The Masked City (The Invisible Library #2)(44)
‘Of course,’ Aunt Isra said. It wasn’t quite a tone of Only an idiot would need to ask such a question, but it was close. ‘That was why you have all found it so easy to reach this seminar. Your paths brought you here.’
Irene nodded. ‘Thank you, Aunt Isra,’ she murmured, lowering her eyes as she thought. So the interior of this Train was by its nature high-chaos, and being in a high-chaos environment took her to where she ‘needed’ to be for the ‘story’ that she was in. She didn’t need to be paranoid about this all being a giant trap - at least, not yet. But she did need to be paranoid about the possibility of her ‘path’ taking her to a meeting with Lord or Lady Guantes. This would lead to the drama so appealing to the story, but she might be forced to play the victim, not the heroine. Another trap to avoid - if she even could.
‘It’s hard for us to make a role for ourselves, when the great ones already hold the most notable paths,’ said an American-accented female voice from somewhere behind her.
‘Even the great can die,’ Aunt Isra said calmly. ‘The path is eternal, but we who walk it are rarely so. Do not be in haste to limit yourself, child. Go forth and act in accordance with your nature. Only the weak will limit themselves to thinking in human terms. Pity them, use them, but do not become them. We are what we make ourselves.’
Greenery outside the window now. The Train seemed to be moving faster and faster all the time, delaying for a shorter period at each stop. Was it just Irene’s perception or were they going more smoothly and more quickly as they went deeper and deeper into chaos?
Aunt Isra kept on talking, and Irene schooled her expression to deep interest, but inside she was turning over the new facts like cards at a Tarot reading. The more obviously a Fae seemed to be playing a role, the more powerful he or she was. Lord Guantes and Silver must be at about the same level, or presumably Lord Guantes would already have destroyed Silver, given their rivalry. Unless the story demanded that they keep at it for a while longer. So did Lord Guantes have his own competing archetype, path, role or whatever you wanted to call it? And was Lady Guantes less powerful? Silver had said that she didn’t have the power to travel across worlds to the extent that Lord Guantes did, and he’d seemed generally dismissive of her. Then again, how far could Silver’s judgement be trusted?
A cold thought formed itself. Lady Guantes might be less powerful as a Fae, perhaps, but cunning enough to throw hindrances at Irene and Vale, and to think of innovative ways to do so. She’d even damaged Vale’s links to the official police. The roadblocks she’d thrown in their pursuit had been practical and sensible, rather than dramatic, exotic or the sort of thing that Silver might have tried. (All right, werewolf ambushes weren’t exactly practical and sensible, but they had almost worked.) Perhaps Lady Guantes’ strength was what Aunt Isra was busy decrying at this very moment. What if she thought like a human rather than a Fae, and so wasn’t limited by archetypal patterns of thought? It was only a hypothesis, but it made an uncomfortable amount of sense.
Another stop. Glowing crystal towers outside the windows. Men and women in billowing silk and velvet veils.
Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to avoid the Guantes pair. But she could take every precaution to stop them recognizing her. And her priority was to find Kai, rescue Kai and escape. She’d leave the vengeance to Kai’s family. She just had to get there, and if there was to be an auction, Kai’s time was running out fast.
She fretted as Aunt Isra finished another peroration on the glories of becoming a more powerful Fae - by sacrificing all friendship with ‘common humans’ - and then Irene raised her hand.
‘Yes, Clarice?’ Aunt Isra said. ‘Your thoughts on the subject?’
Irene blushed, as daintily and modestly as she could. ‘Actually, Aunt Isra, I was wondering if I could ask about the ongoing situation at our destination, and its possible implications. As you said, we are all from limited backgrounds, and I would be very grateful to have a wider point of view before we arrive.’
There was an approving mumble of assent from behind Irene, surprising her by its volume. It sounded as if this was a popular question. It also sounded as if the carriage must have grown a lot larger, to be holding that many people.
Aunt Isra nodded thoughtfully. The carriage lights now lit the compartment harshly, as outside the window it was dark again - a windswept shuddering ocean of black waters. ‘It is true that most of you will have little grasp of the wider implications. Did you once know that a common toast in some armies was “To a sudden plague and a bloody war”?’
A general nodding of heads, Irene included.
‘Lord Guantes, of the seventh-upon-reticulation sphere, has captured a dragon and put him up for auction. Of course, only the greater among us will be bidding, and you children are merely observers. What you may not realize, children, is that there is a good chance this will lead to open conflict between our kind and the dragons. Everything could change. Certainly Lord Guantes will either find himself raised high or brought down low. So you see, child,’ she smiled at the woman in the business suit next to Irene, and there was nothing in her face but simple pleasure, ‘you need not fret so much. New paths are opening to all of us. At midnight tomorrow, at the La Fenice opera house, the dragon will be sold off to the highest bidder. And whichever way the path leads, assuredly it will be a great and magnificent tale for this storyteller to relate.’