Chapter 9

The Rogue Element

Fighting a battle with zombies was unusual enough for Irene that she fully expected to be unable to sleep, but her body was so worn out that she drifted off almost without effort, only to wake up to a loud bang hours later.

It never rains but it pours.

She sat up, but no more loud bangs followed. The only visible result was that everyone else had woken up. Irene likely was the one waking up with the fewest cramped muscles, as the men had collectively decided to let her have the couch. Butters had slept sitting in a comfortable chair, while Thomas and Kai had found spots on the rug-covered floor, sharing Mouse as a pillow, to the great satisfaction of the enormous dog. The cat Mister had retreated to the bookcase, imperiously staring down at this occupation of his kingdom.

Harry had heard the bang as well. He came stumbling out of the bedroom, dressed in only boxer briefs and a bathrobe, staff in hand. Since he was the only one who could disable the wards, he opened the door, but Thomas was behind him on his right with a shotgun, while Irene was on his left, mentally running through useful phrases of the Language.

There was nothing quite like a zombie attack for fostering paranoia.

None of their measures were needed, as it turned out, because the person now thrown back on the stairs was very much alive, looking dazed and cradling her bleeding right hand to her chest.

'Bradamant!'

Thomas gave her a not so flattering look. 'You know her?'

Unfortunately. 'She is a colleague.'

'Rival,' Kai corrected.

Irene turned to Harry. 'She is not supposed to be here.' She had some reservations about discussing Library business with people who were not Librarians, but Bradamant being here set her teeth on edge. Irene had sent her away and expressly told her to stay away from this mission. And here she was again.

'I am pretty sure she is not a necromancer,' Irene offered. 'She'll be after the book.' Trying to bring it back before Irene so that she got the glory and Irene got a nasty blot on her record. Apparently Irene's plea to stop hating each other had made no impact whatsoever.

Irene hesitated about what to do next. It was tempting to leave Bradamant right here, but she was, despite everything, still a colleague and still, technically, on the same side. But this was Harry's home, not hers. It was not her right to invite Bradamant in.

So she'd do her interrogating from the doorstep. 'What are you doing here?' It seemed like the place to start.

Bradamant waved her injured hand around as if to garner sympathy.

Irene wasn't sure she had any to spare. 'What are you doing here?' she repeated. 'This is my mission, and I told you to stay out of it.'

'You told me to go and report the situation to the Senior Librarians,' Bradamant countered petulantly. 'And they sent me back to help.'

Irene crossed her arms over her chest. 'Repeat that in the Language.'

'Irene…'

'Repeat that in the Language,' she said stubbornly, because she was very sure that Bradamant could not do that. And if she was here without permission – again – and trying to steal Irene's mission from her – again – Irene would report it. Not because she particularly wanted to, but because she had to. This was not the kind of behaviour that was encouraged among Librarians. And Bradamant had been getting away with conduct like that for far too long.

Bradamant glared daggers at her. 'Fine. I am here for Die Lied der Erlking.'

'Without permission.' And how had she discovered that one copy was hidden right here? Had she been spying on them?

Bradamant conjured up the most snooty look she could while still looking cross-eyed from her encounter with Harry's wards. 'It's not as if you are doing much,' she said. 'You are having a sleepover with one of the locals and sharing Library business with him. You don't have a lead on the book at all, do you?' The stare she bestowed on Harry was not flattering.

'As this is my mission, this is none of your business.' Irene glanced at Harry. 'I have every intention of reporting her actions to my superiors.' Which was against the unwritten code of throwing colleagues to the lions, but in the case of Bradamant it was nothing more than a long overdue taste of her own medicine. 'She tried to break into your house. What happens here is your choice.'

Bradamant's mouth fell open in dismay. 'Irene, that's…'

'… Nothing you haven't done to me and many others many times over.'

Bradamant promptly shut her mouth, which would have been more satisfying if she hadn't been Irene's problem at the moment.

Harry regarded her pensively. 'We don't have a lot of time,' he pointed out. 'This Darkhallow ritual is tonight. Can she do the same kind of magic you can?'

