The Masked City (The Invisible Library 2)

The men reacted as she had hoped. All the guns swivelled away from her to point at the bag at her feet, and a succession of bullets thudded into it. There was a muffled explosion from inside, and smoke came pouring out.

Perfect. Irene was already moving, dodging behind the nearest display case. ‘Smoke, increase to fill the room, and stink!’ she shouted in the Language.

The smoke obeyed even faster than she had expected. The small column of fumes bloomed into a thick white cloud, swelling out in all directions till it touched the walls and ceiling, and carrying an odour of burning plastic that brought tears to Irene’s eyes. And she wasn’t even a werewolf. The sudden chorus of swearing made her smile viciously. A couple of the men were shouting for her to come back - how stupid did they think she was? But the rest, with their superior sense of smell, were really suffering from the odour, if their swearing was any indication.

Irene sidled quickly through the gloom towards the exit, so familiar with the layout that she could have done this blindfold - which was pretty much what she was doing now.

Unfortunately, the smoke that hid her from the thugs also hid them from her. Five steps from the door she collided with one, surprising both her and the werewolf. He recovered slightly faster than she did, and she felt his hand fumbling at her shoulder.

She didn’t have time for this. Irene stepped in closer and brought her right hand forward in a straight-palm strike to where his throat should be. She felt something crunch under her hand as he groaned in pain, and brought her knee up hard into his groin. His grip loosened and she wrenched herself free, dashing the remaining few steps towards the door.

Behind her, the mauled werewolf found the voice to yell, ‘The bitch is over here!’

Fortunately the thugs hadn’t locked the door. She dragged it open and stumbled into the clear air of the corridor beyond, as unseen feet thundered towards her. Voice raw from the smoke, she snapped, ‘Door close and lock!’

All the open doors within earshot slammed shut with echoing booms. Locks clicked shut, spinning their tumblers into place. And from beyond the heavy wooden door behind her she could hear yells and howls, and the crashes of large men throwing themselves against it. The doors in the British Library were solid, but she didn’t plan to wait and see how well they held up against a group of enraged werewolves. Questioning them might have been useful, but comparing notes with Vale came first. Brushing herself off, Irene started down the corridor towards the exit.

A man came running up the stairs, but stopped as he saw her. ‘Good god, Winters!’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened to you?’

Irene blinked. The voice was Vale’s. The face wasn’t. It was different and more heavily lined, and he was in shabbier clothing than usual. But the voice was definitely his. ‘Vale? Is that you?’ She’d always thought people coming out with that sort of line were idiots, but she now realized it was a perfectly sensible response to being addressed by name by a total stranger.

‘Obviously,’ Vale said drily. ‘You must forgive my appearance. There are a number of people looking for me.’ He tilted his head, catching the racket coming from the room Irene had just left, and seeing the smoke oozing under the door. ‘Do I take it that you’ve encountered some inconvenience?’

Irene shrugged. ‘Dealt with already. Werewolves - half a dozen - sent to take me prisoner. Do you think we’d gain anything by questioning them?’

‘No time, and in any case I doubt we’d discover anything that I haven’t already learned.’ His gaze took in Irene again - with the shock of a Victorian anthropologist, just discovering that foreign costumes could reveal a great deal more than just the ankle. ‘We should continue this conversation elsewhere. I’ll drop a word to the police on the way out.’

Irene nodded. ‘Probably a good idea. My discoveries are urgent.’

Vale nodded. ‘I feared they might be. I’ll borrow a coat to hide your - ‘ he didn’t quite say scandalous, but the thought was clearly there, ‘ - outfit, and we’ll be on our way.’

Twenty minutes later they were sitting together in a small cafe. Irene was safely muffled in a spare greatcoat from the British Museum’s lost-and-found cupboard, which mostly hid her anachronistic clothing. It was early evening by now, and she felt that they were losing time. But Vale had insisted on a short cab ride to break their trail, and had refused to discuss anything further until they were at the cafe. He’d taken the opportunity to remove some of his make-up in the cab and looked more like the man she knew. They’d ordered tea, and Irene warmed her hands on her cup.

‘I reached Kai’s uncle,’ Irene said.

Vale leaned forward impatiently. ‘And? What did the gentleman have to say?’

‘He is extremely displeased,’ Irene said. Her fingers drifted to her breastbone, to touch the pendant under her clothing. ‘He was able to tell that Kai is in distress, and that he is in a world much more chaotic than this one. I believe he will be making his own investigations, but he can’t reach such a world - it would be inimical to his nature, and for a dragon king to go there would be treated as an act of war.’

‘Winters, kindly give me a little more detail,’ Vale said acerbically. ‘I cannot work without more information, and you have given me nothing but the bare bones of the matter.’

Irene ran through a more precise description of the meeting, as Vale listened. His focus was, in a way, as unnerving as the dragon king’s own scrutiny. ‘Can you show me the pictures you saw, of those two people?’ he demanded.

Irene shook her head. ‘I have no way of doing so. And no, I can’t draw, so please don’t ask me to try.’

Vale snorted, and gestured for her to go on. When she finished, he sat back in his seat with a sigh. ‘I fear that agrees with my own findings. Whatever is going on, the people involved are active here and now, in my … world.’

‘There were werewolves waiting for me. That can’t be just a coincidence,’ Irene agreed.

‘More than that.’ He looked strangely uncomfortable, unusual for a man who could normally be at ease in the middle of chaos. ‘I have been personally inconvenienced. The police are actually looking for me. Complaints have been levelled against me, raised with the police and through legal channels. Singh has also had trouble himself - there are accusations of him abusing his position - so it’s a good thing you didn’t try going to see him. It’s probably due to his association with me. Someone is trying to hamper our investigations by disrupting official channels. I came to the British Library in the hope of intercepting you.’

Irene raised a curious eyebrow. Inspector Singh had seemed extremely scrupulous on previous encounters.

‘Certain, ah, internal-affairs charges have been raked up against him, as a result of those accusations, so I cannot count on his assistance in this matter. I have contacted his superior, but she informs me that it would be preferable for me to avoid any overt dealings with him for the moment. It will simply make matters worse. The police will be no use in this matter.’ Vale tapped one thin finger on the table surface, frowned at it, then scientifically scratched at the layers of scrubbed-in dirt that gave it such a unique patina. ‘And the other reason I came to find you was because I found your lodgings under observation, as I’d anticipated.’

Something clenched in Irene’s throat. It had been quite a day, and she wasn’t used to being so personally targeted. ‘Ah. Thank you.’

‘You are quite welcome, Winters. I do not think they actually intended to kill you, but …’ He shrugged. It was not the most comforting of shrugs. ‘I felt it better not to take the risk.’ oors in the British Library were solid, but she didn’t plan to wait and see how well they held up against a group of enraged werewolves. Questioning them might have been useful, but comparing notes with Vale came first. Brushing herself off, Irene started down the corridor towards the exit.