The Masked City

by Genevieve Cogman

  A few words in the Language with a hole-in-the-wall credit mechanism drained the would-be mugger’s account, and also created one for her. She left in a hurry before anyone investigated the non-functional cameras and security mechanisms. A cheap local shop gave her jeans and a jacket. Then that got her into an expensive clothing shop, where she could buy a polite business suit that looked almost smart enough to visit a private millionaire. The would-be mugger didn’t show up, though there was a sudden influx of siren-blaring police helicopters. She wondered a little guiltily if she’d triggered some sort of bounty alert by convincing him that she was someone incredibly dangerous. Oh well, not her problem.

  But all through it, constantly, she felt a terrible sense of urgency. She should be with Kai’s uncle already, to ask …

  To ask what? Irene wondered, looking at herself in the mirror. Her appearance didn’t reflect her inner turmoil at all. She had to look the part, or her chances of gaining access to him would drop significantly. Ryu Gouen, Kai’s uncle, was a dragon. From what Kai and Coppelia had said, he was a high-ranking dragon too, set up in this world as an influential private collector and successful businessman. Perhaps there were stories where peasant girls gradually won the attention of dragon kings through their innate humility and sweetness of character, but she didn’t have years to spare.

  She checked herself over. The hair was neat, the suit was classic, and the small tablet computer fitted nicely into her new handbag. She could have posed for a stereotypical illustration in a child’s primer: B is for Businesswoman who Makes Deals. The nosebleed had almost stopped.

  She could almost taste her own desperation. And she was ready to go.

  Ryu Gouen was supposed to be in Marseilles, according to the news channels on her tablet. It had been a while since she’d used this level of tech, but it came back to her after a little fumbling. She checked the transport options. Chartered heli-shuttle was expensive, but it was the fastest option to get to Marseilles from Germany. And it wasn’t her money, after all. Money was the least of her worries at the moment.

  Swarms of people buzzed around her as she made her way to the airport. And it was the same there, too. Everything was too bright, too noisy, too harsh, and flaring with lights and holograms. She’d spent months accustoming herself to the patterns of Vale’s world, and now this place felt all wrong. She navigated through the crowd, a bland smile pinned to her face, and kept her gaze on her tablet computer once she’d made it to the heli-shuttle. She tried to imagine herself as a cool shark cutting through an ocean of people, but the image kept on transforming itself in her mind to something more like a herring. One about to be pickled.

  An hour later, still with a headache, Irene exited an autodrive taxi outside a reclusive skyscraper in Marseilles’ outskirts. It was one of the more elegant skyscrapers in the area: tall but not overpowering, sleek but not aggressively glossy. It managed to convey an aura of permanence and age, even though online records showed that it had been built less than fifty years ago. It was owned by a consortium of firms, which happened to include a particular art export firm - Northern Ocean Associates. And Ryu Gouen was a non-executive director. It was all very neatly done to suit a dragon who wanted to stay out of the public view, but who couldn’t resist just a little touch of grandeur. Even the surrounding streets were clean and mostly empty.

  ‘My name is Irene Winters, and I need to see Mr Ryu urgently,’ she told the secretary at reception. She kept to French, not wanting to stand out here. As with most Librarians, languages had been a key part of her education - both for covert operations and for reading and understanding the literature that she’d be collecting.

  The man behind the desk was so smooth that he might have been extruded from plastic. His hair was a sleek black cap, which lay against his head as if glued on, and his face was utterly unmoving. Small cybernetic insets glittered along his fingernails, sparking as he ran his fingers along the screen in front of him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice as flat as his eyes, his French perfect. ‘Mr Ryu is busy at the moment. If you would like to send us your details—’

  ‘This is an urgent matter,’ Irene said, ‘or I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Mr Ryu is highly busy at the moment,’ the secretary repeated. His gaze took in Irene’s outfit and levels of wealth and fashion, and just as quickly dismissed her as unimportant. ‘While he has been known to sponsor investment opportunities, this is on the basis of private recommendation only. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, madam.’

