The Invisible Library (30 page)

The cab jolted to a stop, and the driver leaned down to the opening. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid as how traffic’s very bad today, it’ll be another ten minutes
before I could reach the steps of the museum – though you can see its wall there. If it won’t be inconveniencing you, sir, yourself and your friends might be finding it easier to walk
from here.’

‘Certainly,’ Vale exclaimed, flinging the cab door open. He glanced up to the driver. ‘Wait here. We shouldn’t be long. Here.’ He tossed a coin up to the driver.
There was a keen energy driving his movements as they neared possible action. ‘For your time.’

Kai assisted Irene out of the cab, giving a little extra squeeze to her wrist as he helped her down the step. ‘Almost there,’ he murmured.

Bradamant coughed meaningfully. With an apologetic look, Kai let go of Irene and turned to help Bradamant down as well.

The streets were full of traffic, moving slowly with a lot of shouting, and the air was full of smog. Irene folded her veil up across her face, and stepped over to the museum wall to let people
hurry past. The others joined her, waiting for Singh, who was talking to the driver. The wall was stained a deep filthy brown from decades of ingrained smoke and smog. The surrounding buildings
were old brick and marble, similarly smog-stained. Many of the people bustling by were carrying books or briefcases. From what she remembered of the geography of some Londons, there was a
university near here, sited conveniently near the museum.

A passing zeppelin high above caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced upwards. Several small zeppelins were moored to the roof of the museum, with pennants hanging from them emblazoned
with the museum’s name. As she looked further down the street, she could see more of them moored to the roof of other large buildings.

‘Ah,’ Vale said, following her line of sight. ‘Splendid contraptions, aren’t they? And so much faster than a cab, but sadly not as controllable. One of those little
skimmers can make it across the Channel and back without needing to refuel.’

‘Across the Channel?’ Irene asked. ‘Does the museum use them for such trips, then?’

Vale nodded. ‘They can transfer important small items and particular rarities. I understand that most large museums keep a few these days. And of course, much less risk of theft.’
His narrow gaze shifted to Bradamant for a moment, and brooded on her oblivious back. It seemed that he hadn’t forgiven or forgotten any little details about cat burglars.

‘If you are from an alternate world yourself,’ Vale said, turning back to her, ‘what is it like?’

Irene noticed that Kai had edged close enough to listen. The problem was that she didn’t have a good answer. ‘It was . . . well, it was just another world. The technology was a
little more controlled than it is here. There weren’t so many zeppelins, and there weren’t any vampires or werewolves. My parents used to take me to the Library as often as they could,
but I spent a lot of time in boarding school. It was in Switzerland, and very good for languages.’ She wasn’t going to mention some of the other things that they’d taught. The
school had prided itself on sending out pupils who were ready for anything, and some parts of that world had been very dangerous.

‘I did visit other alternates with my parents too,’ Irene added. ‘Sometimes when they were on a mission, and they didn’t think that it was too dangerous. Sometimes I was
even helpful.’ She found herself smiling. ‘And there were years in the Library, though there weren’t many other children there. But I had to grow up mainly outside the
Library.’

‘Why is that?’ Vale asked. ‘Surely it would have been better for you to stay there and be tutored in safety, rather than taken into danger?’

Irene knew she was on dangerous ground here. There were some things that she shouldn’t tell him. For his own safety. ‘Time passes differently in the Library,’ she eventually
said. ‘My parents wanted me to grow up naturally. Well, moderately naturally. And if I was to be a useful Librarian, I had to know how to function outside the place.’

‘Is that why they usually recruit from outside the Library, rather than the children of Librarians?’ Kai asked.

Irene nodded. ‘That, and . . . well, to be honest, I don’t think Librarians tend to have children very often, and even then there’s no guarantee they’d want to become
Librarians in turn. I think I’m the only one in a generation or so.’

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Bradamant was turning away, but not quite fast enough to hide the expression on her face. There had been a corrosive jealousy in her eyes.
Irene didn’t think that she’d seen it in the other woman before . . . or had she? She’d tried to forget so many other things about Bradamant, and failed so badly.

Singh walked up to Vale, having finished his low-voiced conversation with the cab-driver. ‘I’ll send the cab back here for you, sir, once he’s dropped me off at the Old Bailey.
It shouldn’t take you long to check whether the book’s here.’

Irene controlled her impatience. It was a great relief to think that in half an hour she could even be heading back to the Library, book in hand, Kai in tow, Bradamant in . . . well, she
didn’t
consciously
want to think about Bradamant in disgrace. After all, everyone had a failure now and again. Things like glamorous cat burglars. Whatever.

Maybe an hour. She didn’t want to be too optimistic.

Inside the museum, the building widened out into a glorious cathedral-like hall, with a high curving ceiling inset with windows, and a mosaic-inlaid floor. A diplodocus skeleton leered down
bonily from high above the heads of the onlookers, and some harassed-sounding mother implored her little darling not to try and climb on its foot. A white marble statue at the head of the
room’s main stairway overlooked the whole thing with an air of dignified approval. It was about the only piece of non-smog-stained marble that Irene had seen in this alternate London.

She supposed that it was interesting enough. But it was sadly lacking in books.

