The Masked City (11 page)

She followed a convenient group of tourists out of the place, her incongruously too-long-for-this-world skirts fluttering round her ankles. She felt exposed, but tried to look as if she was simply unfashionable. And then someone tried to mug her, the moment she stepped into a nearby alley. It put the final seal on her mood, and she glared at the young man in gang colours confronting her. He was pointing a small electrically sparking device - some sort of
Hey, I’m a dangerous Taser
gadget - directly at her.

‘Kindly put that thing away,’ she said in icy German. ‘Or I will make you seriously regret it. I’m in a hurry and don’t have time for this.’

‘Naah, you’ve got lots of time for this,’ the man replied. He looked her up and down. ‘Let’s start with your ID and credits, if you can find them under that dress.’

Irene took a deep breath. She could just blow up his electronic weapon, but she didn’t know its exact name in the Language. There might be other electronic devices within earshot, which would be dangerously affected if she used generic nouns - and it might
possibly
be overreacting. A hand-to-hand fight would also be fast and efficient, but there was the chance she might lose.

As for the third option … using the Language in this way was extremely hazardous and very temporary, but five minutes might be long enough.
‘Young man,’
she said in the Language, regretting that she didn’t have anything more specific to call him,
‘you now perceive that I am someone whom you recognize as incredibly dangerous.’

Irene felt the universe strain around her as it tried to come to terms, within the microcosm of the boy’s head, with the way that she’d changed reality. The Library brand across her back smarted like a painful sunburn, and a headache tightened her temples. Blood ran from her right nostril, and she raised a hand to blot it away.

For a single self-indulgent moment, it was so very satisfying to watch the man’s eyes widen in terror. She also saw a dark stain appear on the artfully tight crotch of his jeans. ‘Drop your weapon, your ID and your credits,’ Irene ordered, returning to German again. ‘Then run.’

He dropped the weapon as if it had burned his fingers, then pulled out a wallet from his mesh jacket with a trembling hand and bent to lay it on the ground. Then he backed away several paces, apparently unwilling to take his eyes off her, before turning to sprint down the alley with the speed of pure terror.

It was easy enough to manipulate physical things using the Language. But sentient minds fought back, and always eventually snapped back to their previous awareness, with the knowledge that they had been changed. As soon as the boy realized that he’d been duped, he’d be after her for vengeance. Irene kicked the weapon to one side. Then she picked up the wallet, flicking it open as she stepped out of the alley again. She ignored the glances of passers-by and wished again for native clothing. This wasn’t part of the plan, but she could use it.

After that, it was fairly standard work, made easier by the fact that she didn’t need to maintain a long-term identity here. It had been years since she needed to operate in a high-tech world, but she remembered the basic principles. Use the Language to adjust computer surveillance and banking as necessary - and keep moving, before the computer backups reset themselves and noticed that something was wrong.

A few words in the Language with a hole-in-the-wall credit mechanism drained the would-be mugger’s account, and also created one for her. She left in a hurry before anyone investigated the non-functional cameras and security mechanisms. A cheap local shop gave her jeans and a jacket. Then
that
got her into an expensive clothing shop, where she could buy a polite business suit that looked almost smart enough to visit a private millionaire. The would-be mugger didn’t show up, though there was a sudden influx of siren-blaring police helicopters. She wondered a little guiltily if she’d triggered some sort of bounty alert by convincing him that she was someone incredibly dangerous. Oh well, not her problem.

But all through it, constantly, she felt a terrible sense of urgency. She should be with Kai’s uncle already, to ask …

To ask what?
Irene wondered, looking at herself in the mirror. Her appearance didn’t reflect her inner turmoil at all. She had to look the part, or her chances of gaining access to him would drop significantly. Ryu Gouen, Kai’s uncle, was a dragon. From what Kai and Coppelia had said, he was a high-ranking dragon too, set up in this world as an influential private collector and successful businessman. Perhaps there were stories where peasant girls gradually won the attention of dragon kings through their innate humility and sweetness of character, but she didn’t have years to spare.