  The lobby was empty, an echoing space of dull black marble floor and cold grey pillars. Irene and the secretary were the only two people in it. A few fragile chairs near the door did nothing to break the room’s imposing effect. If it was designed to intimidate, it worked.

  Irene lifted her chin. ‘I am a representative of the Library,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm and unimpressed as the secretary’s. ‘I believe Mr Ryu has dealt with our group before.’ And even if he hasn’t, that should get his attention.

  The secretary returned her stare for a long moment, then lowered his eyes and ran his fingers across the screen again.

  A pause.

  The screen flashed. ‘I am afraid that Mr Ryu is not available at the moment,’ the secretary said. ‘Thank you for your interest in our company. If you would like to leave a message, we will be glad to contact you at a later date.’

  Right. Time for the brute-force option, hoping that Kai’s uncle would give her a hearing, rather than simply tossing her out of the window. Irene leaned in closer. ‘You perceive that you have just been given clearance to send me up to see Mr Ryu,’ she said softly. Her headache deepened as the Language hummed in the air, but she pushed it to one side with the ease of practice. She was more worried that this wouldn’t hold for more than a few minutes, or even seconds. The more reasons a person had to doubt their Language-influenced perception, the more likely it was to slip.

  But for the moment it did work. The secretary blinked in surprise at what he believed he’d seen. No doubt he hardly ever sent people up to see Mr Ryu. ‘Please take the elevator to the fiftieth floor,’ he said, fingers tracking over the screen again. ‘Mr Ryu’s personal assistant, Mr Tsuuran, will be waiting for you in the office on the right.’

  Irene nodded politely, withholding a smirk, and made her way to the elevator. There was no sound as it glided upwards, a vast cavern walled and floored in dark opaque glass. It was big enough to hold a small lorry as well as a businessman, his entourage, a set of security guards, and a mob of reporters on top of that. Irene knew as she ascended that there would be security cameras watching her at this precise moment. Even if the secretary still thought she had clearance, the building’s security would know better.

  Floor after floor flickered by on the overhead indicator. Hopefully Kai’s uncle - or at least his personal assistant - would be curious enough to actually hear the speech she’d prepared. Rather that than any of the unpleasant alternatives.

  The doors slid open onto a corridor both walled and floored in smooth pale tiles. Huge windows on the left looked out on the city below and the sea beyond. And there was a single anonymous door on the right.

  There were also half a dozen men and women surrounding the lift entrance, anonymous in neatly cut black suits and dark glasses. None of them were actually holding weapons, but they had the easy poise of trained martial artists, and she suspected concealed holsters. Whether she was right or not, they were clearly dangerous.

  A seventh person stood beyond. Her grey business suit was an order of magnitude more expensive than theirs and was definitely a man’s cut, even given the trend here towards unisex business clothing. Her face reminded Irene of Kai’s dramatic handsomeness. It wasn’t a fashion model’s glossy perfection, but the flame-like beauty of something a little too alive to be safe, caught in a temporarily human form. Her long silver hair curved in a parting over her right eyebrow and was caught at the nape of her neck, falling down her back in a long tail t
hat reached to her hips. Her cufflinks and tie were matt black. She regarded Irene assessingly, with a coldness that whispered predator.

  Irene felt horribly exposed without an assumed identity to hide behind. Spies never played themselves, and she hadn’t had to do so for - well, at least a couple of decades now. But Kai’s life could be at stake. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said politely.

  ‘You will explain yourself,’ the woman in grey said.

  ‘Please forgive my intrusion.’ Irene gave a half-bow, the sort that showed respect without being an actual obeisance. She was conscious of the increased tension as her hand swung across her jacket. ‘My name is Irene, and I am a servant of the Library.’ Stay calm and self-assured, she reminded herself. You’re a representative of a greater power. You expect proper respect, as a matter of course.

  ‘Indeed. So you informed the secretary downstairs, and he in turn told you that my lord was busy.’ The woman tilted her head, giving the impression of scenting the air. ‘I acknowledge that there’s nothing of chaos about you. You aren’t tainted in that way. But even so, this intrusion is unwelcome.’

