‘I would have said that this world is safe enough,’ Vale said. He looked around him, his face weary. He already seemed to have given up. ‘But events suggest otherwise.’
‘Well.’ Irene took a deep breath. ‘When does the train go?’
‘Winters,’ Vale began, ‘you cannot be serious about going alone—’
‘Vale,’ Irene cut in. He hadn’t believed her when she’d tried to explain the danger to his world. It had taken Silver to convince him. But she had to be the one to convince Vale now, to stop him from getting himself killed. He didn’t know, couldn’t accept, just how dangerous a high-chaos world actually was. People who had no protection would be swept along in any current narrative that a Fae was managing, their personalities rewritten to suit the needs of the Fae. And they didn’t have time for debates. ‘You can see yourself that Lord Silver is desperate.’ That drew an angry twitch from Silver. ‘But even despite that, he’s said it would be too dangerous for you. He has every motivation to send you along with me, if there’s the slightest chance of preserving his own existence.’
‘Well, yes, obviously,’ Silver said, as though it was too plain to need pointing out. ‘But please don’t think I’m trying to save you out of any misguided notions of charity. You’re simply too entertaining an adversary to waste.’
‘There you have it,’ Irene said drily. ‘Straight from the horse’s - forgive me, straight from the Fae’s - mouth.’ She folded her arms, feeling her anger rising. ‘Look what he’s doing to me. Why should he lie to you? I would …’ Her next words unexpectedly caught in her throat. ‘I would have appreciated your help. But I don’t want you to destroy yourself, and Kai wouldn’t thank me for it.’
Vale looked at her for a moment as if he wanted to say something, then turned sharply away from her. ‘Pray spare me your excuses, Winters. Your decision is quite clear. I have no wish to hinder your expertise, or to impede your path. I will merely be sure of the details from Lord Silver here, before I leave you to your little games. I can only hope that an innocent such as Strongrock will survive it.’
Irene felt the colour flare in her cheeks. Something in her heart shuddered at his words. That hurt. It really, genuinely hurt. She’d hoped that he’d accept her decision, but to have it thrown at her like that … She turned back to Silver, choosing to convert her anger into focus. ‘It seems Mr Vale is clear on the subject. When is this train? And what sort of disguise will I require?’
Silver touched his fingers to his lips, failing to conceal a smile at Irene’s capitulation. ‘We will leave within the hour, and Lady Guantes will also be waiting at the station. I will take care to have other retainers who are also cloaked, so that we can smuggle you on board amongst them. As to costume - you must dress as a traveller from some other sphere. I will look in my cupboards.’
Irene didn’t bother answering. She merely drew her cloak open to reveal her anachronistic business suit.
‘Yes,’ Silver said, his eyes stroking up from her ankles to her knees. ‘That will do very nicely. I will give you a small token of my power - not enough to damage you, my little Librarian, but simply to allow you to pass for Fae. We cannot tell from a mere glance that you are of the Library, and my token will ensure that nobody thinks you are to be played with like a toy. Johnson wears one. Show Miss Winters, Johnson.’
Irene turned, and saw Johnson slip a large brass watch out of his pocket. Its design was surprisingly intricate, traced over with a pattern that slipped away from the eye. He nodded to Irene.
‘And perhaps some minor alterations to the hair, the eyes …’ Silver went on. ‘It is a pity that we’re taking you rather than dear Vale, my Librarian. He would be so much better at changing his appearance.’ He rose to his feet and strode over to one of the high cupboards in the corner, opening it to reveal an array of low-cut dresses and hooded cloaks. He seemed to have flipped from despair to manic enthusiasm. ‘I’ll let one of the maids handle it. Blue? Perhaps if I could find a blonde wig? No, perhaps if we dressed you as a maid to start with … ‘
Irene was beginning to suspect why the Guantes’ plans worked and Silver’s didn’t, as he fussed over the clothing. ‘Where does the train leave from?’ she asked.
‘From Paddington.’
‘Why Paddington?’ Irene asked.