She checked herself over. The hair was neat, the suit was classic, and the small tablet computer fitted nicely into her new handbag. She could have posed for a stereotypical illustration in a child’s primer:
B is for Businesswoman who Makes Deals
. The nosebleed had almost stopped.

She could almost taste her own desperation. And she was ready to go.

Ryu Gouen was supposed to be in Marseilles, according to the news channels on her tablet. It had been a while since she’d used this level of tech, but it came back to her after a little fumbling. She checked the transport options. Chartered heli-shuttle was expensive, but it was the fastest option to get to Marseilles from Germany. And it wasn’t her money, after all. Money was the least of her worries at the moment.

Swarms of people buzzed around her as she made her way to the airport. And it was the same there, too. Everything was too bright, too noisy, too harsh, and flaring with lights and holograms. She’d spent months accustoming herself to the patterns of Vale’s world, and now this place felt all wrong. She navigated through the crowd, a bland smile pinned to her face, and kept her gaze on her tablet computer once she’d made it to the heli-shuttle. She tried to imagine herself as a cool shark cutting through an ocean of people, but the image kept on transforming itself in her mind to something more like a herring. One about to be pickled.

An hour later, still with a headache, Irene exited an autodrive taxi outside a reclusive skyscraper in Marseilles’ outskirts. It was one of the more elegant skyscrapers in the area: tall but not overpowering, sleek but not aggressively glossy. It managed to convey an aura of permanence and age, even though online records showed that it had been built less than fifty years ago. It was owned by a consortium of firms, which happened to include a particular art export firm - Northern Ocean Associates. And Ryu Gouen was a non-executive director. It was all very neatly done to suit a dragon who wanted to stay out of the public view, but who couldn’t resist just a little touch of grandeur. Even the surrounding streets were clean and mostly empty.

‘My name is Irene Winters, and I need to see Mr Ryu urgently,’ she told the secretary at reception. She kept to French, not wanting to stand out here. As with most Librarians, languages had been a key part of her education - both for covert operations and for reading and understanding the literature that she’d be collecting.

The man behind the desk was so smooth that he might have been extruded from plastic. His hair was a sleek black cap, which lay against his head as if glued on, and his face was utterly unmoving. Small cybernetic insets glittered along his fingernails, sparking as he ran his fingers along the screen in front of him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice as flat as his eyes, his French perfect. ‘Mr Ryu is busy at the moment. If you would like to send us your details—’

‘This is an urgent matter,’ Irene said, ‘or I wouldn’t be here.’

‘Mr Ryu is highly busy at the moment,’ the secretary repeated. His gaze took in Irene’s outfit and levels of wealth and fashion, and just as quickly dismissed her as unimportant. ‘While he has been known to sponsor investment opportunities, this is on the basis of private recommendation only. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, madam.’

The lobby was empty, an echoing space of dull black marble floor and cold grey pillars. Irene and the secretary were the only two people in it. A few fragile chairs near the door did nothing to break the room’s imposing effect. If it was designed to intimidate, it worked.

Irene lifted her chin. ‘I am a representative of the Library,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm and unimpressed as the secretary’s. ‘I believe Mr Ryu has dealt with our group before.’
And even if he hasn’t, that should get his attention.

The secretary returned her stare for a long moment, then lowered his eyes and ran his fingers across the screen again.

A pause.

The screen flashed. ‘I am afraid that Mr Ryu is not available at the moment,’ the secretary said. ‘Thank you for your interest in our company. If you would like to leave a message, we will be glad to contact you at a later date.’

Right. Time for the brute-force option, hoping that Kai’s uncle would give her a hearing, rather than simply tossing her out of the window. Irene leaned in closer.
‘You perceive that you have just been given clearance to send me up to see Mr Ryu,’
she said softly. Her headache deepened as the Language hummed in the air, but she pushed it to one side with the ease of practice. She was more worried that this wouldn’t hold for more than a few minutes, or even seconds. The more reasons a person had to doubt their Language-influenced perception, the more likely it was to slip.

