The Invisible Library (11 page)

The Earl of Leeds tilted his hand. ‘Call me Vale, please. After all, this is a purely private meeting, in a very unofficial capacity.’

Kai raised an eyebrow, and sliced into his steak. ‘Oh?’

‘Indeed,’ Vale said. He smiled a little.

And it was at that moment that Irene remembered where she’d seen his face before. She’d picked up some newspapers earlier, to get a quick impression of the current political and
temporal dynamics. Vale had been on the third page of one; shot half in profile, with him half turned away, clearly unwilling to have the photograph taken. The caption had been NOTED DETECTIVE
CONSULTS WITH BRITISH MUSEUM.

Irene continued to eat, thinking furiously. If their companion was indeed a noted detective, investigating the Liechtenstein Embassy and working with the British Museum – they were either
unexpectedly lucky, or in very serious trouble.

‘So,’ Kai said. ‘Leaving aside that I saw no sign of your following me . . .’

‘That,’ Vale said smoothly, ‘is what you may expect to see when I am following you.’

Kai choked slightly on his wine. ‘Pardon me. But then, sir, why were you following me? What was so interesting about my activities?’

Vale’s smile narrowed even further. ‘Why, Mr Strongrock, the fact that they mirrored my own. I suspect that we are investigating the same matter. To be frank, sir, if we are both
chasing the same hare, I would rather that you did not start it and cause us both to lose it.’

Kai darted Irene a glance. Clear as daylight, she read a desperate plea for help in his eyes. ‘Mm,’ he said meditatively.

Irene gasped. It was probably a little theatrical, but, she hoped, not too much so. ‘Mr Strongrock! Our investigation is strictly private! Even if His Lord— that is, even if Mr Vale
is a famous private detective, we could be looking into entirely different matters!’

She hoped that conveyed the message of
we need more information
thoroughly enough.

Kai patted her on the hand soothingly. ‘My associate has a point, Mr Vale,’ he said. ‘We are operating under conditions of strict confidentiality.’

‘As am I, sir,’ Vale said with equanimity, not seeming at all put off. ‘Whatever minor assumptions I might make about you are simply the result of anything you may have
revealed to me yourselves, rather than from any investigations on my part.’

Kai raised his eyebrows. ‘But we have revealed nothing to you,’ he said, a moment before Irene could kick his ankle.

‘Forgive me when I say that it is obvious that you are strangers to London,’ Vale said. He turned his glass in his hand, regarding it with a dry smugness. ‘I am not speaking
merely of Mr Strongrock’s need to check the street signs when leaving the Liechtenstein Embassy. Neither of you have the accent of native Londoners, and to be truthful, I cannot place either
of you within the British Isles.’ He frowned a little. ‘Which is unusual. Miss Winters might perhaps have a trace of Germanic brutality to her verbs – possibly the result of a
governess or boarding school at an impressionable age? Mr Strongrock, on the other hand, has the accent and the bearing characteristic of certain noble families of Shanghai. While neither of these
in themselves is that unusual in London, both of you are dressed in a manner that suggests a hasty choice of clothing from a second-rate supplier. Miss Winters’s gloves, for
instance.’

Irene glanced down at her gloves, which lay next to her table setting, unable to resist the impulse. She knew that they clashed with her dress, but there hadn’t been much of a choice in
the shop.

‘Precisely,’ Vale said. ‘A woman as carefully turned out as Miss Winters would not commit such an elementary error in dress. Similarly, Mr Strongrock’s shoes –
’ Kai shuffled his feet further under his chair – ‘were clearly worn before him by a man with the habit of kicking the right side of his forefoot against his chair, but Mr
Strongrock himself does not do so. And if the two of you had been in London for a while now, and making enquiries about Lord Wyndham and the Liechtenstein Embassy, then I assure you that I would
have known about it.’

Kai opened his mouth, and Irene realized that he was about to say something like
how did you know I asked about Lord Wyndham?
Apparently he had never been taught the first defence in the
science of provocative questioning: Keep Your Mouth Shut. This time she did manage to kick him under the table. He shut his mouth again.

‘Mm,’ Vale said, apparently satisfied. ‘A sharing of information could be quite useful. But on the other hand, as Miss Winters has said, we could be looking into entirely
different matters. I believe we have come to the point where we decide whether or not to trust one another.’

