fantasy fiction

All right, usually I love travelling by unicorn.

I tend to assume that Addie knows her way from everywhere to anywhere, which, as it turns out, is far too much to expect of the poor girl. Also, as anyone who’s ever taken more than an occasional leisurely hack across the countryside will tell you, the delights of being on horseback tend to wane after a certain point. Zareen and I made the long journey to Norfolk in a state of increasingly grim determination, wrestling with mobile navigation systems which had no idea that Nautilus Cove even existed.

I might have been ungenerous enough to curse Jay and his inconvenient absence, but that was only while I was still airborne, gritting my teeth against the surprisingly cold wind while my hair blew into my mouth and my derriere voiced vociferous complaints about its treatment at my uncaring hands. Once Addie brought us down on a quiet little slip of a beach along the Norfolk coast and we were able to dismount — and once the warmer air down there had somewhat thawed out my face — I lost all desire to eviscerate Jay and was able to remember that I was worried about him.

I checked my phone. Nothing.

Patting Addie’s steaming neck, I whispered foolish compliments into her ears and promised her the biggest bag of chips she had ever seen in her life, just as soon as I made it to a chippie. She rolled her eyes at me and wandered off, her shadowy friend trotting amiably in her wake.

‘Right, then,’ I said, looking up and down the deserted beach. The greyish sea lapped apathetically at the rocky sand, a few clouds hung listlessly in a patchy blue sky, and behind us a cliff rose vertically to an unscaleable height. ‘Addie?’ I called. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know how to get in?’ I cursed myself for not having paid more attention on the way out, a few days before. Riding with the baron had proved to be a distracting experience.

I had not really expected a response, but a moment later Zareen said: ‘Up there!’ and pointed a ways back along the beach.

Something was glittering upon the sheer cliff face. Fittingly, it shone in rainbow colours.

We went that way.

The glow was coming from a sliver of jagged crystal embedded into the otherwise drab rock. When I touched it, the colours faded, leaving it an unremarkable chunk of opaque white stone. But the world shifted around me and dissolved, and when everything stopped spinning I was on another, whiter, pearlier beach, and the sea had gone all iridescent. Nautilus Cove.

I mentally doubled Addie’s upcoming chip rations.

Zareen materialised a moment later and stood smiling for a moment, taking great inhalations of the balmy air. It did smell rather heavenly, come to think of it — like the brightest, freshest sea air mingled with something flowery. I couldn’t see any flowers, but one doesn’t question things like that when one is prancing through a magickal dell. It’s the way they are.

I’d had a private, lingering fear that we might return to find the Striding Spire had, somehow, gone. Stridden Off, in the way that it used to, or perhaps been somehow relocated by an indignant Ministry. But it hadn’t. The clear, white beach gave way to an expanse of sleek, jade-coloured grass dotted with frondy bits (botany is not among my specialities). In the near distance the ground began a steep climb up into some rolly hills, and halfway up those was the spire. I hadn’t previously had occasion to see it from this perspective, and the sight was breath-taking. So graceful a building! Tall and slender, crowned with an elegantly sloping roof (I’d seen as much as I wanted to of that part), its windows glinted gently in the sunlight and its pale walls displayed a hint of the bluish radiance that would come in with the twilight.

‘The Redclovers had style,’ Zareen said.

They certainly did. ‘Why, then, is it abandoned out here?’ I mused aloud. ‘If you’d built something that lovely, why would you ever leave?’

‘The passage of four hundred years is neither here nor there, I suppose?’

I strode off in the direction of the spire, my boots swishing through the crisp grass. ‘Not with these people. Their bodies may have died long ago but I doubt they went far after that. I’m willing to bet that the spire had a Waymaster-in-residence, John Wester-style, for a long time, and maybe it still does.’

‘So that’s what Jay had in mind?’

‘Yes. Especially after Millie. Wester obviously wasn’t some kind of a fluke, and if there have been more of them — why not Melmidoc?’

‘You saw no sign of him before?’

‘He’s an old man. He fell asleep over his newspaper a hundred and ten years ago, and has yet to wake up.’

Zareen grinned. ‘Right, then. Let’s go rattle his door handles and throw stones at the windows.’

My previous visit to the spire had been only a few days prior, but I found a much-changed building when we went inside. Rattling the doorknobs proved unnecessary, as the door was unlocked. And why not? There was nothing left in there, nothing at all. The kitchen on the ground floor was reduced to a collection of aged wooden counters, probably left in situ because they were both unlovely and (I imagined) heavy. The bright, circular room near the top which had previously held all the accoutrements of a comfortable living space was completely empty. The chairs were gone, the knick-knacks and ornaments, and above all, the books. All of them.

Someone had cleaned, for not a speck of dust floated up as Zareen and I tramped up the winding stairs. That was nice, I supposed.

‘They did a thorough job,’ Zar said as we stood in the doorway of the Redclover brothers’ decimated library.

‘I wonder why.’ I was wondering that pretty hard. Taking the books I could understand, even if I was disappointed. They were a valuable resource, and were liable to be damaged if left uncared for on such remote shelves. But the furniture?

I felt that unwelcome but sadly familiar sensation of foreboding.

Jay and I made the acquaintance of Mabyn Redclover during our previous investigation of the Dappledok pups, a spriggan who was somewhere high-up in the Forbidden Magicks division of the Hidden Ministry. I blessed my forethought in making sure to secure her number, and called it.

‘Ms. Redclover, Forbidden Magicks.’ Mabyn’s voice came crisply over the line.

‘Mab. It’s Ves. I’m at the spire, but nothing much else is.’

‘I was going to call you this afternoon,’ said Mabyn, and she sounded grim. ‘The Ministry finished emptying the building day before last. There was a bloodbath over the books, as you may imagine, with strong competition from the Troll Court to secure them. In the end they split the books, but the Ministry took everything else. I’ve only just found out why. It’s scheduled for demolition, Ves, and soon. They want it gone, no delay.’

‘I thought it must be something like that,’ I said. ‘Any idea why?’

‘None whatsoever. I’ve spent the whole morning trying to get an audience with the right people and I’ve largely failed. They won’t talk to me. I was reduced to loitering in the hallways hoping to run into the Chief or Vice-Chief Ministers. Well, I did see Honoria Goodenough — that’s the Vice-Chief — but she said I’m too close to the situation and wouldn’t listen to me. Just because I’m a Redclover! It’s not like I have any real connection to a pair of Redclovers from four hundred years ago. I tried to argue that it’s a rare and precious example of seventeenth-century magickal architecture and its starstone composition ought to be enough to secure instant and eternal protected status but she wasn’t having it. Nor would she tell me why. I’m sorry, Ves. There’s nothing more I can do.’

I hadn’t known Mabyn for very long, but long enough to learn that it was unlike her to gabble. She was genuinely upset. ‘It’s all right, Mab. I’m glad you tried. Do you know when it’s due to be demolished?’

‘They’ve kept that information from me. What do they expect me to do, throw myself in front of the demolition force? It’s ridiculous. But it’ll be soon. As in, possibly this week. I have set something in motion which I hope will delay them, but I don’t know if it can be there in time. I’m sorry, Ves.’

‘Right. Don’t worry, we’ll fix this.’ I hung up.

Zareen’s face was grave as I relayed Mabyn’s news, but she spoke composedly. ‘That ties in with our suspicions, doesn’t it? This building’s completely unique and irreplaceable. If they’re willing to wreck it anyway, that more or less confirms that it’s been used for something they’d consider seriously questionable.’

‘More than that. They think it could be used the same way again.’

Zareen was nodding emphatically. ‘Jay’s not the only one who thinks Melmidoc’s still here.’

‘Yes, but I’m wondering how he arrived at that conclusion. I was hoping for just such an outcome last time I was here, but I swear, I felt not a flicker of a presence. Does it take a Waymaster to spot another? Jay’s rather discouraged that idea, but in that case, why was he in a hurry to come back?’

‘I know that look.’ Zareen eyed me with sour suspicion. ‘You want me to do something, don’t you?’

I might have been wearing the pleading eyes, at that. I hastily composed my face. ‘Those Stranger Arts you aren’t supposed to talk about? Could you somehow sense a spirit presence, even if it’s dormant?’