Reluctantly, Irene saw his point. They didn't know what that ritual entailed, what the Erlking was needed for, where the Word of Kemmler was and how they were going to put a stop to the whole thing. And then there was Alberich to consider, who would likely throw some more obstacles in their way. They had a little over twelve hours to get everything sorted and this would spread them thin, especially now they had agreed that no one should go out alone.

'Yes,' she said. Then, with extreme distaste, she added: 'Fine, she can help.'

Bradamant perked up.

But Irene wasn't done yet. 'I will still report your conduct when this is over,' she said, which wiped the smile off Bradamant's face. 'I am the one who brings in Die Lied der Erlking. And I require your oath, in the Language, that you will do as you're told, that you won't try to undermine me, strike out on your own, or jeopardise the mission in any way.'

Bradamant scowled. 'Is that really necessary?'

Kai had been silent until then, but now he spoke up: 'The last time you involved yourself, you drugged Irene and left her paralysed in a building with rampaging werewolves. If it were up to me, we wouldn't be working with you at all.'

'But it is not up to you, is it?' Bradamant snapped.

'No,' said Irene. 'It is up to me, and if you want to stay, you're going to swear in the Language.' She might be persuaded to give Bradamant a second chance, but she was not going to turn her back on Bradamant again without some assurances.

Bradamant rolled her eyes as if this whole thing was entirely beneath her, but she looked at Irene's face and, more to the point, the shotgun Thomas still pointed right at her, and thought better of it. 'Fine. I swear that the Librarian Irene is in charge until the mission is over and that I will do as she says, that I won't undermine her, go against her orders or do anything that can be construed as undermining the mission, and that I will let her take Die Lied der Erlking back to the Library.'

There were a few phrases there that Irene suspected gave Bradamant a little too much leeway, but she had technically done all that had been asked of her, so she let it drop. They couldn't afford to waste the time.

She did leave Bradamant on the doorstep while she went in to get dressed, as Harry refused to let her in. Butters could dress her hand outside where the light was better anyway. After a few last words with Harry, Thomas and Kai, she joined Bradamant there.

'You could at least tell me what we are going to do,' Bradamant complained. She was – surprise, surprise – better dressed than Irene, though the bandages and the few blood spatters had chipped away at her image of successful business woman. 'It's not as if I could go against you now, or betray you.'

'Because I don't have the time to lose,' Irene snapped. She explained briefly what had happened the previous day and what was at stake. Bradamant scoffed at necromancers, but went satisfyingly pale when she realised the extent to which Alberich was involved in the whole affair. 'Hercule knew where the Word of Kemmler was, and we believe he was killed because of it,' Irene finished. 'It's likely that he left some sort of clue concerning its whereabouts in his notes, so that is what we are going to find out.'

If Grevane hadn't beaten them to it.

It was odd being out on the streets today. Irene had noted last night that the power had gone out, and by the looks of it, it hadn't come back on again. People out today were fairly matter-of-fact about it, but it was an inconvenience. Irene doubted that the library would be open under the circumstances. Not really a problem for the resourceful Librarian, but one she would have liked to avoid.

'Why didn't you do that yesterday?' Bradamant demanded. 'That's what I would have done.'

'Because yesterday I had another promising lead to follow,' Irene said. And then she had wrecked a bookshop, but that was neither here nor there.

'That didn't turn up anything useful,' said Bradamant condescendingly.

Despite the time constraints, Irene stopped. She looked Bradamant right in the eye. 'I thought we agreed to stop hating each other quite so much.'

Bradamant snorted. 'You agreed. I didn't.' She crossed her arms over her chest.

Of all the stupid things… 'I don't know what I ever did to you.'

Bradamant seemed… uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to keep in the vitriol. 'You just have no idea, do you, about how easy you've got it. You get the easy assignments…'

Irene had been resolved to let Bradamant finish, but this violation of truth made her interrupt: 'You think an assignment involving necromancers and Alberich is easy?'

Bradamant ignored that. 'You get the easy assignments, the desirable student…'

Whom you tried to poach the first chance you got.

'… The cushy Librarian-in-Residence position at a young age, where you get to hang out with a Great Detective and your pretty student.'