‘So it seems,’ Kai said, making a recovery. ‘Some more wine?’

‘Thank you,’ Vale said, extending his glass to be filled.

There was silence for a few minutes. Irene turned over various strategies in her mind. Unfortunately, most of them involved Vale briefly leaving the table so that she could talk urgently with
Kai, and this seemed unlikely to happen. She was simultaneously impressed by the man’s skills of observation, and significantly worried by them. This sort of intellect was splendid in
fictional characters, but in practice it risked making their task a great deal more awkward.

Fortunately, the situation was interrupted by screams and loud grinding noises from the street. Diners dropped their knives and forks to turn towards the doorway. A couple of men leaped to their
feet, wineglasses still in their hands.

Kai managed an infinitesimal blink at Irene, then turned to Vale. ‘Do you think we should investigate, sir?’

‘Of course!’ Vale exclaimed, rising. He picked up his swordstick, balancing it casually in his left hand. ‘Madam, kindly stay here. Mr Strongrock, if you would accompany me
– ’ He strode towards the door.

‘What do I do?’ Kai hissed at Irene.

‘Stay with him,’ Irene whispered. ‘I’ll hold back. Find out what’s going on. Be careful, he’s a detective.’

‘I’d worked that bit out,’ Kai muttered. But he displayed a wild enthusiasm as he raced after Vale, an eagerness for action.

Irene glanced around as the two men raced off. Nobody creeping out of the shadows to try to abduct her while their attention was elsewhere. Good. She picked up her bag and walked after them.

The restaurant’s reception area had large glass windows which provided a convenient view of the street outside. The place was in total chaos. A giant mechanical centipede – well,
some sort of segmented insect with multiple legs, Irene was hardly going to stand there and count them all – was wreaking havoc in the narrow alleyway outside. She spotted a badly damaged
cart and several broken windows. There was barely room for it to navigate, let alone turn around, and it was dancing a few steps forward and then a few steps back as its front feelers seemed to
quest for something or someone. Oil oozed from its crevices, while steam puffed from its head-segment and mingled with the ambient fog. She noticed that a couple of people had already been hurt and
bystanders were screaming and running in all directions. Then of course pausing, at a theoretically safe distance, to watch what it did next.

Kai and Vale were standing in the doorway, assessing it. At least, Vale looked as if he was assessing it. Kai just looked stunned.

‘How the hell did that thing get through the streets?’ Kai asked.

Vale sniffed. ‘It probably came up from the sewers. The recent renovation programme has been a godsend to criminals across London.’

‘
Vale!
’ The creature’s echoing voice boomed down the street. ‘
Prepare to face your doom!
’

‘Ah,’ Vale said cheerfully, ‘it’s for me.’

Kai looked hurt. ‘It might have got us confused,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it’s for me.’

‘No, no, I assure you it’s for me,’ Vale said. ‘But would you mind watching the rear end while I distract the front? Sometimes they have high-emission scintillotherms
located there.’

‘Of course,’ Kai said. ‘Not a problem.’

Irene leaned against the wall and tried not to sigh. Perhaps Vale was an ethical person, if his enemy was happy to risk innocent lives to hunt him down. Assuming that he hadn’t staged the
entire thing of course – but it was also just one more distraction. How on earth was she supposed to manage an investigation with these constant interruptions?

The two men ran out into the street: Vale to the right, towards the creature’s head, and Kai to the left, towards its rear. Irene debated which one to follow. Kai was under her protection,
but following Vale could be far more informative.

The question was settled for her as the centipede threw itself into rapid reverse, metal claws scraping on the pavement as it danced backwards. Its head came into view: a monstrous steel model
of mandibles and huge faceted glass eyes, large enough for a man to sit in, with steam jetting out in thick squealing bursts on either side. Vale stood before it, his sword unsheathed from its cane
and blazing with electricity. Each time that the centipede lowered its head to try to bite at him, he parried, and sparks flew to sizzle against pavement and walls.

With a dazzling burst of speed, he darted forward between the gnashing mandibles, and leapt up onto the main part of the centipede’s head, balancing there for a moment. He raised his
blade, and brought it down into one of the creature’s eyes.

Electricity blazed up in a great sparking column. The centipede gave a hissing scream, and thrashed all along its length, one segment jolting into the next, with steam gushing out from all the
apertures. A hatch dropped open beneath the creature, and a man in a greasy black boiler suit came rolling out of it, coughing and spitting.

