The Burning Page by Genevieve Cogman

Author:Genevieve Cogman [Cogman, Genevieve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Books

INTERLUDE – VALE AND SILVER

‘You may tell him that Peregrine Vale is here to see him.’

The Liechtenstein Embassy was always difficult to penetrate. Of course Vale had entered it before on multiple occasions, but he had generally been in disguise. This time he was present as himself and had barely managed to penetrate the front lounge. The place scarcely did its duty as an embassy for its country. Would-be visitors to Liechtenstein could barely make it through the front door.

One might even think, he reflected sourly, that they had something to hide.

‘And I must inform you that Lord Silver is not available.’ The words came out like honed icicles. Johnson was Lord Silver’s manservant, factotum, and general dogsbody. He’d lasted for five years now, longer than any previous holders of that position. But, like all of them, he’d developed a fanatical devotion to Silver within a week of signing on.

Vale inspected the fellow carefully as he spoke. While Johnson’s clothes were cut like an upper-class servant’s, the fabric was unusually high-quality and the shoes shone with a blackness that suggested champagne had been used in the polish. His voice had been neutered of anything resembling an accent – Fae-induced, to make him the ‘perfect servant’, or a deliberate choice on his part? Johnson didn’t have a criminal record, but more suspiciously there wasn’t any record of his past before taking this post. He quite obviously (well, obviously to Vale) wore a concealed pistol beneath his coat.

Vale raised an eyebrow. ‘Really. Unavailable. I take it that he is unaware of ongoing events, then?’

That made Johnson pause. He stared back at Vale, as if he could somehow force information out of him just by glaring hard enough.

Vale could track the calculations behind the man’s eyes: if Vale was bluffing and managed to trick his way into a meeting with Silver, Silver would make Johnson regret it. However, if something important really was going on and Silver missed out on a chance to meddle, he would really make Johnson regret it.

‘You’ll have to wait,’ Johnson said abruptly. ‘His lordship hasn’t yet risen.’

‘I suppose it is barely four o’clock in the afternoon,’ Vale agreed drily. ‘No doubt he needs his sleep.’

Johnson’s lips pursed to a thin line of suppressed rage. He neatly inclined his head, refusing Vale the courtesy of a bow, and stalked out of the lounge.

Vale took the opportunity to inspect the room. The carpet and wallpaper were cheap and plain, hardly worthy of an embassy: it was a room to repel callers and persuade them to leave as quickly as possible. The only decoration was the oil painting of the Queen over the fireplace, which was poorly executed and badly dusted. Two chairs, no desk or table. One of the chairs was a comfortable armchair. A thread of silver hair, caught in the antimacassar, betrayed its usual occupant. The other chair was a more rigid specimen, designed to make the sitter uncomfortable. The fireplace hadn’t been cleaned out since last night, and had apparently been used to incinerate a number of handwritten documents.

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