‘Or determined to hide from me? I don’t know.’ Zareen looked annoyed, for no reason I could understand. Then she sighed, and passed a hand over her eyes. It occurred to me that she was looking tired, dark shadows etched under her deep brown eyes. Her shimmery green eyeshadow did a fine job of deflecting attention from them. She hesitated, apparently struggling with herself. ‘Look, Ves,’ she finally said. ‘The Stranger Arts — or the Weird Stuff — it’s not quite like your magick. It… takes a toll. I’m not supposed to talk about it partly because I’m not supposed to use it, except at great need. And there are good reasons for that.’

‘What kind of a toll?’

A deep frown clouded Zareen’s brow. I almost hadn’t wanted to ask, for the matter clearly troubled her. But if it was important…

‘It’s to do with Mauf’s bright idea about the… amplifying effects of… of—’ she stopped. ‘Look, if all power corrupts, let’s just say that some kinds of power corrupt faster than others. And the link isn’t as clear-cut as Mauf, or those wannabe scholars, suggested. If I get too immersed in the weird stuff, I… it changes me. I feel a need to do some terrible things, Ves, and if I give in to them… I will be more powerful. Only for a short time, of course. It’s like a hit of caffeine, or steroids. When it wears off, you feel as weak as a newborn kitten, and to add to the fun it’s like the worst kind of withdrawal you can experience — crack is nothing to it—’ She stopped again, her expression turning wary. She’d said more than she meant to.

For a moment, I was too shocked to speak. This was a glimpse into Zareen’s daily life, and her past as well, that I’d never before been offered.

She (and George Mercer) had expended considerable power and effort to exorcise the spirits of the Greyers and John Wester from the Greyer cottage. After that, she’d gone quiet for twenty-four hours — I hadn’t seen her, or heard anything from her. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Zareen and I were friends, but not to the extent that we talked every day, or kept tabs on each other all the time. Now I wondered what had been going on with her during those hours of silence.

I looked at the shadows under her eyes with a new understanding.

‘I didn’t know,’ I said at last.

Zareen shrugged. ‘The School of Weird isn’t just a special school for people with our abilities. It’s also a kind of quarantine, a help centre, a support group and rehab all rolled into one. It needs to be.’

That also explained her enduring link with George Mercer. He understood her in ways Jay and I never could, and they must’ve shared so much… I resolved never to tease or poke her about that friendship ever again.

And I understood what she had not said, at least not in so many words. After her efforts at the Greyer cottage, she needed time to recover, to rebalance herself. She couldn’t afford to drown in the Stranger Arts again so soon.

I remembered the way the whites of her eyes had filled in with black, and shuddered inwardly.

‘Right then,’ I said briskly. ‘How else can we wake up Mr. Redclover?’

‘Throwing stones at the windows is out?’ Zareen gave a weak smile.

‘If he slept through the removal of the entire contents of the building, I’d say we need something a little more potent.’ I thought hard.

I came up with nothing.

‘Maybe we could—’ began Zareen, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by a terrific roar that sounded from outside — somewhere close. The spire’s glorious starstones shook under the force of it.

Zareen and I ran to the window, just in time to see a gout of crackling fire lance across the sky.

‘That’s dragon-fire!’ shouted Zareen.

Another blast of fire followed seconds later, and this one hit the window. The window-frame caught and flames roared cheerfully to life, blocking the sunlight and casting dancing patterns across the floor of the tower. The reek of smoke filled my nostrils.

‘Mabyn was wrong,’ I said tightly. ‘The demolition isn’t just this week. It’s today.’

Turn page ->

‘So,’ I said, as Zareen strolled up a few moments later. ‘I’ve lost Jay.’ I had tried three times to call him, but he hadn’t answered.

‘Lost, how?’ she said. ‘Or do I mean, how lost?’

‘I’d say he’s the kind of lost that nightmares are made of, and I lost him because I let him go into Little Miss Makepeace’s creepy farmhouse alone.’

‘And she made off with him?’

‘Correct.’

‘Why did you let him go in alone?’

‘Because he told me to wait.’

‘And you obeyed?’ Zareen was incredulous.

‘For about three seconds, which turned out to be long enough.’

Zareen shrugged, splendidly unconcerned about Jay’s abrupt disappearance. ‘All part of the plan, most likely. Do you want to know what I found?’

‘Is it something exciting?’

‘Extremely.’ Zareen’s plum-painted lips wore a huge, satisfied smile.

But her revelation was forestalled, because we both became aware of a rustling noise emanating from somewhere among the trees where the house had so lately stood. It sounded like an animal rooting about among the bushes — a dog, I might have said, and was proved right moments later when a dog duly appeared. A small specimen, it had jaunty yellowish fur, an enormous nose (presently glued to the ground) and a tiny horn protruding from its forehead.

‘Oh, there are more,’ said Zareen, and went forward to meet the pup. Being a friendly sort, it greeted her with a cheery wave of its tail, though it did not seem disposed to lift its nose from the ground.

Zareen scooped it up, and held its little wriggling body close to her chest. ‘I saw two back that way,’ she said, pointing somewhere behind me with her chin. ‘So, three? Reckon there are more?’

‘Oh, my giddy aunt,’ I groaned. ‘Three more of the blighters?’

‘Wouldn’t be surprised if there are more than three. Miranda’s going to die of joy.’

‘And everyone else is going to run for the hills, taking their valuables with them.’ My thoughts were in a flutter with so much happening at once; I took a couple of steadying breaths, and made myself think. ‘Right. Call Home, and…’ I stopped. Calling Home for back-up wasn’t an option anymore. ‘Call Rob,’ I said instead. As I spoke, I dragged open the flap of my ever-present shoulder bag and hauled out my favourite book. ‘Morning, Mauf,’ I greeted him.

Mauf’s pages riffled in greeting. ‘Good morning, Miss Vesper. How may I be of assistance?’

‘Quick job for you.’ I stroked the rich purple leather of his covers. He liked that, and it always put him in a helpful mood. ‘That bookmark looks great,’ I added, for a little flattery never hurts.

The bookmark in question, a pure silk ribbon dyed majestic gold, fluttered coquettishly. ‘Why thank you, Miss Vesper. If I may say so, you made a fine choice. What an eye for textiles!’

I may have preened a bit, too. Flattery works both ways. ‘You shall have another sometime,’ I promised him. ‘For the moment, can you tell me if you have any information about one Mellicent Makepeace, of the Newmarket Makepeaces?’

Mauf went quiet for a moment. Presumably he was searching through his… memory? Records? It was hard to tell how it worked with him. ‘There was a family of that name in the Newmarket area,’ he confirmed. ‘Is there any particular era of interest to you?’

‘Eighteenth century?’

‘Ooh,’ said Mauf.

‘You’ve found something?’

The book literally wriggled with glee. ‘Millie Makepeace, daughter of Mr. William Makepeace of Broneham Manor.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Family of only moderate wealth, I would guess, though squarely genteel. Miss Makepeace appears to have been a model citizen.’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘Until she was hanged for murder in 1779.’

My relief turned to chagrin. ‘Not again.’

Zareen poked her nose over my shoulder. ‘Who’d she kill?’

‘The cook. There had been an altercation earlier in the day, the subject being a pudding which Miss Makepeace thought improperly prepared.’

Zareen actually giggled. ‘That’s fantastic.’

‘She killed someone over a dessert?’ I spluttered. ‘Zar, this madwoman has hold of Jay. This is anything but fantastic.’

‘Right.’ Zareen sobered. ‘But she likes Jay, Ves. It’s that smile. He’ll have her eating out of the palm of his hand by now.’

I wasted a second or two picturing the smile in question — undeniably attractive — before I pulled myself together. ‘Did you call Rob?’

‘Yes, but I’m guessing you’ll want to call him again now.’

I did indeed. Fortunately he picked up right away. ‘If this is about the pups—’ he began.

‘It’s not.’ I rattled off an account of the latest development.

‘Right,’ said Rob when I’d finished. ‘I’ll see that this reaches Milady. Miranda’s on her way to collect the pups. Have you found out where they’re coming from?’

‘Not as such, but I can only imagine they came from the house that’s just wandered off with Jay.’

‘Then Jay is well-placed to investigate and I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon. There’s no way you can follow the house, I suppose?’

