‘Certainly it cannot,’ Vale agreed. He tried to ignore the surge in his blood at the thought of the pursuit ahead and the thrill of challenging such an enemy. He would need all the cold logic at his command to track his adversary successfully.

Assuming that the Professor didn’t find him first.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

On the other side of London the air was also thick with fog. Morning might have broken, but there were no rays of sunshine to rouse sleepers. And Irene had it on good authority that London’s starlings had long since given up on the dawn chorus. Instead they were hungry scavengers, as vicious as piranhas when they saw a chance at someone’s breakfast.

She shook Catherine by the shoulder. ‘Wake up,’ she suggested.

Catherine grunted and tried to hide under the sheets.

While Irene sympathized, this was going to be a busy day and she had no time for other people’s laziness. She pulled off the sheets and blankets, leaving Catherine shivering in her borrowed nightdress. ‘Rise and shine, o would-be librarian. We’ve got a lot to do.’

Catherine was clearly about to complain. Then she took in Irene’s expression and shut her mouth, setting about the business of washing and dressing instead. Irene rewarded her with a mug of coffee.

‘All right,’ she said, once Catherine was in a fit condition to listen. ‘It’s eight o’clock and we need to get moving. Given the many attempts to either kill or kidnap us, we have to assume we’ll be in danger as soon as our enemies locate us. Before we go any further, I want to be absolutely clear about this – if you continue to work with me, you’re going to be in danger.’ She was very grateful that Kai was out of London and that Vale was – well, Vale. ‘You’d be much safer if you left London and stayed undercover until the current threat’s blown over. I promise I’ll still consider you as my apprentice and try to get you into the Library.’

Catherine glared at her. ‘I’m not leaving you.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’

‘I do, although I don’t think you trust me. Besides, if something bad does happen, maybe it’ll give you the crucial insight you need to get me into the Library.’

‘You can’t depend on the power of an ideal narrative,’ Irene said wearily. ‘Sometimes life gives you a dramatic tragedy instead. In fact, the more you depend on a storybook outcome . . .’ She saw the look in Catherine’s eyes, and gave up. ‘Very well. You’re sticking with me, then. In that case, we might as well retrieve the Vie de Merlin and get it to the Library. I have to report in on the current situation in any case. Where is it?’

Catherine visibly weighed up whether or not she wanted to give up her leverage, then said, ‘Waterloo.’

‘Good. Let me see. Thinking of nearby libraries . . . there’s Methyll Street, St John the Beheaded, the Fosdyke Sanatorium and the Guest Collection. Also a couple of small ones that serve the local parishes.’ She considered the likelihood that hostile forces might have staked them all out, and be waiting for them to show up. After all, their enemies – Lord Guantes or otherwise – knew Irene was a Librarian. They would be expecting her to make a run for the Library. But surely they couldn’t watch every library in London. ‘We’ll try the Guest Collection. They own some valuable books, so they have better security measures than most; that should keep you safe while I access the Library.’

‘Will you try to get me in while you’re there?’ Catherine asked eagerly.

‘I haven’t thought of anything new since last time,’ Irene admitted. ‘And we both know that nothing’s worked yet. And I don’t want to keep on hurting you until I can come up with a better idea. It does hurt, doesn’t it?’

Catherine didn’t respond, but the way that she looked aside was answer enough. ‘Maybe if I really was an archetypal proper librarian, it would let me in,’ she suggested.

‘Have you considered settling down somewhere – somewhere other than here – and just working as a librarian for a few years? Somewhere safe?’

‘My uncle won’t let me do what I want, unless I do something useful for him – like finding out how a Fae can access the Library. This is my chance and you’re my ticket in. I’m not letting go of you.’

‘How nice to be valued for my true worth.’ Irene took the coffee mug out of Catherine’s hand. ‘In that case, the next step is clothing and make-up. I know you don’t want to train as a spy, but in the interests of keeping you alive today, you’re going to be my co-researcher from France, and you need to look the part . . .’

The Guest Collection had originally displayed a gleaming white marble facade, but the London weather had taken it down a peg or two since. While its mock-baroque spires still towered above the neighbouring buildings, they were stained grey from the constant smog and acid rain. Any smears of white were due to visiting pigeons, rather than the underlying stone. The current owners had spent their money on security, not redecoration, and the elegant windows were firmly iron-barred. Stylized stone hawks still ornamented the building’s columns, though, and brooded above the main door – retaining an air of classical menace. Their hooded eyes seemed to watch Irene and Catherine as they entered.

Irene hadn’t spotted any followers – but she wasn’t about to take any risks. Posing as a French researcher whose application to visit the Collection had been lost in the post, she complained loudly (in French) before signing a one-day visiting application. She also handed over a large deposit for handling their books. Conveniently, the receptionists were more interested in making a profit from a visiting foreigner than looking too closely at her credentials. As the junior researcher, Catherine carried the small suitcase containing the Vie de Merlin. They’d had no problem collecting it from Waterloo station’s left luggage department. Irene could only hope their luck would hold.

The building was devoted to the folklore of the British Isles. Irene had scoped it out once before and noted that the Scottish folklore rooms on the top floor were the most convenient for quiet working – and avoiding attention. She ignored Catherine’s muttering as the younger woman hefted the case up the stairs, waiting until she was sure they were alone. Fortunately, the Collection tended to fill up later in the day. They should be undisturbed for a while – and an hour was all Irene wanted.

‘Sit here and look as if you’re studying,’ she directed. ‘If security shows up and asks where I am—’

‘I know, you’re in another room,’ Catherine said. She wandered along the shelves pulling books down, her fingers lingering on their spines. ‘Can I say I’m studying “redcaps” – they seem to be Scottish goblins?’

‘As long as you can sound convincing about it.’ Irene picked up the case. ‘Now if anything goes wrong while I’m away, go back to our overnight lodgings. If that’s impossible or if you’re being followed, take a hotel room somewhere and stay there. Put a message for me in the agony column of the Times under the name Melodia Agnes.’ A stupid name, but memorable – and no worse than the other pseudonyms there. ‘And be careful.’