Irene couldn't really deny the pretty part of that speech, but she certainly denied the rest of it. 'I live there because Alberich wants to kill me and B-395 is the only alternate from which he is permanently banished. Kai is with me there because he is my student.' And her acquaintance with Vale was the kind of happy coincidence that came with her appointment. She thought things through. 'Are you really jealous of me? You outrank me in seniority and experience!' And she had Kostchei as mentor, who happily shielded her from the consequences of her own actions. 'That is so ridiculous.'

She turned away and carried on walking.

Bradamant followed eventually.

The library was closed, but Irene found a staff entrance that had a few cameras pointed at it, but like everything else, they weren't working either. The library was dark and deserted. They were the only people there.

A completely deserted library without the lights on could be a little creepy, Irene found, especially because she knew that there was at least one necromancer very interested in Hercule's things. If she could break in here, a powerful dark wizard could easily do the same. And in an empty building, he could do whatever he wanted.

Not a great feeling.

Hercule's office had been messed with. It had been so thoroughly messed with that books and loose papers had been tossed as far as halfway down the corridor. Grevane or Alberich had already been here.

Or both.

Bradamant hadn't said a word since their confrontation and she didn't say anything now. It was as if she finally realised what the stakes were and what kind of people she was dealing with.

Kai and Irene had made a start on sorting out the papers, but they hadn't known what to look for. Either way, the intruder had gone through everything like a tornado on steroids; even the bookcases had been overturned.

Which at least ruled out any secret safes in the wall.

'What are we looking for?' Bradamant asked.

'We are fairly sure that Hercule had the Word of Kemmler,' Irene replied, although how he had obtained it remained as big a mystery as where it was now. 'He knew Grevane was after it, so he hid it before he died. We don't know where, but it makes sense for him to have left some kind of clue. Maybe in his notes, or his diary.'

Bradamant was professional enough to focus on the job. 'Any key words other than Kemmler and necromancy?'

'Darkhallow or any reference to Halloween, perhaps.' Because it was all going to kick off tonight. Other than that, clues were depressingly thin on the ground.

Hercule's books had been treated with extreme disregard. They had been thrown across the room so hard some pages had come loose from their bindings. Pages had even been torn in rage. Irene hoped that Grevane had been so enraged only because he hadn't been able to find what he was looking for. Someone like that having access to dark powers was not a scenario she liked to entertain.

'You get too involved,' Bradamant said as they searched.

'What do you mean?'

'Hanging around with people in alternates like they are your friends.'

'They are my friends,' Irene said, realising that it was true. 'What is wrong with that?'

'They aren't Librarians,' Bradamant said. 'You'll outlive them. And you can't stay here anyway, because your next assignment will be in another alternate.'

'I know that,' Irene said. It was one of the few downsides of being a Librarian.

'Why do it then?'

She had to think about that. She hadn't made a habit out of this before she met Vale. She hadn't meant to do it in this alternate either. It had just happened. Bradamant would not take that as an answer, though. 'It would be hard not to after saving each other's lives.' She knew she owed hers to Harry a few times by now.

Bradamant huffed, but didn't say anything else.

Irene turned her attention to Hercule's desk, which had been thrown over. All the drawers had been pulled out and scattered around the room, save one. That one was still closed. There was damage on the handle and the wood, as if someone had tried to open it by force.

Irene bent over it. 'Open,' she said in the Language.

It unlocked with a soft click.

The drawer was mostly empty. The only thing in it was a diary of the current year. Irene took it out and opened it, but Hercule had only sporadically used it. Either that or he had a very empty schedule and no social life, which didn't match up with what she'd learned about him so far.

Irene went to the week of his death and found that mostly empty too. The only note in it was on the day of his death: the head of the beast. Which made no sense whatsoever to Irene. It could be the title of yet another book, but it wasn't one she had heard of. It could be a clue to the whereabouts of the Word of Kemmler, in which case she didn't know what head, or what beast he was referring to.

But Hercule was a fan of mysteries. The few books that had nothing to do with the Fae had all been detective novels. Irene suspected the name Hercule had been inspired by Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot. So, think like a detective.

