The Burning Page

Irene knew she should probably argue, but it was hardly the moment for a performance-development review. She added Convince Kai to provide more input into planning to her growing list of things to do once we’ve averted the apocalypse. ‘All right. Then give me your thoughts on the magic here. You may have noticed things that I haven’t.’

‘We know there’s a government monopoly on its use,’ Kai said. ‘The magically powered flight we came in on was state-owned. The municipal building works that originally drained the land that this city’s built on were magically assisted. And the current walls holding the water back are magically reinforced and state-funded – that was in your notes. It was one of the main stories in the newspapers we read, too, about Slavic countries wanting secession from Russian authority. They were calling for their own magical traditions and industries to be back under their own control. And we haven’t seen any private magical workers in these shops so far.’

Irene nodded. ‘Yes, I agree with all of that, but do you have any conclusions?’

‘We’re going to be in trouble from the government, but not from casual practitioners,’ Kai said. ‘If we want to avoid pursuit, perhaps we should split up . . .’

He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, and Irene could guess why. Getting captured by werewolves earlier wasn’t her finest hour. And it would only have strengthened Kai’s conviction that she’d get into trouble the moment she was out of sight. ‘Perhaps not,’ she said. ‘We don’t know the local geography and I don’t have any convenient way of finding you. Could you find me? The way you could navigate to Vale’s home world?’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work inside a world, no. My father or my uncles could do better, but dragons like myself or my brothers are lesser creatures.’

‘The word you want is younger, not lesser,’ Irene said firmly. ‘Anyhow, point settled: no splitting up. Next step, when and how to get into the Hermitage. In particular, the Winter Palace.’

Kai brushed his fingers against his stomach. The packet of documents was lodged inside his shirt, held in place by a couple of bandages. It was safer than carrying them around in an attaché case. ‘You could do what you did to the sleigh-port wall?’

‘Probably not. Now we’ve done it once, they’ll know to watch out for anyone trying it. Besides, there are going to be external ground-level patrols. That’s not something you can hide. It said in the papers there was going to be a grand state reception tonight. That means increased security.’ However, a big reception would provide useful cover, if only she and Kai could get in there . . .

‘Speaking of ground-level patrols, I think some police just came round the end of the road,’ Kai said urgently.

‘Let me do the talking,’ Irene said, leading the way into the bridal shop.

She had a plan. And it was beginning to come together.

‘Excuse me,’ she said to the assistant who’d come bustling up to greet her. ‘My fiancé and I have been invited unexpectedly to a party tonight, but I haven’t a thing to wear. My friend Ludmilla said her friend Greta always recommended your shop. And I know you don’t do evening wear yourself, but could you direct me to somewhere that does?’

Five minutes later they left, with directions to a tailor a few streets away, who could provide suitable clothing at short notice – and, more importantly, the police had gone past without spotting them.

‘Are we going to talk our way into the reception disguised as guests?’ Kai asked.

‘Not exactly,’ Irene said. ‘I can’t forge an invitation without seeing one, and we won’t get to see any. Plus, if I try to alter their perceptions, the guards on the door will realize what’s going on before we get inside, given how badly that tactic’s working here.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’ve seen your uncle call a storm simply by losing his temper,’ Irene said thoughtfully. ‘Can you do that?’

Kai tilted his head, considering. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well, a small one, at least. Why?’

This was shaping up nicely. It was a drastic plan, yes, and not the sort of operation that could be repeated, but it was manageable. ‘Good,’ Irene replied and smiled. ‘We’re going to come at this from a different direction.’

INTERLUDE – VALE AND SILVER

‘You may tell him that Peregrine Vale is here to see him.’

The Liechtenstein Embassy was always difficult to penetrate. Of course Vale had entered it before on multiple occasions, but he had generally been in disguise. This time he was present as himself and had barely managed to penetrate the front lounge. The place scarcely did its duty as an embassy for its country. Would-be visitors to Liechtenstein could barely make it through the front door.

One might even think, he reflected sourly, that they had something to hide.

‘And I must inform you that Lord Silver is not available.’ The words came out like honed icicles. Johnson was Lord Silver’s manservant, factotum, and general dogsbody. He’d lasted for five years now, longer than any previous holders of that position. But, like all of them, he’d developed a fanatical devotion to Silver within a week of signing on.

Vale inspected the fellow carefully as he spoke. While Johnson’s clothes were cut like an upper-class servant’s, the fabric was unusually high-quality and the shoes shone with a blackness that suggested champagne had been used in the polish. His voice had been neutered of anything resembling an accent – Fae-induced, to make him the ‘perfect servant’, or a deliberate choice on his part? Johnson didn’t have a criminal record, but more suspiciously there wasn’t any record of his past before taking this post. He quite obviously (well, obviously to Vale) wore a concealed pistol beneath his coat.