elements.

  Shouts came from behind them. Irene knew that symphony; it started with There they are and continued on to Stop them, with occasional gunshot obbligato.

  “Get on!” she gasped.

  Kai swung the hard-won suitcase up onto the open carriage, then vaulted over the side as the tram picked up steam. Irene forced herself to sprint. She grabbed Catherine under the elbow and boosted her up into the carriage as Kai reached out to catch the Fae.

  But then Irene stumbled. She frantically grabbed at one of the carriage rails, her skirts tangling around her ankles—and missed, clutching fistfuls of air instead. Lord Guantes’s laptop was like a dead weight under her free arm, and it was taking everything she had just to keep pace with the tram. Desperately, she put on one last burst of speed. Then, by some miracle, Kai grabbed her shoulders and dragged her safely inside.

  The steam tram rattled its way through St. Peter Port, the open sea on one side and shops on the other: grey granite and white-painted façades disappeared behind them, washed clean in the constant rain. The sound of pursuing feet and yells died away as the tram jolted towards the edge of town.

  Irene tried to catch her breath. “Thank you,” she said. She turned to Catherine. “Are you all right?”

  “This is not the serene life of reading and study I expected,” Catherine muttered. She hunched her shoulders defensively, looking thoroughly miserable. “And I’ve been poisoned.”

  The rattling of the open carriage drowned out their quiet conversation—though Irene suspected the local passengers were probably hanging on to every word. “Yes,” she agreed. “If I remember correctly, it takes about six hours for ricin to have a significant effect. It’ll be easier to do something about it once we’re on the Zeppelin and out of public view.”

  “Can’t you just use the Language to order it out of my body?” Catherine asked.

  “I might if it had gone in via a wound,” Irene said. “But if you’ve eaten it, that’s more difficult. And right now we can’t stop for help.”

  Then Irene looked at Catherine—really looked at her, for the first time that day. The young woman was genuinely shaken. Poisonings and gun battles weren’t an everyday risk to her—and wasn’t that a depressing reflection on her and Kai’s lives, she reflected bitterly. No, this needed to be handled carefully, with empathy.

  This was why Irene wasn’t keen on students. She didn’t like being empathetic. She would much rather be businesslike. Lord Silver had assured her this was the life that Catherine wanted, and Catherine had agreed . . . but at this precise moment, her student seemed to be reconsidering her choices.

  She sat down next to Catherine and put an arm round her shoulders. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” she said. “This was supposed to be an easy pickup job, getting us aw
ay from assassins and kidnappers. But right now, I need you to stay calm and keep things together.”

  Catherine wriggled round to look up at Irene. She hadn’t had a chance to adjust her hat and veil, and raindrops lay like mist on her bronze hair. “This isn’t just some sort of joke?” she said, not very hopefully.

  “No. I’m afraid a trap was set, and we very nearly all walked into it.” Irene tried to think of something suitably encouraging to say—something to reassure the topaz-eyed young Fae who suddenly seemed so terribly fragile. “If I had known this job would be dangerous, I’d have left you back in London. I’d have sent you to your uncle to keep you safe.”

  “That wouldn’t have been very safe.”

  She had a point. But while Lord Silver wasn’t the most reliable of people, he did have a lot of money, and money could buy a lot of guards. “Well done on getting the book, anyhow,” she said. “Now we wait. We’ll be on our way home soon.”

  Kai settled himself next to her, the firm strength of his body a comfort against the cold rain, and folded a hand around hers. She returned the grasp and watched the countryside go past. The occasional farms and houses were granite or whitewashed, and some had seats set round the chimneys—to stop the witches, other passengers informed Irene. Stalls at the side of the roads they passed promised fresh vegetables, cows grazed in fields, and enormous greenhouses appeared in the middle distance. It all looked so safe . . . but Irene had no way of knowing who might be chasing them. She felt like a mouse scurrying across an open field, with birds of prey circling above. They had no allies here, and they were dangerously exposed.

  And what if this whole affair had been calculated to make them run for the Zeppelin port? Irene wouldn’t put it past Lord Guantes . . . while he was alive, at least. Although now she’d seen him die twice, she wouldn’t put money on him staying that way.

  “We’re coming up to the port,” another passenger said, helpfully pointing to a couple of small airships tethered behind a metal fence. “But not many will be flying today. The rain, you know.”