There hadn’t been anyone on the far side of the Traverse, which had made things easier. The library was old, and full of dust, antique furniture, tiled floors and wooden arches. It wasn’t the glorious bibliophile’s delight that it had presumably once been. But this was a hazard of old Traverses, which might have started off as an important library or collection of books, but then dwindled - leaving the Traverse still lodged in place. And as royalties and aristocracies rose and fell, what might once have been a ruler’s showpiece eventually became a faded public library or museum. Like this one. There were enough red velvet ropes and helpful signs to make it clear that this building was open to the public. But there was no sign of any Librarian-in-Residence, and Irene was grateful for that. She wouldn’t have to waste time explaining herself.

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.