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‘Probably. Let’s head for Oxford Street. We should be safe enough, once we’re on the main road.’
As they headed in that direction, Irene considered how her life had changed in the last few months. Previously she’d been a roaming Librarian on assignment, hopping from one alternate world to another in order to collect books for the interdimensional Library she served. Now she had a steady base here as Librarian-in-Residence, an apprentice she respected, and even friends. World-travelling wasn’t the best way to keep friendships, especially when she had to spend half her time in disguise. But now she even had people on this world, like Vale, who knew what she was and accepted it.
And, to be honest about it, she was enjoying her work. It was rewarding to fulfil requests from the Library, and to do so promptly and efficiently. Providing unique books for the Library from a particular world helped stabilize the world itself too, balancing it between order and chaos by strengthening its link to the Library. But it was also, for want of a better word, exciting. Last month they’d had to sneak into an automaton-filled labyrinth under Edinburgh to rescue a copy of Elzsbeth Bathory’s lost Regina Rosae narrative. Today they’d slipped in and out of the auction without any trouble. (One little attempted poisoning was a minor detail.) Irene wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but it promised to be interesting.
‘Ah,’ Kai said in a tone of mild satisfaction as they turned the corner past a pub and onto a dark stretch of road. ‘Thought so. We’re being followed.’
Irene turned her head and caught a glimpse of two men behind them, at the turn of the street. ‘Good catch. Is it just those two?’
‘At least one more. I think they’re cutting round to intercept us, if we go through Berwick Street.’ Kai frowned. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Go through Berwick Street, of course,’ Irene said definitely. ‘How else are we going to find out what’s going on?’
Kai glanced sidelong at her, the ether-lamps forcing his profile into a sharp marble carving. His eyes were narrowed and dark in contrast. ‘You’ll let me handle it?’
‘I’ll let you take point,’ Irene said. ‘You distract them, I’ll tidy up.’
He gave a nod, accepting the order. She wasn’t going to demand to fight side by side with him in a street fight. He was a dragon, after all, and even in human form he could jump in the air and kick people in the head. And this London’s ankle-length skirts weren’t designed with jumping and kicking in mind.
Kai being a dragon was complicated. It made him a useful apprentice, with capabilities beyond the human norm, but it also meant that he came with his own share of attitudes and prejudices. He outright loathed the Fae as forces of chaos, which was awkward, given that they had a major presence on this world. And he carried himself with the hauteur of a dragon of royal blood, though he refused to go into details about his parentage. Irene was experienced enough to know that this could - no, probably would - mean trouble. But right here and now, he was excellent backup.
At this time of night Berwick Street’s market and fabric shops were closed and the street was dark apart from the ether-lamps. Now would be a good time for their pursuers to make their move.
As if on cue, the two men began closing in, as a third man stepped round the corner ahead of them. He was scruffily dressed, his ragged-cuffed coat hanging open to reveal a loosely knotted cravat at his throat, over a partially unbuttoned shirt. His cap was pulled down low over his face, shadowing his eyes. ‘Hold it right there,’ he snarled. Kai and Irene stopped.
‘Now, we can do this the easy way,’ the ruffian said, ‘or we can do it the hard way. Me and the boys, we wouldn’t want to hurt you unnecessarily, right?’
‘Oh no!’ Irene gasped, in an effort to seem unthreatening. ‘What is this?’
‘Just a bit of necessary violence, miss,’ the man said. He took a step forward. She could hear the other two coming up behind them, faster now. ‘Now if you stand away from this young gentleman here, me and the boys won’t have no reason to bother you.’
It must be because Kai was carrying the bag. Melancourt couldn’t have had time to warn them that she might have unusual abilities. Well, Irene wasn’t going to turn down an advantage.
‘Then what reason do you have to bother me?’ Kai enquired. He passed the bag to Irene and she took a step back, giving him room to manoeuvre as she retreated towards the side of the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see lights flickering off in upper windows and curtains twitching open. For a moment she thought she saw something move on the top of the opposite roofline, but she couldn’t be certain, and the danger at street level was more immediate. Fortunately she had absolute faith in Kai to handle three street thugs on his own. He probably wouldn’t even break a sweat.
The man in front of them slipped a small heavy cosh from his pocket, weighing it in his hand in an experienced-looking manner. Trained gentlemen of the street, then. A little bit more than recruits from the nearest pub.
Irene turned to look at the two men approaching from behind. Their gait had shifted from a brisk walk to a casual lope. And now that she could see them more clearly in the lamplight, their cheeks were thick with whiskers, heavy eyebrows met above their noses, and their fingernails were definitely not quite right.
Werewolves. She hadn’t been expecting werewolves.
There were no actual laws against being a werewolf in this alternate world. However, unless one happened to have money, they were firmly stuck in the social class devoted to manual labour and casual thuggery. Werewolves tended to hang together in extended pseudo-family groups in big cities, fulfilling entire labour shifts in factories or on the docks, or simply running protection rackets. Irene had never tried to find out what werewolves did out in the countryside. Perhaps they pursued a wholesome outdoor life, only hunting rabbits, but somehow she doubted it.
Fortunately it took a great deal of time and slobbery effort at the full moon to transmit the werewolf taint. So the immediate danger didn’t lie there. But they were tougher than the average human, and hard to slow down in a fight - unless one was willing to do serious damage.
‘We’ll be having that bag you just passed to your young miss there,’ the first man - werewolf, rather - grunted. He licked his lips. His tongue was a bit too long for comfort. ‘And then you’re going to take a little message to whoever it was employed you, if you know what I mean.’
‘I wouldn’t recommend this,’ Kai said, sliding his right foot forward in what Irene vaguely recognized as an obscure martial arts stance. ‘If you gentlemen would simply tell me who hired you—’
The two behind him suddenly dashed forward, grabbing for Kai’s arms. But Kai had clearly anticipated this. He smoothly reached back to catch their wrists, then swung them violently forward with their own momentum. Then, when he yanked them back again, they both almost fell. One swore. The other was silent, but he licked his lips with a nasty glint in his eyes.
‘Oh, we’ve got a smart rusher here,’ the first man said. ‘Circle him, lads. Let’s show him some respect.’ As he spoke he shifted to his right, his boots scuffing on the pavement, but didn’t yet move in towards Kai.
‘I’d still like to know who sent you gentlemen,’ Kai said. His posture remained loose and relaxed. He didn’t take his eyes from the leader of the three, but Irene was sure that he was watching the others as well. It was easy at times to forget that he’d spent a period as a semi-criminal in a high-tech cyberpunk world. He was probably used to this sort of confrontation. It might even feel nostalgic.
‘I’ll just bet you would,’ the one on Kai’s left snarled. He sidled further round, closer to where Irene was standing by the wall, trying to get round behind Kai. ‘Pity that all you’re going to be able to tell them is—’
Kai moved in the instant of his distraction, turning to take a quick double step towards him. His balled fist slid into a straight punch at the man’s belly, and the man grunted and staggered. Kai opened his hand to strike with the flat of his palm at the side of the man’s neck, his face focused, solely interested in the proper form of the blow. The man staggered back with the force of the impact, spittle flying from his open mouth. The werewolf’s breath came hard and he sagged down onto his knees, hairy fists thumping against the pavement, eyes hazy as he struggled to stay conscious.
