“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.
CHAPTER 17
“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 that 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 that 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 sword-stick was no longer quite as casual as it had been a few seconds earlier. “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.”
“Well, if there’s nothing illegal in it . . . ,” Ramsbottom said vaguely. His eyes followed Silver dreamily, watching his every gesture, his every breath. Irene remembered the glamour that Silver had tried to lay on her, back in Wyndham’s study.
“My dear sir,” Bradamant said, with a nerve that Irene wasn’t quite sure she’d have managed to muster, “you still have not explained how you managed to track us here.” She stepped to her left, forcing Silver to take his attention off Ramsbottom if he wanted to keep his eyes on her.
Silver waved a hand vaguely. “The simplest of matters. I subcontracted. Knowing that I could not track an agent of the Library—ah, you fooled me once, but not again!—I approached the elder Miss Olga Retrograde.”
Irene and Bradamant exchanged quick shocked looks. It was one thing to think that Silver might be aware of the Library—many Fae and dragons were, after all, just as the Library was aware of them—but to have him say it so baldly and in front of witnesses was rather worrying, in that it suggested there would shortly be no witnesses. And how had Silver known, in any case? What had he seen? How much did he know about the Library?
Vale, meanwhile, looked outraged. “You dealt with her?”
“Merely a matter of convenience,” Silver said airily. “Normally she is far too sordid for me to do more than invite her to my parties. I don’t suppose you would care to comment on that, would you, my dear private detective? From a, shall we say, family perspective?”
Vale looked even more furious, if that were possible. “I have nothing that I would wish to say about her,” he spat.
“Then allow me to clarify,” Silver said with great satisfaction. “Her scrying attempts proved useless until you left your lodgings this morning. She caught the directions given to the cab-driver. From then it was simply a matter of reaching this museum first and having my minions here locate your destination.” He smiled at the hirsute thugs.
“We know Mr. Vale’s smell,” one of them growled, his tongue coming unsettlingly far out of his mouth as he panted. “We all know Mr. Vale’s smell. There’s a lot of us want to have a nice quiet little chat with Mr. Vale down some dark alley sometime.”
“There, there,” Silver said. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance someday very soon now—if Mr. Vale doesn’t advise his Library associate to comply with my requests.” He smiled at Bradamant dazzlingly. Irene felt a little of the overspill of it, the burning surge of slavish desire and passionate adoration, and felt the brand across her back burn like raw