But for the moment it did work. The secretary blinked in surprise at what he believed he’d seen. No doubt he hardly ever sent people up to see Mr Ryu. ‘Please take the elevator to the fiftieth floor,’ he said, fingers tracking over the screen again. ‘Mr Ryu’s personal assistant, Mr Tsuuran, will be waiting for you in the office on the right.’

Irene nodded politely, withholding a smirk, and made her way to the elevator. There was no sound as it glided upwards, a vast cavern walled and floored in dark opaque glass. It was big enough to hold a small lorry as well as a businessman, his entourage, a set of security guards, and a mob of reporters on top of that. Irene knew as she ascended that there would be security cameras watching her at this precise moment. Even if the secretary still thought she had clearance, the building’s security would know better.

Floor after floor flickered by on the overhead indicator. Hopefully Kai’s uncle - or at least his personal assistant - would be curious enough to actually hear the speech she’d prepared. Rather that than any of the unpleasant alternatives.

The doors slid open onto a corridor both walled and floored in smooth pale tiles. Huge windows on the left looked out on the city below and the sea beyond. And there was a single anonymous door on the right.

There were also half a dozen men and women surrounding the lift entrance, anonymous in neatly cut black suits and dark glasses. None of them were actually holding weapons, but they had the easy poise of trained martial artists, and she suspected concealed holsters. Whether she was right or not, they were clearly dangerous.

A seventh person stood beyond. Her grey business suit was an order of magnitude more expensive than theirs and was definitely a man’s cut, even given the trend here towards unisex business clothing. Her face reminded Irene of Kai’s dramatic handsomeness. It wasn’t a fashion model’s glossy perfection, but the flame-like beauty of something a little too alive to be safe, caught in a temporarily human form. Her long silver hair curved in a parting over her right eyebrow and was caught at the nape of her neck, falling down her back in a long tail that reached to her hips. Her cufflinks and tie were matt black. She regarded Irene assessingly, with a coldness that whispered
predator
.

Irene felt horribly exposed without an assumed identity to hide behind. Spies never played themselves, and she hadn’t had to do so for - well, at least a couple of decades now. But Kai’s life could be at stake. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said politely.

‘You will explain yourself,’ the woman in grey said.

‘Please forgive my intrusion.’ Irene gave a half-bow, the sort that showed respect without being an actual obeisance. She was conscious of the increased tension as her hand swung across her jacket. ‘My name is Irene, and I am a servant of the Library.’
Stay calm and self-assured,
she reminded herself.
You’re a representative of a greater power. You expect proper respect, as a matter of course.

‘Indeed. So you informed the secretary downstairs, and he in turn told you that my lord was busy.’ The woman tilted her head, giving the impression of scenting the air. ‘I acknowledge that there’s nothing of chaos about you. You aren’t tainted in that way. But even so, this intrusion is unwelcome.’

‘I was not able to give a full description of matters to the gatekeeper downstairs,’ Irene said equably. ‘Some matters require more privacy.’

‘I was not aware that my lord Ao Shun had expressed any interest in a private visit from any member of the Library.’ The woman took a casual couple of steps towards Irene. ‘You can, perhaps, explain?’

Describes him as ‘my lord’ rather than ‘my king’,
the analytic part of Irene’s mind noted, her training kicking in.
A close personal feudal relationship? She seems to be playing the role of Gouen’s personal assistant, for what that’s worth. And that must be Kai’s uncle’s real name, rather than the human alias.
‘I have lately been in the company of an individual who calls himself Kai, who was studying the Library under my guidance. He mentioned …’ What title should she use? ‘His uncle might be found in this world, going by the name Ryu Gouen.’

‘And you presume on that acquaintance?’

Irene clenched her fists at the sharp-toned question, and had to force her hands to relax, feeling the threads of scar tissue on her palms as control returned. ‘Not at all.’ She drew a breath and smiled courteously. Courtesy was paramount for Kai, and it would be no different here. ‘But I have something unexpected to report, regarding Ryu Gouen’s nephew. I thought it best to inform his uncle and ask for his advice. Would you be Mr Tsuuran?’