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‘No need,’ Sterrington said. ‘I can confirm her identity, even with a new mask. Bring her this way.’
Irene hung like a doll between the two men as they draped her arms over their shoulders, supporting her between them. She was unable to raise her head as they trailed Sterrington back along the corridor, and Irene’s feet scraped along the floor.
Sterrington was heading towards the entrances to the boxes, rather than backstage. So I’m being handed over to someone. Irene’s stomach sank. She tried to remember how long recovery from Taser-shock took, and wished it was faster.
She could hear the music again. A tenor and a soprano were singing a duet, the tenor swoopingly romantic, the soprano allowing herself to be convinced. It was almost incendiary in its intensity. Irene vaguely remembered that La Fenice had been burned down once or twice in some alternates, and wondered if this one had also gone up in smoke and been rebuilt.
It would make such a good story, after all …
Sterrington paused outside the door to a box. She reached across to touch Irene’s chin, tilting her face so that Irene could see her clearly. ‘You do understand that this is all professional?’ she said politely. ‘Nothing personal, Clarice.’
Really, on the whole, it was one of the nicer things that had been said to Irene when she was drugged, Tasered or otherwise unable to reply. But her inability to reply prevented an angry response, rather than the polite Of course, I quite understand, which Sterrington seemed to expect.
Sterrington nodded. ‘Later, then.’ She knocked on the door, a light rap of her knuckles, then turned the handle and held it open for the men to carry Irene in.
The box was dark, of course. All the light in the theatre was on the stage, and the boxes on either side were unlit, each one a secretive little world of its own - thick with curtains and dense with luxury. For a moment the sheer spectacle of the view took Irene’s breath away. The opera house was magnificent. Even in the darkness she could admire the network of white boxes along the theatre walls, the pale frescoed ceiling so very high above, the blaze of the high chandelier and the way the seats below were filled - no, packed full - with all the citizens of Venice.
There were two wide wing-backed chairs in the box, turned to face the stage. She couldn’t see who, if anyone, was sitting in either.
Then the chair nearer the stage turned, and Irene’s heart hit rock bottom as she saw who was sitting there. She wasn’t stupid, she had been suspecting it, but she would really have preferred for it to be anyone else. It was the Fae whose photo she had seen on Li Ming’s computer, the man she’d seen meeting Lady Guantes at the Train and with her at the tavern. Lord Guantes. And she was shut in an opera box with him.
‘Miss Winters, I believe.’ His voice was soft and deep, with a hint of command to it. He spoke in English. ‘Please come and sit down.’
The two men carried Irene across to the other chair and deposited her in it, before bowing to Lord Guantes and leaving. The door clicked shut behind them as a cannon sounded in the orchestra pit and the noise shuddered through the theatre. There were screams from the audience. Irene tried to work her mouth again, and this time she had a little more control as she considered her options. Collapse the whole box and try to escape in the confusion was tempting, but had some obvious flaws in the execution.
Lord Guantes gave her five minutes of peace, watching the action on the stage and listening to the singing. Then he turned to her. His dark-grey silks and velvets faded into the shadows of his chair, and his gloves concealed his hands, leaving the impression, for a moment, of a floating face. A floating skull. ‘Please do relax. We have a number of matters to discuss. You are by no means doomed. I don’t want you to panic, Miss Winters. Or would you prefer me to call you Irene?’
Should I fake being incapable of speech or movement? Not much point; he’d just wait for me to recover. ‘I would prefer Miss Winters, at our current stage of familiarity,’ Irene mumbled, her tongue thick in her mouth. Lord Guantes nodded. ‘I am wary of your capabilities, Miss Winters. I hope that you will excuse the conduct of my servants, but frankly, after you managed to reach this world and avoid my men for hours, I would rather not take any risks.’
Irene jerked a nod, and felt a momentary pang of sympathy for Sterrington on being described as just ‘a servant’ and being blamed for not taking her prisoner sooner. She could feel Lady Guantes’ gun pressing reassuringly against her leg through her skirts, though she knew that she didn’t have the motor control to use it yet. Careless of Sterrington - I’d have searched me, if I’d been the one taking prisoners.
‘My wife sends her compliments, by the way,’ Lord Guantes said. He was looking at Irene instead of the action on the stage. ‘She was impressed by your determination. She had been assuming you were the junior partner in your relationship with the dragon.’
Which means he probably knows I’ve got her gun. ‘And I was impressed by her ability to track me,’ Irene said politely. Her speech was less slurred now, which was a relief: she could manage the Language, if she had to. ‘Is there any particular reason why she isn’t with us tonight?’
‘She is keeping Lord Silver under house arrest,’ Lord Guantes said. ‘And waiting to see if you’d come looking for him. Now please, Miss Winters, do describe your relationship with Silver.’ There was that undertone of command to his voice again, resonating unnaturally in her body - like a physical shove, prompting her to speak.
‘I intended to blackmail him,’ Irene said boldly. It was a bluff and she knew it, and he knew it, but the surge of his personality demanded some sort of answer. If Silver’s powers lay in seduction and glamour, then Lord Guantes’ clearly lay in control and forced obedience.
‘Blackmail? Lord Silver?’ Lord Guantes blinked. ‘You astonish me.’
The singing onstage cut off as someone made a dramatic entrance, but all Irene’s attention was on the Fae in front of her. ‘It astonishes you that I could be an expert blackmailer?’
‘Not at all. It astonishes me that Lord Silver could have done anything for which he might be blackmailed. I don’t suppose you’d care to share it with me?’
‘Absolutely not. It’s far too useful.’
‘Hmm.’ Lord Guantes turned his attention away from Irene, looking back at the stage. ‘I would say “a likely story”, but clearly you are going to stick to it. Very well. Would you like to ask me any questions?’
‘Well, yes,’ Irene admitted. ‘But I’m surprised that you’d be willing to answer them.’ If all he wanted was to dispose of her, then why sit and chat, and why allow her to regain her voice? It was hardly a sensible way to treat a dangerous enemy.
He smiled. ‘Miss Winters, I could say that I am in such a position of overwhelming superiority that giving you answers is nothing to me. But I feel like starting our association with honesty.’ He glanced at her for a moment, and Irene felt her inferiority washing over her like a wave, taking in her shabby dress, her borrowed tokens, her weakness. She knew it was his power bearing down on her, and that helped her to push it away, but even so it left her feeling small and grubby. ‘I intend to recruit you - a tame Librarian would be quite a coup - and you will be far more useful as an informed operative.’
She was painfully conscious of the minutes until midnight ticking away, but she’d take any opportunity to gather information. ‘As I understood it from Lady Guantes, you intend to start a war.’
Lord Guantes waved a hand casually. ‘Either we start a war, in which case we benefit. Or the dragon’s family sacrifices him, and then I am owed a favour by whoever purchases him, in which case we benefit again. I have nothing to lose.’
‘I’m surprised you’re so certain of victory,’ Irene said.