‘Not that I’ve yet discovered, but working on it.’

I like Rob so much. As capable of harming people as he is of healing them, he’s nonetheless the most grounded person I know. Nothing ruffles him.

I stashed my phone and turned back to Mauf. ‘Maufy, why is it that these house-toting Waymasters are always murderers, cut-throats and thieves?’

‘Always would not be correct, but there is a definite pattern emerging,’ Mauf agreed. ‘In 1697, Roderick Vale of Bantam Cross put forward the theory that magical abilities are sometimes amplified in times of crisis. He cited several pertinent examples, of which three were convicted murderers or thieves condemned to death by hanging. They performed extraordinary feats well outside their usual capabilities, though admittedly the goal at the time was to escape hanging and there is no indication that this enhancement of their powers proved permanent. Or would have proved permanent if they had not actually been executed, which two of them duly were. Then in 1741, Harriet Bodkin wrote in On the Unfortunate Matter of Dark Magicke that committing terrible deeds had been seen to have a similar effect on what are nowadays referred to as the darker arts, or perhaps the stranger arts, and—’

‘Mauf,’ I interrupted him. ‘I love you. Let’s finish this conversation a bit later, okay?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

I hoped he was not offended. Mauf could be prickly sometimes. But if I let him really get going, he’d ramble on all day.

I returned him to his sleeping-bag in the satchel. ‘So if Roderick and Miss Bodkin were correct, it’s no coincidence that the likes of the Greyers and Miss Makepeace were chosen for hauling houses around. Maybe no one else had the capacity.’

‘Yes, but.’ Zareen was frowning. ‘Waymastery has never been classified among the stranger arts, has it?’

‘Perhaps terrible deeds don’t only enhance the stranger powers. Maybe it works on the other arts, too.’

‘Why would it?’

‘Good question.’ Very good question. The idea didn’t seem to hold much water; I could think of several vastly powerful witches and sorcerers off the top of my head who’d never so much as squashed a spider. Nonetheless, the Greyers and John Wester and Mellicent Makepeace formed a clear pattern. If it was not that their deeds influenced their arts, what else was it about them?

‘I wonder how long Millie’s been cooped up in that house,’ I mused aloud.

‘Since her death,’ said Zareen promptly. ‘Like Wester. Those kinds of arts are time-sensitive. I mean, you maybe could dig up someone who’s been dead a while, re-bury them in a new site and hope there’s enough of their spirit left to harness for your nefarious purposes, but in most cases there won’t be. Ancestria Magicka knows this. That’s why they were after the Greyer cottage — if you want to make a fresh, new perambulatory building you need live spirits, so to speak. If Millie had been hanged and buried as normal, her spirit would either have passed on or wandered off within a few days.’

‘In that case, I wonder who bound her to the house? She must be buried somewhere in there, no?’

‘Right. Someone purloined her corpse, post-hanging, and sited her in the farmhouse. We’ll ask her sometime.’

I thought. ‘Do you suppose she went back to Newmarket?’

‘To the place of her crime and subsequent execution? Doubtful. I mean, would you?’

It occurred to me that our options were severely diminished without our pet Waymaster. If Jay were here, I’d have suggested we pop down to Newmarket to check. But here we were, hundreds of miles away and with no convenient means of transport.

‘Options,’ I said. ‘We can go to Newmarket the slow way and see if Millie’s there with Jay. We can wait here a while and hope the house comes back. Or we can move on to the next thing.’

‘What’s the next thing?’ If Zareen wasn’t already best friends with that pup, she was working on it. The pup was rubbing its furry little face all over her cheek. I felt a tiny bit jealous.

‘The spire,’ I said. ‘Jay wanted to go back there. He had some plan in mind, which being Jay he did not impart. I think I’ve an idea what he was up to, though.’

‘Gets my vote.’ Zareen spoke around a huge, soppy smile, and kissed the pup’s face.

‘But Jay—’

‘Is a grown man. I know you feel responsible for him, but you aren’t. He can handle himself.’

She was right, but still. I called Rob again. ‘Rob, about Jay. The Mellicent Makepeace house came from the Newmarket area and it might have gone back there. Can we possibly send someone to check?’

‘We?’ said Rob. ‘I thought you three were going it alone now.’

‘Rob.’

He laughed. ‘I’ll go myself. Send me the address.’

I did that, feeling better. Zareen was probably right on all points, but it still didn’t sit right with me to just leave Jay to his fate. If he was at Mellicent’s old village and in some kind of trouble, there was no one better than Rob to help get him out of it.

If he wasn’t at Mellicent’s old village, well… I had no way of finding out where else he might have been taken to.

Focus, Ves.

‘Right,’ I muttered, and fished my tiny syrinx pipes out of my shirt. ‘Soon as someone gets here to pick up these pups, we’re airborne. Where did you say the others were?’

We enjoyed an entertaining time chasing down the rest of the Dappledok pups. There proved to be four, at least that we discovered, and keeping them with us was no easy task. I’d privately hoped that Mellicent might consent to return Jay while we were waiting for Miranda, but I was to be disappointed. When at last Miranda appeared with two of her kennel aides and a quartet of travel-baskets between them, there remained only an empty space where the farmhouse had previously been.

Miranda barely looked at Zareen or me. She had eyes only for the pups, and the feeling was apparently mutual, for they mobbed her at once. I told myself it was because of the treats she kept in her pockets, some of which were duly distributed as she coaxed them into the baskets. Only once all four pups were safely confined and ready to go did she focus on me. ‘No further info on where they’ve come from, I suppose?’

‘Nope.’ We’d explored the area a bit more while we waited, but without turning up anything of use. ‘They were most likely brought here in Mellicent’s farmhouse, like the one we found at the Greyer cottage. But where they came from before that, we’ve no idea.’

‘Jay might, though,’ said Zareen.

‘True.’ I called him again. Still no answer.

‘Well, let me know if you get hold of him,’ said Miranda. She quirked a smile at the both of us and added, ‘How’s the rogue life treating you?’

‘We’re doing great!’ I said enthusiastically. ‘I’ve only called Rob about five times today, and this is the first time since at least this morning we’ve had to call in for help.’

Miranda grinned. ‘You know, nothing would’ve stopped me from coming down here for these little chaps, but I did feel obliged to run it past Milady first. She said to give you anything you needed.’

‘Did she indeed?’

‘So you’re rogue with Milady’s official sanction? That’s different.’

‘You should know, Mir. Life with the Society is never simple.’

She gave me a tiny salute. ‘Got it. Oh, Val sent this for you.’ She drew a little book out of the pocket of her waxed jacket and handed it to me. ‘And…’ She rummaged for a moment, then produced a shabby-looking pamphlet for Zareen.

There was no text of any kind on the cover or the spine of my book, but the pages inside were covered in faded hand-written script. The title page read simply: Mellicent Makepeace, 1778.

‘How the bloody hell did Val get hold of this?’ I squeaked.

‘Never question the Queen of the Library.’ Miranda collected her two baskets, nodded to us, and retreated to her car, her aides trailing behind her. It occurred to me, distantly, that I had never seen either of them before. New recruits? I felt an odd sensation of devastation. Barely two days away from the Society and I was already out of touch.

I shook off the feeling. ‘What’s yours?’ I said, showing Zareen the title page of my book.

She whistled. ‘It’s a treatise on the Stranger Arts and their connection to “dark deeds”, as the author puts it. More or less what Mauf was saying. Late 1600s, anonymous.’ It was bound in what looked, to my reasonably experienced eye, like human skin, which could not but make me shudder a little to behold.

My satchel was vibrating. I opened it and hauled out Mauf, who was (in his bookly fashion) spluttering with indignation. ‘I’ve never met such books!’ he said. ‘Let me have them at once.’

Meekly, we put Mauf back in the satchel and added Val’s donations. Mauf consented to settle down.

‘Just as well,’ I said. ‘It’s hard to read on horseback anyway.’ I lifted my face to the wind and blew a ditty on my silver pipes. The melody rang out, bright and clear.

As ever, Adeline appeared within minutes. I probably never would understand quite how she managed it. She trotted up to me, her silvery-white coat gleaming in the sun, and nuzzled me with her velvety nose.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t have any chips today.’

She snorted.

