The Lost Plot (The Invisible Library #4)
Genevieve Cogman
To: Kostchei, Senior Librarian
From: Catherine, Senior Librarian
Cc: Gervase, Coppelia, Melusine, Ntikuma
Kostchei,
We have a problem. Yes, I know we always have problems, but this one may derail the peace conference before both sides have even formally agreed to meet.
I’ve just had word (it was a ‘polite notification’, but you could read between the lines) that Minister Zhao’s dead. He was one of the dragon candidates for the upcoming Paris summit. I find it impossible to believe that the timing is an accident. And no, there wasn’t any information about how this happened. ‘Tragic loss to us,’ et cetera. But this is a significant problem for them.
The Queen of the Southern Lands is going to have to send another dragon representative. And she’s having to scramble to fill Minister Zhao’s post in her own court. He was extremely senior. It’ll be at least a few weeks before the final candidate’s settled. But let’s be honest – for high-ranking dragons, that’s unseemly haste.
The Fae aren’t trying anything yet, but they’ll be on the situation like sharks on steak if they smell blood in the water. Any weakness amongst the dragons is an opportunity for them. Our best course of action is probably to stay well out of the whole business. We must concentrate on our side of the deal, and we absolutely have to maintain our neutrality. If either side decides we’re biased or that we’re playing both of them against the middle, then the whole plan goes out of the window. And I don’t need to tell you what might happen to the Librarians in the field. Besides, we’re understaffed. We need a recruitment programme (as I’ve said before, repeatedly) and we need it now. Alberich’s actions during the recent crisis only made things worse; the problem was already in existence.
Hopefully this current mess won’t involve any of our people, as it’s making the political situation potentially explosive. As always, it’s our duty to stop the Fae and dragons from turning a mere disagreement into a world-destroying war. Let’s try and maintain the balance where we can.
Catherine, Librarian
PS – Will someone please show me how to turn off the automatic signatures on this piece of software? You all know who I am.
PPS – Kostchei, you still have that copy of T.H. White’s The Book of Mordred signed out to you. Would you kindly finish reading it and pass it back into general circulation? Some of the rest of us would like a look at it too.
CHAPTER ONE
‘My dear girl,’ the woman sitting next to Irene sniffed, ‘if you haven’t opened your veins before, then do let Mr Harper do it for you. He’s had a lot of experience with nervous young things like you.’
Irene looked down at the scalpel lying in the saucer next to her cup of tea. She was trying to think of a way out of the situation – one that wouldn’t involve her fleeing the house and slamming the door behind her. She’d visited multiple alternate worlds in order to obtain books. She was capable of dealing with different customs and knew all sorts of polite manners. But she didn’t want to serve herself up as the dish of the day. ‘Nobody actually said there were going to be vampires attending,’ she said mildly. ‘I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘Bah!’ another of the elderly women snorted.
Irene was the youngest person in the crowded room, trapped in a nest of chairs and little tables that were encrusted with ornaments. The thick curtains were drawn tightly against the night outside. The tea was cold. The cakes were stale. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, and if it hadn’t been for the fragrance of the log fire, Irene had a suspicion that it would have smelled even worse.
‘I don’t wish to sound harsh, but in my day a young woman knew her duty! If this Miss – Miss . . .’ She trailed off, trying to remember Irene’s name.
‘Miss Winters,’ Mr Harper said. His hair was a grizzled white that retreated in a pronounced widow’s peak, and his eyes were black as coal, sunken deep behind half-closed eyelids. He hunched in his chair, tilting forward like a vulture scouting for prey. And whenever he spoke he bared his fangs. The one highlight of the evening so far was that he wasn’t sitting next to Irene. He was apparently one of the minor vampires attached to the household; the more powerful ones hadn’t risen yet that evening. Small mercies. ‘So nice to have some young blood present at our little soirée.’
Of course, if Irene had known that it was going to be a soirée, let alone have vampires present, she wouldn’t have attended. Which was probably why they hadn’t told her. She’d thought this was going to be just a straight book exchange. The negotiations had all gone through smoothly, and she’d been looking forward to collecting a new book for the Library’s collection – without violence, drama, or running down corridors screaming. Apparently she’d been mistaken.
‘I had absolutely no idea I’d be mixing with such important people when I called,’ she fluttered, putting on her best air of innocence. ‘I only wanted to exchange these books, as we agreed—’
‘The books, yes. As we discussed.’ It was the first time the woman at the far end of the room had spoken. The background whispers fell silent at her voice. She touched the red leather binding of the book in her lap: her pale fingers were thin and wrinkled, given an artificial colour by the firelight. ‘Indeed, I think we should discuss that in private. If you will all excuse us for a moment?’ She didn’t bother pausing for any possible disagreement. ‘Miss Winters. Do take a little stroll with me.’
Irene put down her cup and saucer – and the scalpel – and rose to her feet in a rustle of skirts, picking up her briefcase. She’d dressed politely and soberly in response to her invitation, in a dove-grey jacket and skirt with dark green trimmings. Given the circumstances, she was wishing she’d accessorized it with garlic, silver and running shoes. ‘Delighted,’ she murmured, and followed the other woman out of the room.
Along the corridor and up the stairs, old-style gas lamps burned, rather than the newer ether-lamps. Dark portraits gazed out from gilded ornamental frames. Irene could see the family nose and brows in many of them, mirroring the haughty face of the woman ahead of her.
She really wished she hadn’t come here. She’d just wanted to exchange a book, rather than stealing it, for once. Her virtue was not being rewarded. Quite the opposite.