‘We must travel towards water, therefore westwards. And that means the Great Western line, which leaves from there.’ Silver tossed off the answer as though it made sense. Perhaps it did, from the Fae viewpoint.
Vale took a deep breath, then set his shoulders. ‘I will see you later, Winters - assuming you come out of this escapade in one piece. You know my thoughts on the matter. I will not trouble myself to repeat them. I can only hope that your concern for Strongrock is somewhat greater than your fascination with these politics.’
Irene met his dark gaze, feeling furious. She truly had not expected this snideness from Vale. He was behaving as pettily as Silver might have done. ‘You know perfectly well why I’m doing this. This has nothing to do with politics or the threat of war. Sometimes I do things simply because I don’t want to see someone die. Or worse—’
He cut her off with a gesture. ‘Spare me your histrionics, madam. I suggest that you save them for your play-acting. A good night to you both.’ He turned, raising the hood of his cloak once again, and swept out before Irene could say anything.
‘Johnson,’ Silver said smoothly, ‘see Mr Vale out. Ensure that he comes to no harm.’
Johnson sidled past her, as quiet as a shadow. The door opened and shut again in a breath of air.
Now Irene had an amused Silver in front of her, and Kai to worry about. And she didn’t like being alone with the totally untrustworthy Silver. The thought of sharing this whole enterprise with him was less than enthralling. Or, rather, enthralling might be the problem if he decided to use his Fae wiles on her again.
Silver was still considering Vale’s parting shot. ‘Charming as it would be if he met with some accident, I fear he will leave untouched. Would you like him to?’ He looked at her from under his eyelashes. ‘He was most crassly rude to you, my little mouse, and you are under my protection at the moment.’
‘I’m more concerned at Kai’s predicament than any offence Vale may have given or taken,’ Irene said sharply.
Silver sighed. ‘Would that I had longer to enjoy your company, but we must get ready for the voyage. This is the sort of thing that Lord Guantes has his lady for, besides the fact that she can actually keep him to one plan at a time. I cannot understand how she enjoys the details quite so much.’ He yawned lavishly. ‘Johnson will be back in a moment, and he will leave you to the maids while he dresses me. You can carry one of the bags. I trust that you can carry a bag, my mouse?’
‘With the utmost decorum,’ Irene said. Part of her mind was considering the remark about Lady Guantes. The reference to ‘actually keeping him to one plan at a time’ was intriguing. Could it be that Lord Guantes was as distractible as Silver? And could she use that? The rest of her mind was focused on clenching her teeth and keeping her temper. For the moment, she had to play along. ‘But since you’ve got your way and I’m accompanying you to Venice, I do have a question. Why did they take Kai to this Venice, of all places?’
‘Well now.’ Silver considered a moment. ‘There are very few places where they could be sure of restraining him while at the same time keeping him alive. It also required a world that a number of Fae could access with relative ease. And it needed to have the facilities to host the big display that is being laid on for us. Hence the train being provided so that we may get there, my mouse, my Librarian, my lady. Hence this little jaunt.’
Suddenly all that tension and anger were back again full force, twisting in Irene’s belly. It took an effort to keep her voice calm. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
‘Why, Kai’s to be auctioned, my pet. To the highest bidder.’ Silver tossed back the last of the brandy and set the glass down with a clink. ‘And we
must hurry if we are to get there in time.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paddington Station at night was full of sparks and brilliance, and the grumble and screech of arriving and departing trains. The great curve of the steel-and-glass roof overhead was lined with harsh white lamps, which threw people’s shadows in black pools on the floor. From time to time, singed pigeon feathers drifted down. Irene huddled with Silver’s half-dozen other servants, a maid’s long white apron and black dress tight and cumbersome on top of her business suit, and tried not to grunt at the weight of the bags she was dragging behind her. In view of the severe lack of time, Silver had abandoned any attempts to restyle and colour her hair naturally, and had instead disdainfully handed her a blonde wig with the tips of his fingers. Hopefully that would be enough, together with a short veil, to conceal her from Lady Guantes at the railway station. Irene would have to work out a better way to hide herself later.
