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.