‘Power,’ Bradamant said. ‘And the chance to be part of a good narrative.’
‘Yes, that would work,’ Irene agreed. One way for Fae to gain more power was to obey all the stereotypes of a fictional character. Conforming to patterns in this way strengthened the chaos within them, acting against the universe’s natural inclination towards randomness. Destroying the Library would make a marvellous story, she thought sourly. Her mind flickered back to Bradamant’s earlier words. ‘And yes, I know Vale’s not in good shape. He contracted chaos contamination during our Venice mission. And I really need to get him to a high-order world, when we have time.’
Bradamant looked aside, avoiding Irene’s eyes. ‘There is another option, you know.’
‘What?’ Irene demanded. If there was a way to help Vale, something that she could do without betraying her other obligations . . .
‘Force him through the full process,’ Bradamant said coldly. ‘Increase the level of contamination till he’s full Fae.’
Irene stared at her. ‘Are you insane?’
‘He’d never agree to it,’ Kai said, as sharply as Irene had.
‘Where do you think Fae come from?’ Bradamant retorted. ‘And do you want to keep him alive and sane? At least this way he’ll be stable. It wouldn’t be difficult. Get him to interact with other Fae, or become more of a stereotype. He’s a detective. Make him detect.’ She must have seen the disgust in Irene’s face, for she took a step back. Her expression settled into a bland smile, one familiar to Irene from all the years they’d known and disliked each other. ‘I’m trying to help you. Don’t blame me if there aren’t any good options.’
‘You clearly know more about this sort of thing than I do,’ Irene said, before she could stop herself.
‘I have my own contacts,’ Bradamant said.
‘Oh?’
‘None of your business.’ The statement was delivered flatly, leaving no openings for argument.
Irene took a deep breath and forced herself back from the edge of anger. She was going to be an adult, even if everyone around her felt the need to be children. She’d save her fury for the person who actually deserved it. ‘All right. Thank you for your input, but I don’t think Vale himself would tolerate it.’ She glanced to Kai, who nodded in agreement. ‘And thank you for passing on this information. I’ve put the basic facts in an email to Coppelia—’
‘She won’t be reading it till she gets back,’ Bradamant said. ‘She’s out of the Library at the moment. So’s Kostchei. So are many other elders.’
‘Seriously?’ Irene was genuinely astonished. By the time anyone was promoted to Senior Librarian, they were generally old enough and injured enough to merit honourable retirement. Elder Librarians didn’t leave the Library, didn’t return to alternate worlds where time resumed its normal flow and where they might be in danger. It just wasn’t done. She’d only seen Coppelia do it once before, and that time it had been a matter of stopping a war. If many of the elders were now taking this step . . .
Bradamant nodded, her expression sour. ‘They’re collecting information. From their contacts. It’s all very well to know Alberich’s working with the Fae, but if we can’t find him, it’s useless.’
‘I hope Penemue’s out on assignment, too.’
‘That’s rather harsh,’ Bradamant said. ‘Yes, she is. Just because she plays politics doesn’t mean she doesn’t do her job.’
‘Has she been talking to you?’ Irene accused.
‘I talk to a lot of people.’ The shadows were very deep around Bradamant. ‘Things aren’t necessarily as black and white as you’d like to think. And not everyone gets good assignments.’
‘I wouldn’t call our last few months’ jobs good assignments,’ Irene said bitterly.
‘Technically you’re being punished, remember?’ Bradamant sighed. ‘Some people pull worse jobs for less reason. Just because you haven’t noticed that doesn’t mean there isn’t resentment. And no, this isn’t the time to quarrel about it. But there’s a reason why other Librarians are talking to Penemue.’
‘What’s she saying at the moment?’
Bradamant hesitated, then lowered her voice. ‘The Library is reducing its energy levels to free up more power for transporting things. Penemue is saying that’s an excuse. That the lights are down and the air’s getting stale because the Library’s been weakened. She’s saying it’s not simply a case of burning gates, but that the whole Library is slipping into entropy. And a lot of people have noticed that they can hear a clock ticking.’
She fell silent for a moment, and all three of them listened. Irene could hear her own pulse, her own breathing. She strained to hear anything else behind the noise of her own life, but she couldn’t be certain. Imagination supplied a whispered ticking in the background, counting down seconds, but . . .
‘I know,’ Bradamant said. ‘Once you start listening, you can’t be sure if you’re imagining it or not. And some are starting to murmur that we should consider talking to Alberich. Just possibly. Just maybe. Just as an alternative to be considered.’
‘Just never,’ Irene said harshly. ‘You’re snapping at the wrong person,’ Bradamant said. ‘And a few Librarians suspect history of being inherently revisionist and written by the winners. They ask me if perhaps I provoked him during our last confrontation. They suggest that he might have had a perfectly good reason to be doing whatever he was doing, and that it was our fault if we were almost killed in the process. Who’d have thought that a few days of panic would make so many colleagues and friends . . .’ She gestured, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence, her mouth twisting sourly.
‘Come with us,’ Irene said on sudden impulse. ‘We could use your help.’ It was perfectly true. Bradamant was good at her job, and Irene was past the need for pride and trying to manage things all by herself.
Bradamant avoided Irene’s eyes again, her mouth twisting wryly. ‘I can’t. I’m supposed to stay here and act as a coordinator. Stupid, isn’t it?’
Irene was opening her mouth to express disbelief, when an unpleasant supposition hit her. The last time they’d worked together, Bradamant had been working under secret orders. She’d pulled a nasty trick on Irene, which had put the whole mission in danger. While Irene hadn’t actively blamed Bradamant for that in the debriefing, the truth had been there for their superiors to see. If Bradamant’s supporting role was her punishment, Irene would only be rubbing salt into the wounds by asking for details. So instead she said, ‘I’m sorry to hear it. I think you’d be more use in the field.’