‘Later,’ I promised.

She had brought her night-black friend with her, who walked calmly up to Zareen and stood waiting. I wasn’t altogether sure that Zareen knew how to ride a horse, but I was soon reassured: she jumped nimbly onto the unicorn’s back and settled there, her eyes bright. ‘I’ve never flown by unicorn,’ she told me.

I mounted up — Addie is obliging enough to lower herself a bit to help me out, seeing as I am rather short — and took hold of her silver harness. ‘Hold tight,’ I advised, and clucked my tongue to Adeline. ‘To Nautilus Cove, darling!’ I told her.

She broke into a gallop, her powerful wings beating in time with her stride, and we rose smoothly into the air. The fresh, spring wind enveloped me, bringing with it (somehow) the scents of honeysuckle and chocolate, and I swear a sparkling, rosy mist blew lightly past my eyes.

I do love travelling by unicorn.

Turn page ->

‘I’m building alliances,’ said Zareen a little later, once George Mercer had gone. ‘Which is the first thing anybody in our situation would do. What can we expect to achieve with exactly three people?’

Jay was not impressed. ‘You couldn’t have consulted us about this brilliant plan?’

Zareen wasn’t impressed either. ‘You couldn’t have chosen a different pub to have dinner? Or did you think George couldn’t see you sitting there?’

Jay shot me a look, which I interpreted to mean it was all my fault.

‘Mercer was never going to believe you just wanted to see him, whether we were there or not,’ I said, in my own defence.

‘Quite,’ said Zareen shortly. ‘And I wanted to distract him. Note all those questions he was asking?’ She smiled mirthlessly. ‘You were listening?’

‘We were,’ I said. ‘And I did.’

‘If Katalin knew he was with me, so did his superiors. He was sent to bleed me for information, just as I was trying to bleed him. Well, he can take that snippet of gossip back with him and we’ll see what they do.’

‘They’ll agree,’ I said. ‘It’s the perfect way to keep tabs on us.’

‘Supposing they want to,’ said Jay.

‘Why wouldn’t they?’

‘Why would they?’ Jay countered. ‘As Zareen has just pointed out, there are exactly three of us. Without the Society at our backs, what can we be expected to achieve that would put Ancestria Magicka in a tizz?’

‘We may be only three, but we get results,’ I objected. ‘Who was it that found out about the Greyer cottage?’

‘They did. We may have found it first, but only by about twenty-five minutes — and they were on the trail well before we knew anything about it.’

That was, annoyingly, true. ‘Well then, the Redclover brothers and the Spire. We did that on our own.’

Jay patted me on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure they’re quaking in their boots.’

George Mercer had left with a promise to think over Zareen’s offer, which Zar had interpreted to mean “receive instruction from his bosses”, whoever they were. The rest of their conversation had yielded very little, for they’d put each other on guard by then, and they were both skilled conversational fencers. Zar had dropped lots of intriguing, but not very informative, hints about our recent discoveries, all of which Mercer had failed to follow up on — which might mean that he already knew all about them, or merely that he was too clever to take the bait. Zar treated his various light-hearted queries, jokes and remarks in the same fashion. She hadn’t been able to draw him on the subject of his trip to Gloucestershire, either. He’d claimed to have gone there on a mundane errand (picking up a new recruit). It could have been true.

I was privately horrified at the idea of our developing a close association with George Mercer, or anybody else from Ancestria Magicka. It’s difficult to pretend to help somebody without actually doing anything useful for them. Sooner or later you do actually have to help, and how was that going to pan out? I didn’t want to help them. Neither did Jay. They’d take anything we gave them and find a way to do something terrible with it, and there was no guarantee that we’d glean anything of much use in return.

But Zar was serene. I hoped fervently that she knew what she was doing.

We spent an uneventful night at The Scarlet Courtyard. No one came to spy on us, no one tried to kidnap us, nothing went mysteriously missing… all told it was a bit disappointing. We awoke in the morning feeling a touch let down.

That lasted until I was approximately halfway through a plate of eggs and toast in Mrs. Amberstone’s pretty east-facing morning room. I received a call.

‘It’s Rob,’ I said to Zareen and Jay as I picked it up. ‘The bonds of the Society have begun to chafe and you’re ready to join us?’ I said into the phone.

‘Not just yet,’ said Rob in his deep, calm voice. ‘But I’m seriously thinking about it, Ves.’

‘I could be very persuasive.’ And I might, too. For all that I’d argued, I privately agreed just a bit with Jay: the three of us could use some help.

‘This I know, to my cost. Any news for me?’

I relayed Zareen’s surprise manoeuvre regarding George Mercer.

‘Keep your enemies close,’ remarked Rob.

‘There’s such a thing as too close.’

‘So there is. Do you want my news?’

I desperately did. Rob talked for a couple of minutes and then rang off, with a solemn promise to send me all further developments as soon as they arose.

‘There’s been an outbreak of Dappledok pups,’ I told my trusty companions, and began hastily scooping up the remains of my breakfast. ‘Three spotted at different places around England. Two of them popped up in magicker communities — Rob’s sending details — but one’s been seen scurrying around in the Cotswolds.’

‘That house,’ said Jay.

I nodded, my mouth full of toast.

‘Right.’ He stood up. ‘We’re going.’

I took the toast with me, and followed.

‘Where the bloody hell are they coming from?’ said Zareen.

I didn’t have the slightest idea either, but it was definitely time to find out.

Jay whisked us away to Gloucestershire, and I soon developed the feeling that I might never want to leave again. We came out in a featureless field, notably devoid of visible henge — ‘Stones are gone, still works,’ said Jay briefly in answer to our puzzled faces — and set off in the direction of habitation.

And habitation proved to be a drippingly gorgeous Tudor manor set among wooded emerald hills, the latter dotted about with the kinds of places people mean when they talk of the English country cottage. Pure idyll. The walk to Owlpen village took us only a few minutes, but I would’ve been happy had it taken an hour. Golden morning sunshine drenched everything around us, making the greenery glow with a light almost magical, and the air smelled fresh in the way that only spring can bring.

There isn’t much left of the village, though there are signs that it used to be rather larger. Jay led us to a spot some thirty feet from the narrow village road, hidden from the few scattered stone houses that made up the settlement. ‘The vanishing house was seen around here,’ he said, stamping lightly on the grassy earth with one booted foot.

A swift look around confirmed that no, there really wasn’t an eighteenth-century farmhouse loitering in the bushes. ‘It always appears in the same place?’

‘So say the reports. But they aren’t always very specific. You know the kind of thing. “Well, it was near the gate into that field that used to belong to Farmer Wells — the one with the twisted oak at the north-west corner? Where Marjorie fell and broke her leg last winter.” And it’s no use asking which of several possible fields they’re referring to, or what “near” means anyway.’ Jay walked as he talked, hands in the pockets of his jacket, moving in ever-widening circles.

Zareen and I joined in, watching for any sign of a two-hundred-year-old building hidden among the trees, or crouched behind a rambling hedgerow.

‘Should be anywhere within about a mile’s radius…’ said Jay, then stopped. ‘Aha. Farmhouse ahoy, suitably incongruous. Looks like flint?’

I hurried to catch up with him. ‘That is indeed flint,’ I said, which is relevant, I promise. Flint stones are not a popular building material in those parts of the country supplied with better options, like limestone, or good clay for bricks. Flint properties are usually found in East Anglia, which has a lot of flint and not much of anything else. So I’d wager this farmhouse originated from somewhere nearer Norwich than Stroud.

‘Good work, men,’ I murmured.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Jay tipped an imaginary hat to me, and off we went.

‘Wait,’ I said, stopping. ‘Where’s Zar?’

Jay gave a cursory look around. ‘Doubtless off getting into mischief. She’ll catch up.’

Knowing Zareen, that was fair enough.

The farmhouse had parked itself on the edge of a tiny copse of ash and birch trees. It looked innocuous enough, flint excepted, and quite as though it could almost belong there. The place had not been well maintained, for parts of the walls were crumbling, chunks of flint having dropped out long ago, and the white paint adorning the sash windows was peeling. Jay and I approached cautiously, half-expecting to be challenged, but the morning air was breathlessly still and nothing moved.

