A transfer-shift cupboard stood waiting at the junction. It looked like a battered normal cupboard, approximately six feet high and just large enough to hold two people – or, more usually, one person and a stack of books. The front had been engraved with a pattern of ravens and writing desks, and when Irene touched the wood, it hummed with restrained energy.

She stepped inside and closed the cupboard door. ‘Necessity,’ she said in the darkness.

The cupboard jolted sideways, and Irene was flung against the wall before she could brace herself. She’d travelled by transfer shifts a few times before, but this was rougher than usual. The pressure held her pinned against the wall like an aeroplane passenger during a particularly vertical take-off. Unseen winds dragged at her hair, and the air was scented with ozone and dust.

With a thump it stopped.

Irene took a moment to recover her balance, then opened the cupboard door and stepped out.

The room she was standing in was all polished plastic and metal railings. It didn’t look genuinely high-tech, but more like some fictional image of the future based on inadequate information, and it contained too many ramps and balconies. The ceiling was several storeys above her head, roofed with concentric panes of glass that looked out at the same ominous sky as before. Other wooden cabinets resembling the one she’d emerged from stood along the walls, incongruous in the pseudo-futuristic ambience.

A knot of people had gathered in front of the large metal door in the far wall. The door was closed. The people were arguing. Clearly they were Librarians. (Not that anyone else could have been here, but the arguing made it certain.)

Irene approached the group. Their assortment of clothing was as varied as their ages, races and genders. The only real constant was something you’d only see if assessing a wide variety of Librarians for comparison. It was a certain quality of age and experience to the eyes, which went beyond the merely physical, and which was why Irene never looked too closely into her own eyes in a mirror.

‘Is this the emergency meeting?’ she asked the nearest person, a middle-aged woman in a high-waisted gauze dress, with gloves sheathing her arms from finger to armpit. ‘Or are we just waiting for it?’

‘Just waiting,’ the woman said. Her accent was vaguely German. ‘Apparently they’re doing it in half-hourly sessions. Next one is in five minutes.’

‘Do you know what’s going on?’

The woman shook her head. ‘No, nor does anyone out here, though Gwydion over there—’ She gestured at a sallow man with greying hair and black robes. ‘He said there was a problem with the permanent Library gate in one world that he visited.’

Irene felt something congeal in her stomach. ‘Yes,’ she said, keeping her voice casual. ‘I had a problem myself with a Traverse yesterday.’

Other Librarians were turning to look at her. ‘Share,’ said a young-looking woman with short pink hair, in fluorescent leathers that emphasized her figure. ‘You got something on this?’

‘I was trying to pass through a gate back to the Library,’ Irene said. ‘When I opened it, in the usual way, there was some sort of chaos interference and it went up in flames. I couldn’t put it out with the Language, and I had to leave by another route.’

Gwydion had wandered over and was nodding. ‘Much as yours is my own tale, save that I came to find the portal aflame, without knowledge of whence came the fire or how it fixed upon it. Darkly the taint of chaos lay upon it, fierce the abhorrence which it held to the Library’s nature. If aught can be said to make this matter clear, then may our elders do so.’

‘Well, my gate was just fine,’ said the pink-haired woman. ‘Though it was from an order-slanted world. You two – were those worlds chaos ones? You think this could be some new kind of infestation?’

Gwydion was nodding slowly, but Irene had to shake her head. ‘No, the one I came from was more order-aspected. The gate where I’m usually stationed was working properly, though. And that place is indeed more chaos-aspected.’

‘No proof, then,’ the pink-haired woman said.

‘Hardly enough evidence to judge by,’ another man said. He smoothed the sleeves of his long blue silk robes nervously. ‘If our superiors have more—’

‘Excuse me,’ a woman said quietly as he spoke, addressing Irene. ‘You wouldn’t be called Irene, would you? Librarian-in-Residence to B-395? I think I’ve heard about you.’ ‘Nothing too bad, I hope,’ Irene answered. She didn’t recognize the woman, or the man who stood beside her. ‘I don’t think we’ve met?’

‘I’m Penemue,’ the woman introduced herself. She was comfortably middle-aged at first glance, with greying straw-coloured hair worn loose and an embroidered blue shirt and slacks worn even looser. She nodded to the man next to her, who was fiddling with his glasses while looking around the room. ‘This is my friend Kallimachos. I hear that you fought off an attack on your world from Alberich some time back?’

‘That’s drastically overstated,’ Irene said. ‘There was a book that Alberich was after, but it was more a case of me managing to avoid him than actually fighting off an attack. And it was only a few months ago. Might I ask who told you about it?’

Penemue shrugged. ‘Word gets around. I’ve been wanting to get in contact with you for a while now. Could we have coffee after our mysterious meeting?’

This all sounded perfectly innocent and reasonable, except for the metaphorical elephant in the room. Irene knew that she’d only managed to block Alberich from Vale’s world because Kai had helped, using his natural abilities as a dragon. But hardly anyone in the Library knew that Kai was a dragon – or, at least, was supposed to know that he was a dragon. Native caution made Irene pick her words carefully. ‘Of course. Though I can’t stay long, I’m expected back shortly and I wouldn’t want to panic my assistant.’

Penemue nodded. ‘Don’t worry, I just want to set up some channels of communication. I’ve been doing some organizing among the people who work in the field, like us, and I wanted to get you in on it. I’ve heard so much about you, as one of the best operatives in the field.’ She offered Irene her hand to shake. ‘I’m sure that we’ll be able to work together.’

This was sounding suspiciously like a definite commitment, and Irene didn’t like to commit herself until she knew what was going on. ‘We’re both Librarians,’ she said, forcing a smile and shaking Penemue’s hand. She wished she had some idea who the other woman actually was, and what her record was like. It was at moments like this that she regretted not keeping up on Library gossip.

‘They’re letting us in!’ someone called from over by the large door. The conversation broke off as everyone hurried to go through.

The meeting room was what university lecture amphitheatres dream of growing up to become. Deep banks of seats ran from floor to ceiling, enough to handle hundreds of people rather than the several dozen who’d been waiting to enter. The desks were of heavy iron, inlaid with green enamel vines and leaves, and the glass ceiling high above was fitted with spotlights that focused on the table at the centre. People’s feet rang loudly on the metal floor as they made their way down the ramps to jostle for seats in the front row.

At the far end of the front row sat Bradamant. She hadn’t been with the group that had just entered, but had already been in the room. It had been months since she and Irene had last met, but she still wore her hair in a sleek razor-cut, and her elegantly draped gown was a deep jade-green silk. She had a computer laptop open and was tapping quick notes, glancing up from time to time at the new arrivals. Her gaze met Irene’s for a moment and then she carefully looked away, not quite quickly enough for insult, but precisely enough that it was clear she wasn’t interested in interaction. Irene wondered why Bradamant hadn’t left with the others in the previous briefing.

Tags: Genevieve Cogman The Invisible Library Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net