The Burning Page

‘You’re snapping at the wrong person,’ Bradamant said. ‘And a few Librarians suspect history of being inherently revisionist and written by the winners. They ask me if perhaps I provoked him during our last confrontation. They suggest that he might have had a perfectly good reason to be doing whatever he was doing, and that it was our fault if we were almost killed in the process. Who’d have thought that a few days of panic would make so many colleagues and friends . . .’ She gestured, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence, her mouth twisting sourly.

‘Come with us,’ Irene said on sudden impulse. ‘We could use your help.’ It was perfectly true. Bradamant was good at her job, and Irene was past the need for pride and trying to manage things all by herself.

Bradamant avoided Irene’s eyes again, her mouth twisting wryly. ‘I can’t. I’m supposed to stay here and act as a coordinator. Stupid, isn’t it?’

Irene was opening her mouth to express disbelief, when an unpleasant supposition hit her. The last time they’d worked together, Bradamant had been working under secret orders. She’d pulled a nasty trick on Irene, which had put the whole mission in danger. While Irene hadn’t actively blamed Bradamant for that in the debriefing, the truth had been there for their superiors to see. If Bradamant’s supporting role was her punishment, Irene would only be rubbing salt into the wounds by asking for details. So instead she said, ‘I’m sorry to hear it. I think you’d be more use in the field.’

‘Yes, so do I.’ Bradamant’s tone was as dry as dust, and even less sympathetic. ‘Very well. I’ll make sure your information is passed on, if Coppelia or anyone else returns before you do. Good luck.’

‘And you.’ Irene turned away before she could say something tactless and ruin the moment. Then she led Kai into the next room, which held the door to Vale’s world.

There was even less light in this room. With only a dim fluorescent bulb glimmering on the ceiling, they had to pick their way carefully across the floor, avoiding barely visible piles of books. They were halfway to the portal when Irene stopped dead.

‘What is it?’ Kai demanded, startled out of his brooding.

‘I’m thinking.’ And for once, she was doing it before walking into a trap. ‘What happened the last time I came through this door? I was jumped by those werewolves. Whoever’s operating in Vale’s world – whether it’s Zayanna or not – knows this is our way in. And if it were me, I’d use that knowledge.’

‘Point taken,’ Kai said. He eyed the door thoughtfully. ‘It’s past midnight now. Anything could be waiting for us. We could travel via another world instead, and I could carry you to Vale’s world?’

Irene considered it. ‘We’d lose time,’ she decided. ‘The longer we delay, the more chance there is that Alberich’s agent will escape – then we lose our lead.’

‘So what do we do?’

Apparently Kai didn’t have any brilliant ideas. This was a pity, because Irene didn’t have any either. ‘We’re careful,’ she said firmly. ‘And we stand on either side of the door when we open it.’ She was trying to think of all the possible things that could be on the other side. Thugs. Explosives. Poisonous gas. Gunfire. ‘And we look before we go in,’ she added. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She and Kai took up positions on either side of the door, and Irene turned the handle carefully before shoving it open, into Vale’s world beyond.

The shotgun blast roared between them, at chest height, and spattered lead pellets into the shelves and books on the far side of the room. Irene wasn’t sure if it would have killed a dragon, but it would certainly have killed a human. The sudden blast of sound left her shaking her head, and a hum still seemed to hang in the air.

She peered round the door frame. Even though the room’s ether-lamps had been turned down for the night, there was enough light to see the main attraction. The shotgun was obvious enough. It was tied to a chair, with a wire leading from it to the handle of the door she’d just opened. It was textbook stuff, drawn from classic murder mysteries. And like all such murder methods, it wasn’t half as entertaining when encountered for real.

‘That could have killed you,’ Kai snarled.

‘It could have killed you, too,’ Irene pointed out. ‘Especially if whoever it was thought you would insist on going first.’ Which he might very well have done. She thought of him taking that shotgun blast to the chest and mentally shuddered.

There was a rising whine in the air. She didn’t know what it was, but there was no time to lose. If they waited any longer, the room might become totally impassable, and then they’d have to take Kai’s alternate route and lose hours in the process. ‘Come on,’ Irene directed, leading the way into the room at a run.

Kai kicked the door to the Library shut behind him as he followed her in. The room looked empty enough, apart from the chair with the gun. There were just a few disused display cases and folding tables stacked against the walls. There were no other immediately obvious threats – no lurking black mambas, no sticks of dynamite with lit fuses, no lurking thugs with knives.

But the buzz was growing louder, and it was coming from above them.

Irene looked up.

Three pale things resembling paper bags sagged from the ceiling, each of them held in place by a couple of leather straps. They were swaying in position, each of them vomiting a growing swirl of buzzing darkness. Having a shotgun go off in their vicinity would have woken even the most sweet-tempered nest of wasps. And Irene was willing to bet these weren’t the more friendly variety, which could be persuaded away with a fly-swatter. Assuming they were wasps at all. What was worse than wasps? She didn’t want to find out. Abandoning subtlety, she ran for the door, shouting, ‘Corridor door, unlock and open!’