‘I think I’ll try your trick,’ said Jay, and walked up to the blue-painted front door. A dull brass knocker hung there; Jay rapped loudly with it several times.

Nothing stirred.

‘Hello?’ called Jay, and when that, too, was productive of nothing he raised his voice still further. ‘Come on! There must be someone in residence, even if you aren’t alive. Someone of a Waymasterly persuasion, probably long dead, wrapped around this house like a bad smell… aha.’ Rudeness apparently had its benefits, for the heavy blue door creaked open and swung ponderously inward.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said a cool, female voice. Refined. She had undoubtedly been gentry when she was alive.

‘Just trying to get your attention,’ said Jay, with one of his more charming smiles. I wondered if it would still work on someone who’d been a house for longer than she’d been a woman.

Apparently it did, for the door opened a bit wider. ‘Do you play whist?’ said the house.

‘No, but I’m sure you could teach me.’ Jay paused upon the doorstep. ‘Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

The door swung back and forth a bit, creaking. ‘Mellicent Makepeace, of the Newmarket Makepeaces,’ she said. The voice had definitely warmed. ‘And who calls upon me?’

‘Jay Patel, of the Nottingham Patels.’ Jay peered cautiously through the half-open door.

‘A pleasure, Mr. Patel,’ said Mellicent, and the door swung wide again. ‘I am perfectly safe, I can assure you. There is no one home this morning. I am quite alone.’

‘Then you must be lonely,’ said Jay.

‘I am!’ The words emerged as a forlorn wail. ‘Will you keep me company?’

‘For a little while, Miss Makepeace. I believe you may be able to help me with something.’

I’d joined Jay at the door by this time, but I said nothing, preferring not to interrupt his rapport with little Miss Makepeace. Jay leaned towards me and whispered, ‘Wait here a minute?’

I opened my mouth to ask why I was to be left languishing on the doorstep but Jay had already gone, darting through the door before I could utter more than two syllables.

To my dismay, the blue door shut crisply behind him.

‘Miss Makepeace?’ I called.

Either I did not have Jay’s charm or she was unresponsive to my particular brand of it, for there came no reply.

I began to have a bad feeling.

This feeling quadrupled when a tremor ran through the ground beneath my feet, and all the misshapen flintstones in the farmhouse’s walls rattled. I jumped back instinctively. Mist rose up in a thick, billowing cloud, obscuring the lower half of the house — and then the whole thing was gone, leaving the copse of youthful ash trees swaying dreamily in the winds of its passage.

I stared numbly at the spot where the farmhouse had been.

‘Jay?’ I called.

Of course, there was no reply.

Turn page ->

There are definitely people I’m fonder of than Katalin Pataki. It isn’t just that she happens to belong to the enemy. She also has a lamentable way of making me feel just a touch inferior. She’s about a foot taller than me, with the long, sleek look of a supermodel. Why should that make me feel deficient? Well, it shouldn’t. Apart from the practical advantage of being able to reach the top shelves in the cupboard without fetching a step, there is no real superiority to being taller.

Such is the folly of womankind.

Mind you, I say that but I’d noticed Jay eyeing the bulky figure of George Mercer as he came in, and his face registered the same kind of scowling irritation with which I beheld Katalin Pataki. So I’ll amend that.

Such is the folly of humankind.

Anyway, Katalin waltzed up to our table with her slinky supermodel stride and stood looking down at Jay and me. She said nothing.

‘Yes?’ I said after a while.

She still said nothing, and I realised it wasn’t me she was surveying so much as Jay. And Jay was meeting that stare with no sign of discomfort.

Well. Jay may not be half muscle, like Mercer, but he’s got all that black windswept hair and those cheekbones, and with that black leather jacket he always wears there’s a touch of the roguish about him. I began to wonder whether Ancestria Magicka’s pursuit of him (by way of Katalin) was about more than just his juicy Waymastery skills.

‘How can we help you?’ said Jay, and to my irritation that prompted a half-smile and, at last, a response.

I refuse to admit that the looming-over-us-without-speaking thing was in any way intimidating.

‘What are you doing on Saturday night?’ she said.

Oh, please. If she must ask Jay on a date, did she have to do it right in front of my nose? As though I didn’t even exist! The cheek.

To my secret relief, Jay did not have the flattered look of a man delighted to accept. His eyes narrowed, and he said with scepticism: ‘What would you like us to be doing on Saturday night?’ I liked the us in that sentence.

Katalin produced cards. Not business cards but lovely invitation cards on thick creamy paper. There was even a flash of gold gilding as she presented them to us — one each.

I examined mine in silence.

Ancestria Magicka’s Summer Ball, it said, amid the usual flourishings and faff. Ashdown Castle, Saturday 13th of May.

If I wanted to be picky I might note that referring to the 13th of May as summer was a touch optimistic. This is Britain, after all. But that aside: what?

‘Why?’ said Jay, perfectly expressing my own feelings in that one syllable.

‘You’ll see,’ she said mysteriously, and walked away.

Hm.

I exchanged a raised-eyebrow look with Jay. ‘Apparently they’re ready to stop hiding their HQ,’ I noted.

Jay had laid his invitation on the table and sat frowning at it. ‘Big event,’ he said. ‘And if they’re inviting the enemy then they’re up to something.’

‘Declaration of war?’

‘Maybe not quite that, but something of the kind. Taking their place on the game board, so to speak.’

I tucked my card away in my handbag. ‘We’ll go.’

‘Definitely.’

I watched as Katalin made her way over to George and Zareen’s table and repeated the procedure, though this time she only produced a card for Zareen. As a member of Ancestria Magicka, I supposed, George needed no separate invitation.

Zareen’s brows went up. She said something to Katalin, but we were too far away from their table and there were too many chatty diners in between for me to hear what she was saying. Katalin’s response was equally lost.

Away went Ms. Katalin Pataki, and Zareen fell into conversation with George. None of which I could hear either. I sat chafing, chewing a fingernail.

‘You know,’ said Jay conversationally, ‘it’s customary to look at your date once in a while.’

My head swivelled. ‘This isn’t a date!’

‘No. But if you want people to think we are here for normal reasons, like, say, to have dinner and talk to one another, then stop staring fixedly at Mercer.’

He had a point, though I suspected the note of grumpiness I detected in his tone was prompted by something else. ‘Sorry,’ I said as graciously as I could.

Jay offered me a chip, the biggest one on his plate, which I took to mean I was forgiven. I ate it in some abstraction, for I was busy casting a charm. Only a small one, I swear. It was a charm to bring far voices near, and a busy pub was not the best place to try it, for of course it brought all the far voices near and for a moment I was deafened. It took a little effort to sort through all that chatter and focus on the voices of Zareen and George, during which period I stared through Jay’s face, glassy-eyed.

‘Well, whatever the reason for it I’m always up for a good shindig,’ said Zareen clearly.

‘Want to go with me?’ That must have been Mercer.

‘Ves,’ said Jay.

‘I’d be delighted,’ said Zareen, and I pictured her smile.

‘Great,’ said Mercer, and then added smoothly: ‘Where do I pick you up?’

‘Ves,’ said Jay.

‘Moment.’ That sounded like a probing question from Mercer, and I didn’t want to miss Zar’s reply.

‘I’ll find my way,’ she said.

‘You’ve been to Ashdown before,’ said Mercer.

‘Mm,’ said Zareen. ‘What, you couldn’t afford a castle that wasn’t derelict?’

‘It’s not entirely derelict,’ objected Mercer. ‘Parts of it are sound, and we’ll restore the rest.’

‘Still, your lot clearly doesn’t lack for money. I’d have thought you would go for something better. Castle Howard, say, or Harewood House.’

‘The minute they go up for sale, we’ll be first in line,’ said Mercer tartly. ‘Until that day, we’ll have to make do with Ashdown.’

Not a bad answer, for he was right: properties large enough to house an organisation of Ancestria Magicka’s size were not plentiful, not if one wanted a historic place. But Zar was onto something interesting, for why did they want a historic place? So much so that it was worth buying a house half fallen down?

‘You’re listening in, aren’t you?’ said Jay in disgust.

‘Shh,’ I whispered.

He stared at me, brows lowered, eyes narrowed. I expected further objections from him — something along the lines of you can’t eavesdrop on somebody else’s date! — but actually he just said: ‘Fine. Are you hearing anything good?’

