The Burning Page

The woman pursed her wrinkled lips. ‘It’ll take a week to order the hornets in. I can do you the spiders, though – there’s currently a glut on the market.’

Irene had almost forgotten their earlier sale to the pet shop. It was interesting to see the free-market economy in action. ‘That’s annoying,’ she said, affecting her best upper-class accent. ‘I’d been told I could find giant Asian hornets here. If it’s because someone else has placed a prior order on your stock, I’m sure I could pay more . . .’

The stallholder shook her head, cutting Irene off. ‘Whoever told you that, told you wrong. Those hornets need to be ordered from abroad. You just can’t keep them in this climate, and nobody here would keep them in stock on the chance of a sale, least of all me. There’s no call for them. The only one in this market who might be able to get them for you in less than a week is Snaith. You’ll find him two cellars along, in the middle, if that’s what you’re after.’

Irene glanced at Singh and he nodded. This didn’t sound like a vendor who’d sold any within the last month. Snaith – who was also one of the other sellers Vale had named – was a more likely bet. ‘Thank you,’ Irene said and moved on.

It was difficult to make one’s way through the market in a straight line. The stalls were laid out haphazardly, in some defined pattern that had evolved from rationality into chaos. And the buyers clustered around them, examining their wares, rather than clearing the way for others to get through. Singh and Irene had to take a wide detour round one stall, where the vendor was shouting down a group of buyers who wanted armadillos – claiming that the recent leprosy scare was making imports impossible. A pair of men in overcoats, similar to the men at the entrance, were already shoving through the crowd towards the disturbance. The market’s internal security, no doubt.

They had to pause again in the second cellar. A woman with huge glasses like an insect’s faceted eyes was complaining vociferously. Apparently her new cheetah cub, Percival, was too fond of eating her food and chewing her fingers – and she’d specifically asked for one with better training. The cub in question was trailing behind her on a silver chain, chewing it and staring at the tanks of piranhas on the next stall along. Between the woman and her secretary, and the stallholder, and all the interested onlookers, there was no way past. Singh and Irene had to circle round laboriously towards the third cellar.

It was then that Irene recognized a face.

It wasn’t a particularly distinguished face, and it had a brand-new black eye since last she’d seen it. But it was the face of Davey, one of the werewolves who’d kidnapped her earlier. He was speaking to one of the stallholders that Vale had pinpointed. And even more importantly, due to their sidelong approach, he didn’t seem to have noticed her.

She drew Singh to one side, ostensibly to examine some duck-billed platypuses, and murmured an explanation to him as she watched Davey surreptitiously. She was grateful for the animal smells all around them – it should cut down on the chance of him recognizing her.

Davey was complaining about the failure of an order to arrive. The order – a mated pair of spitting cobras – had apparently been delayed in transit from Mandalay, due to prevailing winds. Davey was whining about the inconvenience of it all: the stallholder polished his monocle, unimpressed.

‘It might be a trap,’ Singh muttered. Irene nodded. She’d had the same thought. Zayanna could quite easily trail a known agent in front of Irene and Kai, in order to lure them into a prepared ambush. But then again, they had come to the market because Vale had deduced that Zayanna was shopping here. It was plausible that she’d send an agent rather than come herself. This might be for real.

‘I’ll follow him,’ Irene said, keeping her voice low. ‘You can find out from the stallholder where the order’s supposed to be sent. Then find Vale and Kai, and send them after me. I’ll try to leave a trail to show where I’ve gone.’

Singh’s brows drew together. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. Irene turned to glare at him, but he shook his head very slightly. ‘Miss Winters, I know this is serious, but what if this Davey fellow takes a cab the moment he steps outside? Or what if you’re several streets away before I manage to find Mr Vale and Mr Strongrock? Having you off on your own somewhere won’t help the situation. We’ll do better to find out where he wants the stuff delivered and then go there together.’

Irene gritted her teeth. ‘We may be almost out of time. I don’t think we can afford to wait. If he gets away from us, or if the address is a fake one—’

‘Miss Winters.’ Singh’s hand tightened on her arm, and when she looked at him, she saw genuine concern in his eyes. ‘Think it through, madam. It’s because the matter’s so urgent that we can’t take any risks. You’re the one person here who can reach your Library. We can’t risk losing you.’

‘You know damn well that Vale would be going after him alone,’ Irene muttered.

Singh sighed. ‘Indeed I do, Miss Winters. Indeed I do. And I’d say exactly the same thing to him, madam. You are not making my life any easier by suggesting precisely the same thing that he’d have in mind. A little bit of self-preservation would make life a great deal easier for all your friends. This is no night to be splitting up and losing you in the fog. Nor is it a good thing for them to be getting into trouble because they lose track of you.’