Vale leapt down from the head, landing in a billow of coat-tails. He pointed his sword at the man. ‘Talk, sir, or—’

At that point Irene’s attention was distracted by someone attempting to tug her bag out from under her arm. She turned to see one of the waiters – no, it
wasn’t
one of
the waiters. It was a man in evening dress, with a napkin hastily thrown over one arm, posing as a waiter. His watch was far too expensive to be a waiter’s, his grey moustache too well
groomed. And his right hand, she noted in the clarity of the moment, had thin electrical burnlines running from knuckles to wrist.

He tugged again. Irene released the bag, keeping hold of the strap, letting him tug at it. She dropped into a semi-squat, balancing on her left heel, then brought her right leg out in a straight
wide pivot. It caught him off-balance and he fell to the ground with a curse.

She straightened again smoothly, pulling her bag back against her body, and picked up one of the flimsy restaurant chairs. It was of dubious quality and, as her antagonist tried to get up, it
broke very thoroughly when it slammed into his body.

He staggered back. She picked up another chair.

Outside there were more explosions. Inside, people were gasping and pointing at her and the pseudo-waiter.

Irene tried to decide whether it was more important to maintain her cover as a helplessly feminine secretary, or to beat the bag-snatcher over the head with the chair and take him prisoner.
After all, he wasn’t definitely involved with any larger conspiracies, and might simply be a petty thief . . .

. . . the hell with it. She brought the chair down on his head, and he went backwards like a sack of potatoes.

She dropped the remnants of the chair, and put her free hand to her chest, hyperventilating. ‘I – ’ she gasped. ‘I come here on holiday, and this man, this
thief
tries to snatch my bag, and nobody tries to help me. Not a single person comes to a helpless woman’s defence . . .’

‘My dear Miss Winters, I am so sorry.’ Vale had stepped back into the restaurant, sheathing his sword. ‘I do regret that you should have suffered assault at the hands of some
hooligan—’

He looked at the face of the prostrate man, and blinked. ‘Do I understand that this man assaulted you?’

‘He attempted to snatch my bag,’ Irene said, sniffling a little. ‘I – I simply reacted on instinct – ’

‘You.’ Vale snapped his fingers, and two of the waiters responded. ‘Have this man taken to the nearest prison at once.’

It’s good to be an Earl and a noted detective
, Irene reminded herself, a little wistfully.

Kai walked into the restaurant, brushing ashes and powder off his jacket. ‘Well, that seems to be— Irene! That is, Miss Winters! What happened?’ He glanced warily from Irene to
Vale, and back to Irene again, clearly wondering if the whole thing had been some sort of diversion.

Irene pointed a finger at the man being dragged off by the waiters. ‘That person attempted to grab my bag. I resisted.’

‘I suggest we return to our table at once,’ Vale said, lowering his voice. ‘This merely confirms my suspicions.’

Five minutes later, they were round the table again. The steak had gone cold, but the wine was still drinkable. The general buzz of conversation had resumed its former level. Irene was surprised
at how quickly people seemed to have forgotten the centipede attack. It implied that such things were common, which wasn’t a comforting thought.

‘Forgive me my earlier discretion,’ Vale said. ‘And thank you for your assistance, Mr Strongrock. But this attack on Miss Winters only proves what I suspected.’

‘And what is that?’ Kai demanded, turning towards Vale. Irene had the impression that he was slightly miffed that she hadn’t asked about his valiant conduct vis-à-vis
the centipede’s tail. She made a note to get the full details at some point – when a valuable contact wasn’t engaged in sharing useful information.

‘That your investigations into the Fair Folk have been noted.’ Vale leaned forward. ‘I observed your questions at the Embassy, Mr Strongrock. And now, a man whom I know to be a
Fae agent tries to steal Miss Winters’s handbag. Am I wrong to suspect a link?’

Kai threw Irene a frantic glance. She gave him a slight nod.

‘You are not wrong, sir,’ Kai said firmly. ‘There is a link.’

‘I thought as much!’ Vale glanced between them. ‘In that case, we are investigating the same matter – though possibly from different directions. I too am concerned with
the Fair Folk, Mr Strongrock. With the recent thefts of occult material. And with Belphegor.’