Vale clearly knew his way around and led them up one of the staircases, through several minor rooms of exhibits, then past a wide range of stuffed animals, stuffed plants, and possibly stuffed
mineral deposits (she didn’t have time to check). Next they hurried down another staircase and into an even more cluttered and confused set of corridors, which was clearly where work actually
got done. Crates were stacked against the walls, many with notes attached saying OPEN THIS TODAY. The only things that weren’t dirty or dusty were the office doors’ brass nameplates.
These gleamed with a rather desperate shine, as if trying to compensate for their surroundings.

‘Here we are,’ Vale said, pausing before one which apparently belonged to Professor Amelia Betony, MSc, PhD, and Doctor of Divinity. ‘This was the person to whom the crate was
addressed. Let’s see if we can eliminate this possibility.’ He shoved the door open without bothering to knock.

Inside, the low-ceilinged office was larger than expected. The small desk in the corner was piled high with unopened envelopes and packages, and the large table in the middle of the room was
strewn with bones, gluepots and measuring devices. The air smelt of dust and drying solvent. Then a young man entered from a side-door, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He stood there, blinking
at the four of them.

‘Mr Ramsbottom, I presume?’ Vale said, stepping forward briskly. ‘Professor Betony’s secretary?’

The young man nodded and peered at Vale, and his eyes widened in recognition. ‘Ah, I’m so terribly sorry, but the Professor is away on the Egypt expedition, if you were wanting to
consult her over a case – ’

‘Fortunately, I believe that you will suffice, Mr Ramsbottom,’ Vale said. ‘We are here to look into the matter of a parcel that may have gone astray.’

Ramsbottom glanced guiltily at the stacks of incoming mail on the corner desk.

‘We are looking for a crate from Lord Wyndham,’ Vale said. To his side, Irene could see Kai tense with excitement, watching Ramsbottom with a glare of anticipation that was probably
unnerving the nervous-looking fellow. ‘It would have been delivered about five days ago.’

Was it really that short a time since Wyndham’s death, since Irene and Kai had arrived here? It felt so much longer, Irene thought.

‘Ah,’ Ramsbottom said, sidling towards the desk. He abandoned his mug and selected a ledger. ‘Actually, I think I do remember that one.’

‘You do?’ Vale asked.

Ramsbottom nodded. ‘There were particular instructions enclosed with it. Please, um, gentlemen, ladies, Professor Betony will no doubt answer everything with full dispatch as soon as she
returns.’ He glanced guiltily at the pile of post again. ‘But she does have a very specific dislike of anyone else reading her post, and when she left, she told me that unless a letter
or package specifically said that it should be opened . . .’

‘The crate, man!’ Vale snapped, striding forward. ‘What happened to it?’

‘Ah, ahem.’ Ramsbottom twitched at his collar. ‘The accompanying note stipulated that if Professor Betony did not return to open it within three days of its receipt, then her
assigned subordinate, which is myself, was to open it and take all necessary actions with the contents.’

Irene swallowed. To one side, she could see Bradamant going white. To her other side, she could hear the hoarseness in Kai’s breathing. This must have been some sort of last gambit by
Wyndham, in case he wasn’t able to collect his prized book . . . In
expectation
of his murder?! As just one more step in whatever relationship he’d had with Silver? As a
deliberate ploy against Silver getting his hands on the book, or to hide it from someone else?

‘The package contained an
Archaeopteryx
skeleton,’ Ramsbottom went on, more nervous by the second, ‘and another parcel, to be forwarded elsewhere – ’ He
stuttered to an anxious stop.

‘And where would that be?’ Vale prompted.

Ramsbottom hesitated. ‘This is a matter of confidentiality, Mr Vale, and while I do know your connections with the police, I, ah, that is . . .’ He trailed off, apparently unable to
utter the words
I’m not going to tell you
.

‘Mr Ramsbottom.’ Vale stepped forward. ‘Naturally I will not press the matter. But I would be grateful if you could reassure me that there will be no difficulty in tracing the
package, should such a thing prove necessary.’

‘Of course!’ Ramsbottom exclaimed, looking deeply relieved. He tapped a small blue ledger. ‘I have full details here of where the package went.’

Then the door in the opposite side of the room slammed open, and Silver strode through, followed by his bland-looking manservant and half a dozen hairy men in cheap suits and bad hats. ‘At
last!’ he declaimed, pointing dramatically. ‘I have you now, my dear enemy!’

He was pointing at Bradamant.

‘What?’ Bradamant said, then quickly converted it to, ‘But, ah, how did you find us so quickly?’

Silver laughed merrily. His hair, loose over his shoulders, tossed in a wind which somehow blew around him and ruffled his clothing, but failed to stir a single hair on the louche, bearded thugs
who crowded in behind him and leered at the room in general. Their clothing was as dirty and unkempt as Silver’s was elegant and stylish, and they all had eyebrows which met in the
middle.

‘Hah!’ Silver preened. He pointed his cane at the unfortunate Ramsbottom, who was trying to retreat into a corner. Any corner. ‘You! Hand over the book at once, and your
rewards will be beyond your imagination!’

‘Careful, Silver,’ Vale said. His grip on his swordstick was no longer quite as casual as it had been a few seconds ago. ‘You wouldn’t want to have any witnesses to
illegal actions on your part, would you?’

‘Illegal actions?’ Silver turned to his manservant. ‘Johnson! Have I committed any illegal actions?’

Johnson checked his watch. ‘Not within the last three minutes, sir.’

Silver turned back to Vale. ‘There you have it. Rest assured that I am not at the moment committing any illegal actions. I am merely promising this hireling here that if he hands over the
book I am looking for, then he will receive rewards beyond his wildest imaginings.’