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A man came running up the stairs, but stopped as he saw her. ‘Good god, Winters!’ he exclaimed. ‘What happened to you?’
Irene blinked. The voice was Vale’s. The face wasn’t. It was different and more heavily lined, and he was in shabbier clothing than usual. But the voice was definitely his. ‘Vale? Is that you?’ She’d always thought people coming out with that sort of line were idiots, but she now realized it was a perfectly sensible response to being addressed by name by a total stranger.
‘Obviously,’ Vale said drily. ‘You must forgive my appearance. There are a number of people looking for me.’ He tilted his head, catching the racket coming from the room Irene had just left, and seeing the smoke oozing under the door. ‘Do I take it that you’ve encountered some inconvenience?’
Irene shrugged. ‘Dealt with already. Werewolves - half a dozen - sent to take me prisoner. Do you think we’d gain anything by questioning them?’
‘No time, and in any case I doubt we’d discover anything that I haven’t already learned.’ His gaze took in Irene again - with the shock of a Victorian anthropologist, just discovering that foreign costumes could reveal a great deal more than just the ankle. ‘We should continue this conversation elsewhere. I’ll drop a word to the police on the way out.’
Irene nodded. ‘Probably a good idea. My discoveries are urgent.’
Vale nodded. ‘I feared they might be. I’ll borrow a coat to hide your - ‘ he didn’t quite say scandalous, but the thought was clearly there, ‘ - outfit, and we’ll be on our way.’
Twenty minutes later they were sitting together in a small cafe. Irene was safely muffled in a spare greatcoat from the British Museum’s lost-and-found cupboard, which mostly hid her anachronistic clothing. It was early evening by now, and she felt that they were losing time. But Vale had insisted on a short cab ride to break their trail, and had refused to discuss anything further until they were at the cafe. He’d taken the opportunity to remove some of his make-up in the cab and looked more like the man she knew. They’d ordered tea, and Irene warmed her hands on her cup.
‘I reached Kai’s uncle,’ Irene said.
Vale leaned forward impatiently. ‘And? What did the gentleman have to say?’
‘He is extremely displeased,’ Irene said. Her fingers drifted to her breastbone, to touch the pendant under her clothing. ‘He was able to tell that Kai is in distress, and that he is in a world much more chaotic than this one. I believe he will be making his own investigations, but he can’t reach such a world - it would be inimical to his nature, and for a dragon king to go there would be treated as an act of war.’
‘Winters, kindly give me a little more detail,’ Vale said acerbically. ‘I cannot work without more information, and you have given me nothing but the bare bones of the matter.’
Irene ran through a more precise description of the meeting, as Vale listened. His focus was, in a way, as unnerving as the dragon king’s own scrutiny. ‘Can you show me the pictures you saw, of those two people?’ he demanded.
Irene shook her head. ‘I have no way of doing so. And no, I can’t draw, so please don’t ask me to try.’
Vale snorted, and gestured for her to go on. When she finished, he sat back in his seat with a sigh. ‘I fear that agrees with my own findings. Whatever is going on, the people involved are active here and now, in my … world.’
‘There were werewolves waiting for me. That can’t be just a coincidence,’ Irene agreed.
‘More than that.’ He looked strangely uncomfortable, unusual for a man who could normally be at ease in the middle of chaos. ‘I have been personally inconvenienced. The police are actually looking for me. Complaints have been levelled against me, raised with the police and through legal channels. Singh has also had trouble himself - there are accusations of him abusing his position - so it’s a good thing you didn’t try going to see him. It’s probably due to his association with me. Someone is trying to hamper our investigations by disrupting official channels. I came to the British Library in the hope of intercepting you.’
Irene raised a curious eyebrow. Inspector Singh had seemed extremely scrupulous on previous encounters.
‘Certain, ah, internal-affairs charges have been raked up against him, as a result of those accusations, so I cannot count on his assistance in this matter. I have contacted his superior, but she informs me that it would be preferable for me to avoid any overt dealings with him for the moment. It will simply make matters worse. The police will be no use in this matter.’ Vale tapped one thin finger on the table surface, frowned at it, then scientifically scratched at the layers of scrubbed-in dirt that gave it such a unique patina. ‘And the other reason I came to find you was because I found your lodgings under observation, as I’d anticipated.’
Something clenched in Irene’s throat. It had been quite a day, and she wasn’t used to being so personally targeted. ‘Ah. Thank you.’
‘You are quite welcome, Winters. I do not think they actually intended to kill you, but …’ He shrugged. It was not the most comforting of shrugs. ‘I felt it better not to take the risk.’ Irene took a sip of her tea. It was just as bad as she’d expected. ‘The two individuals Kai’s uncle spotted are an obvious avenue of investigation. And if this is all connected - is there any chance that they’re the Guantes?’
Vale was already nodding, with a slight air of impatience. ‘Yes, that is the logical inference, and your description does seem to fit them. So we have the possible presence of Lord Guantes at Strongrock’s kidnapping, together with an unknown woman. I’ve also confirmed that Lady Guantes was absent from the Embassy last night, and that she’s been known to wear a scarf pin of the sort your assailant mentioned. A pity we weren’t able to question those werewolves who attacked you just now, but it would have been too risky to remain there.’ He leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closing, fingers steepled. It was a customary pose for him, signalling intense thought.
She took another sip of the tea. Yes, absolutely disgusting. The ether-lights flickered in their niches, and from outside came the screech and rattle of cab wheels. Conversations at the other tables were low and discreet, and the general atmosphere was one of quietly illegal under-the-table paranoia. Vale was probably a regular here, she decided.
Vale threw off his lethargy and leaned forward again. ‘Let me summarize my own investigations, Winters. To give you a full explanation - since I can hardly do less than you - your description of those two characters is almost identical to that of two recent arrivals at the Liechtenstein Embassy. Two Fae.’ He put his usual dry distaste into the word. ‘Though naturally they were properly clad for this time and place.’
Something about the cant of Vale’s head made Irene remember she was in rather inappropriate clothing under her coat. Surely someone like him would be above judging by appearances, if anyone was. If he could ignore the fact that she was from another world, it was surprising that he couldn’t ignore the length of her skirt. ‘And what did you find out about them?’ she prompted hastily.
‘The gentleman is known as Lord Guantes. The lady is his wife, or so she says. They claim that he is a marquis, but evidence is lacking. They - or at least he - are recently arrived from Liechtenstein via zeppelin from Barcelona.’
‘Are they Spanish?’ Irene asked. It was the language that the Guantes alias came from, after all.
‘No,’ Vale said, ‘but he, at least, enjoys playing the part of a grandee. If I may continue?’
Irene shut her mouth and nodded.
‘Lord Guantes has been present in London for perhaps two weeks,’ Vale went on. ‘I have … a contact who keeps abreast of such things. Lady Guantes may have arrived at the same time, but she lacks the customary flamboyance of her kind. It is clear to everyone that Guantes and Silver are conducting some manner of power struggle, which corroborates your own investigation. They hold their parties separately, and snub each other in public. Heaven only knows what they may do in private.’