So I began to relay everything I heard to Jay, which to nearby diners probably resembled something vaguely like dinner conversation.

Mercer said: ‘How did the Society come by your house, anyway? Got any tips for us?’ He said it lightly, as though it were a joke. It could easily have passed as such.

‘No idea,’ said Zareen, equally lightly. ‘Well before my time.’

‘What, aren’t there stories?’ Mercer laughed. ‘That I cannot believe.’

‘All kinds of stories — at least six for every event. Milady spreads them herself. I think it amuses her to mess with us.’

Good move, Zar, I thought silently. If there was still a traitor at Home feeding rumours to Ancestria Magicka, perhaps that would sow some doubt.

‘She sounds difficult,’ said Mercer.

‘Terribly, but we love her.’

‘Right.’ Mercer’s voice was sceptical. ‘So you walked out on her.’

Zar waved this off with admirable insouciance. ‘Sometimes it’s necessary to part ways with those we love. This is important.’

‘This?’

Zar lowered her voice. ‘You know. Wester and the Greyer cottage. The pups. What happened to the Redclover brothers. All of it.’

George Mercer sat back in his chair, scrutinising Zareen with an unreadable look.

‘You’re staring again,’ said Jay, and I slumped back with a sigh. ‘Worst sleuth ever,’ he added, though his lips twitched in a smile.

I rolled my eyes at him.

Mercer was speaking again. ‘What am I doing here, Zar?’

‘Having dinner with me.’ I could hear the bright smile in her voice as she said it.

‘To what end? It’s been years since you and me, and all of a sudden you want to have dinner? I don’t buy it.’

‘Quite right.’ Zareen was suddenly brisk. I heard a clatter of cutlery as she, presumably, set aside her plate. ‘I’ve come with an offer.’

‘Oh?’

‘A pact. We have the same goals, George. Ves and Jay and I, we know what the Waymasters of old used to be able to do. The Redclover brothers at least, and possibly others besides. The Ministry might be intent on hushing it up but I know that Ancestria Magicka is determined to discover the whole truth — and so are we. Help us, and we’ll help you.’

I saw my own horror reflected in Jay’s dark eyes, for that certainly had not been part of the plan. Just what did Zareen think she was doing?

Turn page ->

‘Home’s burnt down?’ I said, as the Baron took a seat next to me.

He gave me a strange look. ‘No, of course it hasn’t.’

Hm. What else might rank as bad news in Baron Alban’s world?

‘Ancestria Magicka has taken over the Hidden Ministry,’ suggested Jay.

Alban did not disclaim this idea as emphatically as I would have liked. He thought for a moment, and then said: ‘Not to my knowledge.’ An unspoken yet seemed to hover in the air.

‘Stop guessing,’ said Zareen. ‘Let the man speak.’

The Baron tipped an imaginary hat in her general direction. ‘It’s Lord Garrogin,’ he said. ‘He’s back at Court.’ He looked intently at me, and then at Jay. ‘Why on earth did you two tell him so much?’

‘Just us two?’ I protested. ‘Zareen was grilled for ages.’

Zareen rolled her eyes. ‘I was interrogated at length because I wouldn’t tell him things.’

Oh.

I gave a cough. ‘What did we tell him that’s bad news?’

‘News of your defection from the Society reached the Court late last night. Garrogin professed himself astonished. It seems the pair of you rattled on at length about your loyalty to the Society and your total lack of interest in working anywhere else.’ The Baron sat back as his tea was presented to him by a smiling waitress. When she had gone, he slid the plate of cheesecake in my direction and continued: ‘As a Truthseeker he’s uniquely qualified to detect the perfect sincerity of everything you said, and it therefore seemed odd to him that you’ve suddenly broken with Milady.’

I took a spoonful of cheesecake, and savoured a mouthful of syrupy-sweet strawberry while I considered my response. ‘Crap,’ I said at last.

‘Perhaps it won’t matter,’ said Jay optimistically. ‘Do we need to care what they think at the Troll Court?’

‘Maybe not,’ conceded the Baron. ‘But who are you trying to fool?’

‘The Ministry, for the most part.’

I put in, ‘And any other organisation with the authority to frown upon our delving into forbidden topics.’

‘Like, for example, the Troll Court?’ said Zareen, with withering sarcasm.

‘They have no authority over us,’ insisted Jay.

‘No, but they can make plenty of trouble for us anyway.’

‘It’s a problem,’ said the Baron. ‘Because I can’t really contradict Garrogin’s assessment of the situation. Ves is known for her unshakeable loyalty to the Society, and anyway he’s a bloody Truthseeker. People believe him. The best thing I can think of to say in your support is that it must’ve been something very serious to prompt you to leave, and that naturally leads to one question: like what?’

I might think the Hidden Ministry was wrong to put a total ban on all investigation into the arena of time-travel, but they were quite right to keep the subject quiet. We didn’t need any more bright sparks like Ancestria Magicka armed with those kinds of prospects. If they wouldn’t appoint a task-force to take care of the matter, well, we’d appointed ourselves. But we in no way wanted gossip spreading far and wide as to what we might be getting up to.

‘So we need a cover story?’ I said. ‘Some other dark and dangerous thing we might have considered it worth leaving the Society for?’

‘Like what?’ said Alban, with a twinkle, and he was right because I could think of nothing.

Even if I could, the moment we ran into Garrogin again that particular game would be up. He’d catch us in a lie. And he’d seemed certain he would encounter us again…

…which was an interesting point. Why had he felt that way?

Baron Alban shrugged, and took a long swallow of tea. ‘I don’t know what the solution is. I thought it wise to warn you. For the moment, do your best to stay out of Garrogin’s way?’

‘Assuredly,’ I murmured. As long as he stayed at the Court, that shouldn’t be too hard.

‘And be careful who you trust.’ The Baron said this with uncharacteristic hesitation, as though reluctant to speak. ‘Back Home, I mean.’

That brought a dark frown to Jay’s brow, and I could not suppress a sigh. He was right, of course, and we’d known it all along. But it hurt to have to hear it spoken aloud. We knew there was a traitor at Home, and as yet, we still had no idea who it was. As far as the rest of the Society was concerned, Milady’s story of our departure had to be the truth. We couldn’t risk confiding in anybody else, with the probable exception of Rob.

‘Why did Garrogin fail?’ said Jay after a moment. ‘He spoke to everyone at Home, and it’s supposed to be impossible to fool a Truthseeker.’

‘So they say,’ said Zareen. ‘But how many of them are there, now? We’re mostly working with legends of the Truthseekers of old, and you know how those kinds of tales can get exaggerated.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And also, if arts like Waymastery have declined in power down the ages, might not the same be true of arts like Truthseeking? Perhaps Garrogin just isn’t as good at it as his predecessors were.’

‘Both good points,’ said Alban. ‘But there’s one other possibility.’

‘He does know,’ said Jay. ‘But he’s a traitor too.’

Jay seemed to be getting awfully suspicious-minded. But the Baron, to my dismay, was nodding. ‘It is possible that he knows very well who your traitor is, and has always known. But if he’s also in the pay of whoever’s bought off your mysterious colleague, then he’d obey an order to conceal that information.’

‘Damnit,’ I said with a sigh, slouching in my chair. I did not like this at all. Suspicion and paranoia proliferating by the day, mysterious dangers around every corner, an inability to trust one’s fellows combined with the necessity of lying to them… it was not my style. I liked openness and co-operation and goodwill.

A pox on Ancestria Magicka.

Then again, if they did contrive to learn the secrets of time-travel, a pox they would most likely have. Smallpox, perhaps, or even the Great Pox itself — syphilis.

Which reminded me. ‘Dear Alban,’ I began, with my best smile.

‘Yes?’ He did not look quite as buttered-up as I was hoping. The look he directed at me was more suspicious than charmed.

I fluttered my eyelashes, just a bit. No change.

Curse it.

‘I’ve some questions,’ I said more briskly, abandoning all hope of sweet-talking the information out of him.

He folded his muscular arms. ‘No,’ he said.

‘No?’

‘No, the Court has no secret information about travelling through time via Waymastery.’

‘Damn. How about the Redclovers of Dappledok Dell?’