The wig itched. The bracelets that Silver had given her to wear chafed, and the Library brand across her shoulders smarted. No doubt the dragon pendant would be itching shortly as well, just as soon as it identified the worst possible moment to do so.
She wanted to know exactly what Silver had in his bags. Solid gold bars, by the weight of them. Or possibly heavy steel shackles, for use in chaining up dragons, Librarians and other inconveniences.
No, she wasn’t happy about this at all.
The evening crowd could best be described as a screaming mob. Apparently the incoming Fae train had been arranged with the station staff at short notice - where ‘arranged’ meant ‘informed them it would be arriving, leaving them with the job of preventing a major accident’. Half the usual trains had been thrown off-schedule, and the other half were arriving at different platforms from normal. Passengers were running in all directions, grabbing guards and demanding directions, or simply throwing public hysterics. One young man had given up, piled his bags in the middle of the floor and was reclining on them while eating a ham sandwich.
The crowd parted as Silver strode forward, his coat flaring dramatically and a riding crop held negligently in his left hand. The group of servants and maids, Irene among them, shuffled in his wake.
Fortunately the train was due to arrive at one of the closer platforms, and a space was being kept empty there by the strenuous efforts of several thuggish men. All of them had the identifying hairy palms and heavy eyebrows of a werewolf, something that Irene was growing far too used to. She hoped none of them had smelled her previously. And in the centre of her protected circle stood a woman whom Irene recognized from Li Ming’s picture. It had to be Lady Guantes. Although she was dressed in the style of this alternate, she was unmistakeable. She might not have the heart-stirring allure of a Fae like Silver, but she had a serenity that translated into its own kind of attraction. Her eyes were mild, her hair was pinned neatly under her hat and her dress was stylish. It might even be haute couture, yet it wasn’t overdone. On top of it all, she looked positively … nice. Reasonable. Understanding.
No doubt it was all Fae glamour, Irene thought cynically.
Several others waited around the edge of the protected circle. Possibly other local Fae. But in that case, if they were here to catch this train, how fast must word have spread about it? Just how far in advance had Kai’s kidnapping been planned?
Silver advanced on Lady Guantes, who turned from her contemplation of the railway tracks and offered her hand, smiling. He took it and pressed his lips against it in a way that brought audible gasps from a number of onlookers. The nearby crowd had given up on running frantically in all directions in order to watch the show.
‘Madam.’ Silver’s voice was as rich as double cream with brandy. ‘I hoped I might be here in time to meet you.’
‘Sir.’ She withdrew her hand and adjusted her veil. ‘I think it more likely you allowed time to catch the train.’
‘Such a pity that your husband is not with you,’ Silver said, his voice redolent with meaning. ‘It must be a great inconvenience for you to travel this way, lacking his abilities.’
Lady Guantes simply shrugged. ‘I am confident that he will be meeting me very soon.’
Was Silver being typically melodramatic, Irene suddenly wondered, or was he trying to draw Lady Guantes out, so that Irene could get some idea of her? While he was technically helping her to reach this ‘Venice’, Irene hadn’t expected any real aid from him, short of getting on the train. But she was used to operating alone - and after Vale’s little tantrum, she’d written him off in terms of assistance.
One of the thugs strolled casually towards the circle of servants around Silver’s mound of luggage. His nostrils flared to an unnatural width. ‘Rabbits,’ he mumbled. ‘I smell a whole lot of rabbits.’
Silver raised a brow. ‘Madam. Control your servants.’
Lady Guantes watched as a few other thugs began to drift towards Silver’s people, following the first. ‘Why? Do yours have something to be afraid of?’
Irene’s first thought was that she had been personally scented out, and the werewolf was going to drive through the tangle of servants and bags, straight for her. But he didn’t seem specifically interested in her. He paused by one of the other maids instead, looming over her, and looked down at the maid’s neat cap. ‘I like pretty girls with yellow hair,’ he informed her. ‘They squeak better.’
That raised a jeering laugh from his friends. Who were closer now.
