‘I thought we were both going to be sensible,’ Irene said. ‘You can’t say you’re going to start a war and then suggest that I’m only here because I care about a single dragon. Just how immature do you think I am?’
Lady Guantes shrugged. ‘True, that sort of narrow motivation is really the sort of thing I’d expect from the more highly focused of my own kind. Let’s consider a wider viewpoint.’ The gun didn’t waver. ‘You Librarians are interested in stealing books for your own purposes. Something to do with stabilizing worlds, I’ve heard. You’re not interested in allying with either us or the dragons, as all you want to do is collect stories. Stay out of our way and you won’t get hurt. You’ve got nothing to gain by meddling in this, Miss Winters.’
Is she genuinely trying to convince me? And, if she’s playing for time, what’s she waiting for? ‘I have yet to see how it would benefit humans to live in a world such as this Venice,’ Irene replied.
‘Ask the people out there,’ Lady Guantes said. ‘They’re happy.’
‘They’re …’ For a moment, Irene wondered if she really should be talking about ‘humans’ as if she was somehow different from them. ‘But they’ve just become part of this place’s story. The moment one of your kind interacts with them, the humans lose their volition, their freedom. Their life. In your world, the humans are just background characters.’
‘But such happy background characters,’ Lady Guantes objected. ‘Oh, I admit that not all stories have happy endings, but people prefer what they’re used to. If you were to actually ask them, nine out of ten would prefer a storybook existence to a mechanistic universe where happy endings never happen.’
‘Really?’
‘Would you believe I actually organized a survey?’ Lady Guantes looked smug. ‘Not in this world, but I think my point holds. People want stories. You should know that, more than anybody. They want their lives to have meaning. They want to be part of something greater than themselves. Even you, Miss Winters, want to be a heroic Librarian - don’t you? And if you’re going to say that people need to have the freedom to be unhappy, something that’s forced on them whether they like it or not, I would question your motivation.’ She paused for a single deadly second. ‘Most people don’t want a brave new world. They want the story that they know.’
‘Thank you for explaining that,’ Irene said politely. ‘It really does help to understand your perspective on the situation.’
‘My pleasure,’ Lady Guantes said. She shifted and glanced behind her, but too quickly for Irene to take advantage of the moment.
‘Basically, you’re utterly convinced of your own righteousness,’ Irene went on quickly. If Lady Guantes was waiting for reinforcements, then Irene was running out of time. ‘You’re a smug zealot who’s willing to destroy entire worlds in order to get what you want. And you want to control humanity, and have convinced yourself that they’d be happier that way. And what persuaded you to follow your foolhardy plan - was it Lord Guantes?’ She took a step forward.
‘Stay there!’ Lady Guantes ordered, her voice suddenly sharp for the first time. Her hands were rigid with tension through her gloves.
‘Why are you so nervous, madam?’ Irene gave her best smile of faint superiority, the one which conveyed - in spite of all evidence to the contrary - that she was totally in control. ‘Are you telling me that you and Lord Guantes aren’t equal partners? Where is he?’
‘Negotiating with the Council of Ten,’ Lady Guantes snapped. ‘Don’t come any closer!’
‘And you didn’t get invited too?’ Irene probed.
The flash of fury in Lady Guantes’ face said it all. The emotion only showed for a moment, but it was there, as corrosive as acid. ‘My presence was not required,’ she said.
‘Perhaps I should be the one offering you a job.’ Irene shifted her position again, a little closer. She was almost in range now. ‘After all, Silver said …’ She trailed off invitingly.
‘What did he say?’ Lady Guantes demanded.
‘We discussed you and Lord Guantes. Your power imbalance, that sort of thing.’ Irene spread her hands innocently. ‘He was the one who told me that you were nothing but a tool for your husband—’
‘That piece of vermin doesn’t understand, and could never understand!’ Lady Guantes cut her off. A high flush of anger gave her face colour, as Irene finally hit a nerve. ‘He sees everything through his own perspective. He doesn’t understand that, without me, my husband would never have been able to bring this to fruition. My husband understands that and he values me—’
In one quick movement, Irene slapped the gun barrel aside.
The gun went off. And the bullet thudded into a row of books somewhere behind Irene and to her right.
The next few seconds were an undignified scuffle. Lady Guantes might be an excellent formal shot, but Irene had experience in informal fighting-dirty. She was left with the gun, and Lady Guantes was left nursing a wrenched finger and a stamped-on foot. ‘I could scream,’ she panted grimly.
‘You could,’ Irene said, ‘but that still leaves …’ She glanced down the corridor. No sign of anyone yet. ‘That leaves me holding you hostage. How important are you to the Ten, Lady Guantes?’
Lady Guantes was silent. Not that important, apparently. Finally she said, ‘You’re making a mistake, Miss Winters.’