‘Which ones?’

‘The interesting ones. Melmidoc and Drystan, of the Striding Spire.’ If our suspicions proved correct, these two spriggans had jaunted around in time quite at their leisure, by way of that sparkly spire I was just talking about.

‘I don’t know,’ said Alban. ‘I can check the libraries.’

‘Lovely. And Ancestria Magicka?’

The Baron conceded to uncross his arms. His tea cup was empty. I offered him a forkful of cheesecake but fortunately this was spurned. ‘Probably we know about as much as you do,’ he said. ‘It’s a fairly new organisation, less than two years old. Extremely rich, though no one seems to know where their funds are coming from. Aggressive, mercenary, and sometimes dangerous. I hope you aren’t planning to take them for your role-model.’

‘But we are,’ said Zareen. ‘They’re perfect. Unscrupulous, uncompromising, and working in mysterious ways. We don’t have funders, so we’ll have to adopt a similarly enigmatic attitude on that score. And we’re plenty unscrupulous enough to investigate the Spire in spite of the Ministry’s strict orders not to.’

Unscrupulous. A wonderful word. ‘Not a single scrup between us,’ I agreed, with a big smile.

Jay looked faintly ill.

The Baron waved a hand in a whatever gesture, and stood up. ‘Must go,’ he said, then paused, and withdrew a sheet of paper from an inside jacket pocket. ‘I almost forgot that.’ He bowed to us, handed the paper to me with a wink, and strolled away.

It was a scan of somebody’s hand-written notes, apparently the minutes of some sort of meeting. Neither the author nor the identities of the attendees were specified, but the contents were highly interesting. I read it quickly, and handed it off to Jay.

Zareen raised her eyebrows.

‘Seems there’ve been a few reported sightings of disappearing buildings made to the Court this year,’ I said. ‘One of them sounds like the Greyer cottage, but there are others.’

Zareen snatched the paper from Jay and devoured its contents in hungry silence. ‘I’d heard nothing of these,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘Though I thought I’d dug through pretty much everything.’

‘The Troll Court thrives on mystery.’

Jay retrieved the paper and studied it more closely. ‘The most recent of these sightings was last week.’

‘Which one was that?’ I asked.

‘Eighteenth-century farm house, in the Cotswolds. Observed vanishing into the mists on the edge of the village of Owlpen.’ He collected his phone from a pocket and after a moment’s work added: ‘Which is only a couple of miles from the Owlcote Troll Enclave.’

‘George was in Gloucestershire recently,’ said Zareen. ‘Stroud area. Wouldn’t say why.’

‘I’m guessing this is why,’ said Jay.

‘Excellent.’ Zareen gave the satisfied smile of a spider about to devour a particularly plump fly. ‘I’ll ask him about it.’

We checked ourselves into a B&B for a couple of nights. There is one in the vicinity of Home called, for reasons unknown, the Scarlet Courtyard. The proprietors are both witches, so they’re tolerant of our sort. Mrs. Amberstone is about eighty years old but unbelievably spry. I can’t get her to tell me what dark magic makes that possible.

‘I’ve got a coffee cake in the oven,’ she informed me as she showed me to my room, a cosy little space under the eaves with a sloping dormer window.

‘I love you,’ I said with total sincerity.

She winked at me as she withdrew.

Anyway, having spent the afternoon arguing about our various options and what we might be disposed to do about them (‘The Spire,’ said Jay. ‘The Cotswolds,’ said Zareen. ‘The Troll Court,’ said I,) we arrived at The Cupboard shortly before seven.

‘Off you go,’ said Zareen silkily. She’d done all the eye-makeup and looked incredibly sultry.

‘You promised!’ I said.

‘Actually, I remember myself saying “no”.’

‘She did,’ confirmed Jay at my elbow.

‘Then why did you let us come with you?’

‘I don’t mind your being in the same building. Just keep away from my table.’

I wanted to protest, but Jay grabbed my arm and steered me towards a table on the far side of the pub from Zareen’s chosen spot. I wilted into a chair, disappointed.

‘You don’t seriously want to play gooseberry on Zareen’s date?’ Jay said, his expressive eyebrows going up.

‘Is it a date?’ I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of Zareen across the crowded room. ‘She hardly sees him.’

‘If I showed up for dinner and found all that waiting for me, I’d definitely call it a date.’ He inclined his head in Zareen’s direction as he uttered the word that, and I realised he meant the dress and the up-do and the eye-makeup.

‘She’s just trying to impress him so he’ll talk.’

‘Yes,’ Jay agreed. ‘By taking him on a date.’

I wondered how far Zareen’s interest in George Mercer really went. Was she just being manipulative, or did she really like him? She was as enigmatic as the Troll Court.

The door opened then, and George Mercer came in. He wore a dark blazer over a t-shirt, his unruly brown hair artfully wind-swept. I hadn’t taken much note of his physical characteristics before, as the first time we’d met he had been trying to knock me off my airborne pegasus and the second time he’d got straight into a fight with Jay. But now I noticed his height — at least 6’2”. He was well-built, too, and good-looking in a rugged sort of way. I could see why Zareen had kept in touch.

So intent was I upon my scrutiny of his personal charms that I failed to notice he was not alone. By the time this fact had registered with me, Katalin Pataki was halfway across the pub and heading straight for our table.

‘Curse it,’ I muttered. ‘What’s she doing here?’

Turn page ->

I used to read a lot of Enid Blyton books as a child. They were about close-knit families and groups of friends, who, despite occasional bouts of quarrelsome behaviour, were very much All In It Together. Those children had siblings and loving parents and stable homes — all of it — but! They were still allowed to spend all day rambling about having adventures. Of course I adored them.

Whenever I was particularly lonely, I used to make up my own adventures. They featured me as the heroine, of course, surrounded by a fine crew of loyal chums, and we spent our time solving crimes and mysteries, uncovering long-lost spells, saving beleaguered beasts, travelling to magickal realms, and generally getting into all kinds of productive trouble. (I like that term: “productive trouble”. I must remember it for the next time Jay gets all raised-eyebrows at me).

Anyway, a good adventure story always begins with a snappy title. Five Go To Mystery Moor. Five Get Into a Fix. Look Out Secret Seven. Mine had titles like Six Go To Honeycup Dell and Six Cast a Spell, which to be fair were not as jazzy as they could’ve been but what do you want from me, I was ten.

If ten-year-old Ves could have peeped ahead twenty years at what thirty-year-old Ves would be doing, she might have fainted with delight.

‘How about Three Go Rogue?’ I mused aloud. I was speaking for the benefit of Jay and Zareen, my only companions that morning. It wasn’t even nine o’ clock yet, though the sun was already high, it being late in May. We were huddled around a table in a coffee shop not far from Home (forgive me if I don’t say precisely where. The best adventures have their secrets, too).

Jay just looked at me. He had a pole-axed air which I could not quite like, partly because the lost look in his dark eyes unpleasantly echoed the shameful clenched feeling in my own belly. This is not how an adventurer responds to a surprise! A little constructive adversity is bread and butter to a former member of the Splendid Six. This was exciting. This was thrilling.

Terrifying, said a small part of my mind, which I instantly and ruthlessly squashed.

‘What?’ said Jay.

‘Three Go Rogue,’ I repeated. ‘Though I am having trouble coming up with a suitably alliterative nickname for the three of us. It would be much more convenient if we numbered four.’

‘The Thrifty Three,’ offered Zareen, without looking up. She, alone of the three of us, appeared untouched by the suddenness with which we had been evicted from Home. She was as unruffled as ever, and had already dispatched two cups of coffee and a large breakfast. I had forced my way through a couple of pastries because the old, sunnily untroubled Ves would have done so with relish. I did not want to admit that the dough curdled in my stomach, and sat there like a lump of concrete.

I mean, for goodness’ sake. It wasn’t as though we would never be able to go Home again. Temporary, Ves, I reminded myself.

And we still had Milady’s chocolate pot.

‘Are we thrifty?’ I said, casting an eye over the table-top. It was littered with cups and teapots and plates of food, some eaten, some not. It hadn’t been an inexpensive repast.

‘Not the slightest bit, but it’s all I can think of.’

‘The Thunderstruck Three,’ suggested Jay.