What would Vale have done if he found a clue like that? What would Vale do if he was asked to investigate this murder?

He would find out what Hercule had been doing on his last few days alive. Irene had part of that picture already, because she knew Grevane had been here and demanded the book two days before Hercule died. That meeting was not in the diary, however, and it held no further clues. The other people with offices on this corridor might know, but Irene did not know where they lived, so she couldn't track them down. Even if she knew where to start, she might not find the information she needed in time for tonight.

'Have you found anything?' she asked Bradamant.

'Hercule was far too involved in research on the Fae,' Bradamant said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'But there is nothing here about a Word of Kemmler or anything to do with necromancy.'

There hadn't been yesterday either.

Irene held up the diary with the potential clue for Bradamant's inspection. 'Does this mean anything to you?'

Bradamant studied it. 'The head of the beast? I think it's a fantasy novel in some A-alternates, but not one of great cultural significance.'

'Could it be a clue?'

'You have been here longer than I,' Bradamant pointed out. 'Wouldn't you know?'

Irene tried and failed only mostly when she tried tot to glare at Bradamant. 'If I'd known, I wouldn't ask. But I think I have an idea who we could ask.'

'And who's that?' Bradamant demanded.

'No one you know,' Irene replied, playing her cards so close to her chest they were practically behind her ribcage. 'And no one who will talk to you.' In case Bradamant felt it necessary to knock Irene out again to get the glory. Such a course of action could not technically be construed as undermining the mission. Or disobeying Irene's instructions if she forgot to specifically forbid Bradamant not to do such a thing. 'And no tricks to get there either.'

'Irene, I am a fully qualified Librarian,' Bradamant complained. 'I'm no use if you keep me in the dark.'

You're no use anyway. 'You invited yourself,' said Irene. 'And if it were up to me, you would not be here at all.'

Bradamant thought it wiser not to say anything at all to that, which suited Irene perfectly. They left the library and got back on the streets without police or security showing up. The only thing they took with them was Hercule's diary, which was a bit unusual for Librarians; as a rule they made off with as many useful books as they could carry.

Bradamant didn't say a word on the way back to Harry's apartment, which Irene appreciated, because she could get some thinking done. Not that she arrived anywhere near a useful conclusion. She examined Hercule's clue from different angles, but didn't get anywhere near an answer.

Hopefully Harry and Kai had more success.

Things were not looking up. When they arrived back at Harry's, the door was open. More to the point, the door looked like someone had tried to force it open with a battering ram… and had succeeded.

Irene muttered something not fit to be repeated.

'Stay behind me,' she instructed Bradamant, an order which was promptly obeyed, because letting other people take the risk for her was what Bradamant did best.

Irene extended her hand before her, but the wards that should have repelled her were gone. Her stomach sank further when she looked inside and found Thomas spread out on the floor, unconscious, but somehow still looking like a vanquished hero in a romance story. A bloodied sword had fallen next to him.

The couch had been overturned, but everything else looked like it had that morning. Die Lied der Erlking was still in the bookcase, on the bottom shelf between two cheap paperbacks, so whatever happened here, it couldn't have been about that book.

Of Butters and Mouse there was no sign.

She knelt down next to Thomas, but he was breathing. A slash wound down his torso had mostly stopped bleeding. Strange, though, his blood was too pale, more pink than red. Could he have been poisoned?

'Hello?' she called out. 'Butters? It's Irene.'

For a moment all was silent. Then there was a clanging sound in the bedroom and the door opened. Mouse came out first, wagging his tail and grinning that doggy grin at her like he expected praise for a job well done. Irene scratched him behind the ears on reflex. 'Good boy,' she said. Mouse wagged his tail a bit more.

Behind Mouse came… Butters. Or at least, Butters was somewhere squished between what looked like the aftermath of a battle of musical instruments in which Butters had participated. And lost. He was festooned with instruments, chief of which was a drum that made a sound with every step Butters took.

Irene blinked, getting more confused with every passing second. 'What happened?'

Next time: calling in reinforcements.

Reviews would be appreciated.