  ‘I was not able to give a full description of matters to the gatekeeper downstairs,’ Irene said equably. ‘Some matters require more privacy.’

  ‘I was not aware that my lord Ao Shun had expressed any interest in a private visit from any member of the Library.’ The woman took a casual couple of steps towards Irene. ‘You can, perhaps, explain?’

  Describes him as ‘my lord’ rather than ‘my king’, the analytic part of Irene’s mind noted, her training kicking in. A close personal feudal relationship? She seems to be playing the role of Gouen’s personal assistant, for what that’s worth. And that must be Kai’s uncle’s real name, rather than the human alias. ‘I have lately been in the company of an individual who calls himself Kai, who was studying the Library under my guidance. He mentioned …’ What title should she use? ‘His uncle might be found in this world, going by the name Ryu Gouen.’

  ‘And you presume on that acquaintance?’

  Irene clenched her fists at the sharp-toned question, and had to force her hands to relax, feeling the threads of scar tissue on her palms as control returned. ‘Not at all.’ She drew a breath and smiled courteously. Courtesy was paramount for Kai, and it would be no different here. ‘But I have something unexpected to report, regarding Ryu Gouen’s nephew. I thought it best to inform his uncle and ask for his advice. Would you be Mr Tsuuran?’

  ‘That is correct,’ the dragon - Irene decided just to think of the person as the dragon, for there was no way this was anything but a dragon - said. ‘When you say that something has occurred, what exactly do you mean?’

  ‘Kai has left the world where he was training as my Library apprentice,’ Irene said, her voice as cool as Tsuuran’s. She decided to consider the dragon as masculine. If he introduced himself as ‘Mr’, who was she to argue the point? ‘I received a message shortly afterwards claiming to be from his family - saying he’d returned to them. If I have in some way given offence to his family, then naturally I wish to apologize. But if something else has happened, well …’ She spread her hands, aware that the six presumed bodyguards were tensing again. ‘My own responsibility towards Kai made me wish to investigate.’

  There was a long silence. Then Tsuuran made a small gesture with his left hand, and the ring of bodyguards stepped back. ‘Kindly step into my office,’ he said.

  The room beyond the door on the right was full of space and light, floored and walled in the same tiling as the corridor. But its ceiling rose to twice the height of the corridor outside. This floor and the one above must be somehow merged, Irene realized. A black granite desk in the centre caught the eye and dominated the room, as was clearly the intention. On the right wall were more windows, but on the left she was pleased to note a neat set of bookshelves, and a starkly elegant dark filing cabinet. The latter seemed out of place, in a world as full of computer technology as this one. In the far wall was a single door.

  Tsuuran leaned against the desk. ‘The message?’ he said.

  ‘Earlier this morning - ‘ Yes, it was still the same day, wasn’t it? ‘ - I returned home from work to find that Kai wasn’t there, and we had agreed to meet.’ She wasn’t going to say our lodgings until she had a bit more data on dragons cohabiting with humans. ‘We’d been warned we might be in danger, so I was worried. And then this was delivered.’ She removed the note from her handbag, still in its envelope, and offered it to Tsuuran.

  Tsuuran took it in one long-fingered hand, and a thin line showed between his brows as he read. It was a hint of concern, well hidden, but still present.

  ‘A mutual acquaintance then found evidence that Kai had been assaulted and taken away,’ Irene continued. ‘I don’t know precisely what is going on. But you will understand that I was concerned.’

  ‘And if it had been his family’s doing?’ Tsuuran asked. He didn’t give the note back.

  Irene stood her ground and looked Tsuuran in the eye. ‘I didn’t think it was. From what I know of dragons, that is not a message his family would have sent.’

  Tsuuran was silent for a moment, which felt far too long. It gave Irene enough time to speculate whether she had just insulted him in particular, Kai’s family specifically or dragons in general, and what the consequences in each case would be. Finally he said, ‘Then what is your purpose here?’