‘It would do for now, but we will only be briefly Thunderstruck. We need something more lasting.’

Jay blinked at me. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s empowering. Wouldn’t you rather be The Thrilling Three than The Tremulous Trio?’

‘The Throwaway Three,’ said Jay, and stirred his half-cup of coffee.

‘Gloomy.’

‘I am, a bit.’

‘Right, we need to snap out of this.’ I sat up straight. ‘I know it’s going to be hard to manage without Home, and all our friends at the Society, and Milady, and regular hot chocolate, and the first-floor common room, and the waypoint in the cellar, and the cafeteria, and Orlando’s genius inventions, and your sister, and the pup, and Rob and Miranda and Val—’

‘Not Rob,’ interrupted Zareen. ‘Milady said he’d probably catch up with us here and there, remember?’

Right. While Jay, Zareen and I had been assigned the role of disenfranchised ex-employees out to found our own rival organisation, Rob had been cast as the eternally-on-the-fence chap who couldn’t make up his mind between loyalty to the Society and following the bold new direction laid down by the Thrilling Three. Which gave him an excuse to sometimes come help us out, and that was nice, but the list of things we would have to manage without went on and on in my head.

Focus, Ves.

‘We can do this,’ I said, opting for the short version of my little pep talk.

‘Do what, exactly?’ said Jay. ‘I am not so experienced with Milady’s double-speak as you are. One minute she was telling us not, under any circumstances, to investigate the Starstone Spire or the time-travel or the Redclovers any further and the next we’re out on our ear with a mystifying carte-blanche to do anything we like.’

‘We’re supposed to understand that “anything we like” in this context consists of all of the things Milady had just told us not to do,’ I said. ‘Her hands are tied, see. She has to toe the Hidden Ministry’s line, at least on the surface, and that’s especially true with people like Lord Garrogin around.’ Garrogin was a rare Truthseeker. That meant he knew when people were lying. He was powerful in other ways, too; not someone Milady wanted to get on the wrong side of.

‘Then why not just do as she’s told?’

‘Jay. You cannot be serious.’

He gave me the wide-eyed, solemn look of a man who’s never been more serious in the whole course of his life. ‘She was right about the dangers of time-travel. If it was ever possible, the world’s better off not knowing.’

‘You might be right,’ I conceded. ‘But while we fine, law-abiding folk might be satisfied with that answer, do you think Ancestria Magicka will?’

‘Doesn’t have to be our problem.’

‘The great thing about the Famous Five and the Secret Seven was, they never said things like that.’

‘And if they’d existed in the real world, none of them would ever have reached adulthood.’

It was hard to argue with that, since I had sometimes privately thought the same thing. ‘Jay,’ I said instead. ‘We are not going to die.’

He smiled a little at that. ‘Hopefully not. We will, however, get ourselves into a lot of trouble.’

‘Productive trouble.’ There! Already a chance to use it.

I thought he looked ready with another litany of objections, but instead he sat up a bit, ran his hands through his thick, dark hair and nodded once. ‘No use worrying, either way. The sooner we finish this up, the sooner we can go Home.’

Zareen rolled her eyes in his general direction. ‘Glad you’re on board after all, Negative Nancy.’

Jay cast her a look of intense annoyance. ‘I’ll let that pass.’

‘Good show. Well then, chums, what’s the objective?’ Zareen put her phone away and sat looking expectantly at me.

‘Er,’ I said. ‘When’s our meeting with George again?’

‘My meeting with George.’

‘Right. That’s what I said.’

‘Seven-thirty at the Cupboard.’ The Cupboard was our favourite pub.

‘You couldn’t just call him?’ said Jay.

‘I could. But it’s better to talk to him in person.’

‘Why?’

Zareen smiled enigmatically. ‘You’ll see.’

If I suspected that Zareen’s strategy was not wholly unrelated to the fetching new arrangement of her green-streaked hair and the unusually stunning black dress she was wearing, I decided to keep these observations to myself.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘So George Mercer is our contact at Ancestria Magicka. Zareen is in charge of pumping him for information. We want to know everything they’ve found out about the Spire, about the possibly time-travelling Redclover brothers, about the perambulating Greyer cottage, about the Dappledok pups, and about time-travel overall.’

‘Sure,’ said Zareen affably. ‘I’ll just put together a quick twenty-question questionnaire. Do you think he’d prefer multiple choice answers or free-form?’

‘I realise it won’t be easy,’ I said.

Zareen grunted.

‘Just do the best you can. At this point, any new information would be helpful.’

Zareen saluted. ‘And what are you two going to do?’

‘I’ve sent a message to Baron Alban.’ I eyed Jay nervously as I said this. I was never sure how well he and the Baron got along. ‘The Troll Courts have always been a repository for rare, sensitive or obscure information and I’d like to know what they’ve got on all of the above. After all, if this stuff is on record somewhere… well, if I can infiltrate the Court, so can Ancestria Magicka. And they probably have.’

‘Cool,’ said Zareen. ‘Then we can be the Fabulous Four.’

‘Hasn’t that already been used somewhere?’

‘Who cares?’

Good point.

Jay had said nothing. He sipped coffee and stared into space and I wondered if he was listening at all.

‘Jay?’ I said.

‘Sorry. Right.’ He blinked a couple of times, and his eyes narrowed in thought. ‘I think we should go back to the Striding Spire.’

‘It’s probably crawling with Ministry agents by now,’ I objected.

‘It will be for a day or two, but they won’t camp out there forever. They’ll take the books away, and anything else deemed to be of interest or value, and then leave it alone.’

‘So what would be the benefit of our going there, if there’s nothing left?’

‘Who knows.’ Jay said this as though he, for one, might, but nothing more was forthcoming.

‘You aren’t going to tell me, are you?’

‘Not until I have something concrete to share.’

‘Fine.’ I got out a notebook and wrote at the top: Three Go Rogue. Underneath this I added a to-do list. It read: Talk to G. Mercer. Interrogate the Baron. Take over the Spire.

‘Take over the Spire?’ Jay echoed. ‘I didn’t say anything about that.’

‘No, but I did. If we’re “founding” our own “rival organisation” then we’ll need a headquarters, and what could be better than a four-hundred-year-old Spire with a history of creative perambulation?’

‘It’s too small.’

‘There are only three of us.’

‘At the moment there are, but a new organisation will begin with recruitment. And how are we going to get there?’

‘I thought we’d fly.’

‘By chair?’

‘Unicorn.’

Jay’s objections, apparently, were satisfied, for he sat back with a shrug. Or perhaps he had just given up on me. ‘You forgot to mention the sparkles.’

I couldn’t suppress a faint blush. He was right; I had omitted to mention the fact that the Spire was also the Starstone Spire, and it shone gloriously blue at twilight. My not listing this fact among the building’s assets didn’t in fact mean that I wasn’t influenced by it.

Jay may only have known me for a couple of months, but he was rapidly getting my measure.

My phone rang, saving me from the trouble of answering Jay. It was the Baron. ‘Hi,’ I said.

‘What’s Wicked Little Miss Ves up to now?’ He had such a deliciously low, treacly voice.

‘Adventuring,’ I told him brightly.

‘Without Milady’s sanction? I hear you’ve quit.’

‘You hear correctly.’ I wasted no time feeling surprised at how quickly he had heard this news. Gossip travels at light-speed.

‘I don’t believe it for a second.’

‘But it’s true!’ I protested.

‘Mm. What are you up to?’

‘As it happens, I do need your help.’ I said this in my most winning tones.

‘It’s lucky I happened to be passing, then, isn’t it?’ And the door of the tea-room swung open to reveal the Baron’s tall, muscular frame, outlined against the lambent morning sun. He gave me a cute little salute as he approached, and made a more graceful bow to Jay and Zareen. He was wearing a very sharp, very good blue suit, bang up to date in style. The effect was devastating.

‘Milord,’ said Jay. ‘What a surprise.’ It struck me that there was a trace of suspicion on Jay’s face, which I hoped the Baron had not also noticed. It was soon gone.

I pulled up a fourth chair. ‘Earl Grey?’ I said to the Baron.

‘Please. And one of those cheesecake slices.’

‘I thought you didn’t like cheesecake.’

‘It isn’t for me, it’s for you.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.’

Turn page ->