The Masked City (The Invisible Library #2)(46)
Anger and fear fought with Kai’s urge to roll his eyes. ‘You kidnapped me.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I’d just have to make sure you were incapable of incriminating me …’ Again he shook his head. ‘I suppose I can always save it as a last resort, if the auction doesn’t go ahead on schedule.’
‘Auction?’ Kai asked. Part of him still didn’t accept that this could be happening.
‘Yes, at midnight tomorrow.’ Guantes glanced up at the window-openings in the wall high above. Thin, pale light shone through them, and it was impossible to determine the time of day. ‘You’re to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Very elegant, don’t you think?’
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Kai swore again. Anger and pride were the only things he had left to give him strength. ‘And if I don’t, my friends will.’
‘But I’ve already told you,’ Guantes said mildly. ‘Dragons can’t reach you here. Even the Library won’t help you.’
‘You know about the Library?’
‘I know all the players in the game.’ Guantes turned and strolled towards the door. ‘And you, young prince, are in checkmate. Sleep well.’
The door closed behind him with a hollow boom, cutting off Kai’s last shouted defiance and leaving him alone in the cell.
Was it checkmate? Perhaps not. He had to believe there was still a chance, or he would despair. And if Guantes thought that the Library wouldn’t help, then he didn’t know Irene. She would still be in the game.
She had to be.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Just as Irene had expected, the scene upon arrival was mayhem, and very nearly bloody mayhem. She stumbled out of the Train onto a long swaying platform, which extended far into the dark lagoon. The Train rested upon steel tracks, but there was no indication as to what supported those tracks, or if anything did at all.
The crowd from Aunt Isra’s seminar conveniently surrounded Irene, and she took care to stay in the middle of it. Some elements were peeling off in an attempt to find their patrons or protectors, but others were holding their current position until the mob had thinned out. What with the servants, maids, piles of luggage, pet greyhounds and set of white Lipizzaner stallions, there was very little chance to see what was going on or to tell one group of visiting Fae from another. The platform was a riot of different costumes, almost all of them highly dramatic, and in the light of the high street lamps it looked like a fever dream: all colour, brightness and no logic or sanity at all. The Library brand on her back was a permanent low throb of painful warmth, like sunburn, constantly reminding her of its presence. But, from the outside, she was just one more anonymous person in the mob. And, thankfully, nobody looked twice at her.
Theoretically, since this was a high-chaos alternate, she could wander into the crowd and meet exactly the person that she needed to meet in order to rescue Kai and save the day. Stories formed easily here, and she would be just one more protagonist with a story to tell. On the other hand, she might wander into the crowd and be met by someone, such as Lady Guantes, who needed to meet her to continue their own story. And that could be catastrophic for Irene.
‘Hey.’ The woman in cowboy leathers poked Irene’s arm, taking her by surprise, and Irene suppressed a twitch of shock as she turned warily towards her. They’ve caught me! No, wait, she just wants to ask me something. ‘Clarice, was it? My name’s Martha. Look, some of us are going to get a - what did they call them, Athanais? - a water-taxi from here, and find the higher-ups later. I don’t have to be with my lady until midnight, and I know where she’s lodging. Can you catch up with your higher-ups later? Where will they be?’
Irene thought back to the few comments Lord Silver had made. ‘He said the Gritti Palace,’ she said truthfully. But it might be useful to have an excuse for wandering … ‘But he might change his mind. What can you do?’ She shrugged.
Martha nodded. Light-brown curls the same shade as her leathers foamed round her face and fell over her shoulders, and her skin was tanned to precisely a few shades paler. ‘I’ve had a few like that, yes. But something else: you were speaking to Aunt Isra in Arabic earlier, weren’t you? Are you good with languages - such as Italian?’ Her question was more than a little desperate.
For a moment Irene wanted to laugh hysterically. Of course, being Fae didn’t somehow make you omni-lingual, though Aunt Isra had suggested the very powerful ones could get round that. The junior Fae here, low-ranking pawns of her own presumed level, wouldn’t necessarily be linguists. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Well enough to get by, at least …’
‘That’ll do. Hey, Athanais! Grab that boat!’ The woman seized Irene’s arm and began towing her through the mob towards the far side of the platform, where the waters lapped against it. Irene recognized some of the other students from the seminar there. ‘Clarice here can speak Italian!’
‘Oh, thank god for that,’ Athanais said. Irene suppressed a sigh of relief. They weren’t thinking twice about her, weren’t even considering enemies in their midst. A sudden burst of distant fireworks shone on his pale hair. ‘None of us here speak Italian at all. Look, talk to this ferryman: what we want is a good tavern—’
‘Bar,’ the woman in the business suit put in.