I can’t make a spectacle of myself, and I can’t be heard using the Language. That’ll just draw Lady Guantes’ attention, and then she’ll guess who I am and … Irene’s thoughts ran around the hamster wheel inside her head. But I can’t just stand by and let him assault the poor girl. Well, nothing had actually happened yet.
But why wasn’t Silver getting involved? An answer suggested itself. Power politics. It’s his servants versus Lady Guantes’ servants, and the first high-ranking Fae to interfere or call off their minions loses prestige.
She darted a quick glance left and right, assessing the servants as if they were possible threats this time, and feeling foolish for her earlier casual disregard of them. Now she saw the casual shifts in balance, the downing of bags, the shaking of knives or knuckledusters down from sleeves, and the slipping of hands into pockets.
‘C’mere,’ the thug grunted, grabbing for the maid’s arm.
She squeaked and flinched back. Not one of the combat-trained ones, then. But the man standing next to her moved forward, and his punch took the thug straight in the nose. He staggered back, blood spraying out, and his teeth lengthened as he growled.
Someone in the crowd was yelling for the police, but both groups of servants ignored it. Irene joined the half-dozen of Silver’s servants who were moving forward towards the werewolves, trying to blend in. She slipped an umbrella free from where it had been strapped to a nearby suitcase and hefted it thoughtfully. Good size, good weight, unusually heavy handle, solid construction, and it put three feet of steel between her and the nearest werewolf.
She wasn’t the only woman in the group. The other woman was pulling up her skirts to the knee, baring three-inch-heel stiletto boots with vicious spurs at the ankles. Two of the men were slipping on knuckledusters, a third had a razor and the remaining two were both as muscular as the werewolves themselves.
It dissolved into an unruly melee within seconds, as the thugs came charging at them, and Irene realized that Silver’s people not only had combat skills, but had training in working as a group. The two burly men grabbed one werewolf between them, and one of the men with knuckledusters worked him over with several vicious blows to head and stomach, leaving him groaning on the ground.
Of course that left Irene and the others facing five werewolves between them. The maid spun forward in a whirl of legs, kicking high at one werewolf’s face. He raised his arm to take the blow and her spur left a trail of blood down his arm. He recoiled with a strangled growl, quite out of proportion to the size of the injury. Her spurs mus
t have been silvered.
One of the thugs came at Irene, hands gnarled in partial transformation, fur bursting from his cuffs. She went into a fencing lunge, probing at his face with the point of the umbrella, and he recoiled, sidling to the left. The others were keeping their own opponents busy, and while they were dealing the odd blow, her side’s principle of ‘gang up on them one at a time and take them out of the fight’ was working better than the thugs’ own penchant for one-on-one brawls.
Not really the pack behaviour one would expect from werewolves, Irene reflected as she snaked the umbrella into another lunge at her opponent, and danced back from his return blow. Perhaps it’s because there’s nobody actually leading them in this fight.
She was humming with adrenaline, and it was a relief to have an enemy to fight, even if it didn’t do anything immediate to help Kai. She jabbed the umbrella point into the werewolf’s stomach, then flipped the umbrella in the air as he bent over, catching it by the point end, and whacked the weighted handle hard into his skull. He went down with a thud.
When she looked around, four of the other werewolves were down, but so were one of the heavyweights and one of the knuckleduster-users on her side. The razor-wielder and the maid with spurs were engaging the remaining werewolf, while the other servants stood guard over their downed opponents. The maid was carrying one arm close to her chest, but both her spurs dripped blood as she spun and kicked.
But this time she was too slow. The werewolf grabbed her foot as it came at him, and twisted. She left the ground, spinning through the air in a fluid ripple of skirts, and landed with a tumble. Her spurs screeched as they scraped against the floor tiles. With a grunt, the werewolf lunged for the razor-wielder.
I don’t think so. Irene threw herself forward, the umbrella still ready in her hand, and brought it down in an overhand swing. The handle slammed into the thug’s wrist with an audible crack. For a moment Irene wasn’t sure if she’d shattered bone or umbrella, but the man’s choked scream told its own story. He recoiled, clutching his arm against his belly, his other hand coming up in defence.
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