  Irene shrugged, aiming for nonchalance as the menace level in the room rose. Despite not being dragon royalty, she reminded herself, as a representative of the Library, I’m on a level with his staff. ‘If something has happened to Kai, then I wish to investigate. I have a great deal of respect for him.’ And friendly affection, and desire, and irritation for the number of times he’s suggested we go to bed … She didn’t know what would influence Tsuuran. He was a dragon, after all. Not human. In the face of his cool, dispassionate gaze she found herself running out of words. ‘I just want to make sure that he’s safe. I won’t leave him in danger.’

  Was that actually a suggestion of sympathy in the dragon’s eyes?

  ‘You have done the right thing,’ Tsuuran said. No, it wasn’t sympathy as such, it was approval. A wave of relief swept through Irene. ‘Please do not feel embarrassed for coming to beg our help, young woman. Under the circumstances, it was not only the proper thing to do, it was the intelligent thing to do. Give me a moment and I will speak to my lord.’

  Irene bowed her head, fighting the urge to go down on her knees as Tsuuran walked across to the far door. His air of authority and raw power was hard to ignore. Even if he was only a servant, he was a high-ranking one. And now she might finally have reached Ryu Gouen himself. Admittedly with a big EXPENDABLE sign on her back.

  The door, which had closed behind Tsuuran, opened again. It had barely been a minute. This was either very good or very bad.

  Tsuuran stood there, holding the door open. ‘You may enter. His majesty Ao Shun, King of the Northern Ocean, permits you audience.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The room on the far side of the door was far larger than a regular office. To Irene’s first panicked glance, it was all space and darkness. A moment’s composure let her see the boundaries of walls and high ceiling, but that first stunning effect stayed with her. The air seemed to spiral around her like a current, dragging her further in.

  There were no windows here, and the walls were panelled in the same dark metal as the floor, swirled with seamless loose curves, which reminded Irene of visits to museums and pictures of underwater metal deposits. Heavy silk banners hung down at regular intervals and crystals blazed on the wall like torches. They cast a cold unfriendly light, which still left much of the huge room in shadow. And there was simply nowhere left to go except towards the figure at the far end, sitting behind a desk on a raised dais.

  The door behind her clicked shut as Tsuuran stepped through and closed it. ‘You may approach,’ the dragon said, prompting her. He clearly knew when a novice supplic
ant needed a little hint about proper court etiquette.

  Irene began to walk nervously towards the throne, and couldn’t put off looking at the dragon king any longer. And when she did, she wished she hadn’t, as she was just as intimidated as she’d predicted. Because this dragon - his majesty Ao Shun, King of the Northern Ocean - hadn’t bothered to take human form.

  His throne was set back from the marble-topped desk, allowing Irene a good view of the dragon monarch. He sat illuminated, despite the lack of a power source here, as his power cast its own light. A few locks of hair, as dark as onyx, fell across his forehead, but most was bound back in a long braid. Twin horns stood out from the hair, each a few inches long, each polished and sharp. And his skin wasn’t exactly black; it was the clear grey darkness of fathomless overcast skies. Irene thought that she could make out the tiny patterns of scales across his cheeks, even from her current distance. His nails - no, his claws - were as manicured as Tsuuran’s, except that he made no pretence of them being anything other than claws. And his eyes were as red as fresh lava, but cold and frozen. He was wearing a heavy long black silk robe, bordered with white, and rich with embroideries.

  Irene tried to memorize it all as she’d been taught, because that gave her some sense of control. And at that moment she was struggling to cope with the crushing weight of the dragon king’s presence. The room was full of Ao Shun’s power, and he was waiting to see if she could walk towards him through it.

  She squared her shoulders as she stepped forward, and her Library brand burned on her back, invisible but acutely painful. She found herself abruptly, stupidly reminded of posture lessons from childhood. And where should she stop? Irene settled for ten feet in front of the throne and bowed from the waist, holding it for three seconds before straightening.