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‘And where, exactly, are we going?’ Jay said coldly.

‘I think we are all feeling a little homesick, are we not?’ said Fenella pleasantly.

‘No!’ I blurted, and backed away — as if that would help. ‘I can’t go home yet!’

Fenella looked oddly at me.

‘So the plan is to kidnap the lot of us?’ said Jay disgustedly. ‘We work for you, whether we will or no?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Fenella. Her hostess smile had gone; her tone was now all business. ‘The fact is, I can’t have you trailing back to Mandridore with the copies of that research you have no doubt made. Or perhaps with an intact artefact you’d like me to imagine no longer exists. Ancestria Magicka will bring back British magick, and no one else.’

So that was it. Pure, naked ambition. I wasn’t surprised, but I was… out-manoeuvred. My mind blanked, and I couldn’t think. What could we do? Run for it? I made a break for the door, but Jay was there before me.

‘Locked,’ he said. ‘Give me a moment.’

Okay, he was going to punch one of his void-space holes in it. Fine, but then what? We might be able to subdue Fenella, but that would do us little good. We were in her territory. We wouldn’t get two steps beyond the door without running into more of her agents; overpowering them would slow us down. And George could be anywhere in the castle. We would never be able to find him in time to prevent him from dragging the building home.

‘Quickly,’ I said to Jay. Alban was at my elbow, and I caught a glimpse of Emellana’s purple shirt out of the corner of my eye. If we could make it to the main doors in time—

The floor began to shake. I grabbed hold of Alban to steady myself, as my heart sank and terror turned my knees to water. This was it. The castle was moments away from a potentially fatal removal to the sixth Britain — fatal for me, because all the magick in me would go off like a firework and I’d burst like a rotten melon.

‘Ves,’ said a calm, but firm voice in my ear. Emellana. ‘Help Zareen.’ Her capable hands grasped my arms; she turned me to face Zar, and gave me a gentle shove.

Help Zareen with what? My brain gibbered helplessly, and I gulped down panic. Curse it. You’d think I could face my imminent demise with a bit more grace.

Hands steadied me again, and this time they were Alban’s. ‘Calm, Ves,’ he said softly. ‘Em is right. Zareen can’t block George on her own, but with your help, perhaps she can.’

My help? I was no necromancer.

No, but I was presently functioning as a magickal power source all on my own. I was a human griffin. A magickal battery. I grabbed hold of Zareen, and tried to focus on emptying my unwanted magickal overflow into her. ‘I have no idea what I’m doing,’ I gasped.

Alban chuckled. ‘And you’ll pull it off anyway. You always do.’

But I wouldn’t. Not this time. Because we were too late.

Even as I struggled to pump Zar full of all the power she’d need to wrest the castle away from George, the shaking of the floor intensified, and the walls began the slow, deep rumble of agitated brickwork. Someone screamed, a tearing noise that turned my insides to goo.

Zareen. She shrieked again, and began to babble, and I realised it wasn’t her screaming; she was a conduit for the dead waymasters locked into the walls. She spoke — and keened — with their voices, all ten of them at once. Her face was a mask of agony. As I watched in horror, blood began to pour from the corners of her eyes.

‘Shit,’ I said. Never mind my imminent demise. Zareen was breaking into pieces before my stupid, helpless eyes.

I didn’t have time to think. I just grabbed hold of her in a clumsy bearhug, my hands circling her wrists, and tried to make one entity of the two of us. We were not Zareen and Vesper, necromancer and magickal energiser bunny. We were Veseen, or Zaresper, one uber powerful necromancer. George was nothing to us.

The shuddering intensified. With a deep, unhappy groan, the tormented stones of Ashdown Castle tore themselves free of the Hyndorin Enclave. We vanished out of the fifth Britain in the blink of an eye.

And arrived in the familiar, deteriorated sixth. Our own, dear, magickal backwater.

I might’ve preferred to be hit with a sledgehammer.

The way I’d felt in the Other Scarborough — strained, tense, hyperactive, buzzing with prickly, stinging energy — was nothing to this. I was eight hundred Vespers crammed into one skin. I was a lit firework, my fuse burning down, explosion imminent. My overwrought brain reeled, my skin burned, my eyes leaked enough tears to fill a small lake.

I could’ve made a small lake, with a flick of my shimmering fingers.

And that was the part I really did not like. The fact that I did. Burn though I might in the fires of my own magickal potential, hurt though it did, I didn’t want to let it go. I felt as I had in Farringale, when we’d wallowed in our first magickal surge. Only better, because now I was in control. I was the surge. I could do anything I wanted — at least until I shattered into a thousand pieces.

I’d have welcomed that disintegration rather than voluntarily relinquish all that power.

Vesper, I said in the silence of my fevered mind. We are in big trouble.

I passed out, I suppose. When I was able to wrest my awareness away from the bubbling well of magick taking over my soul, I found myself still in Fenella Beaumont’s crummy drawing-room, though I was now receiving a rather different view of it. Too much ceiling.

I lay cradled in Alban’s arms, which was humiliating and delicious at the same time. I smiled dreamily up at his dear face, bent over me with so much concern.

‘High as a kite,’ said Jay from somewhere nearby. ‘Don’t let go of her, Alban.’

‘Never,’ he solemnly agreed.

I watched in fascination as Alban’s appearance changed before my eyes. His hair, skin and eyes washed through several colours, and he began, gradually, to grow. Then he shrank. Then he grew.

‘You’re an inconsistent size,’ I informed him. ‘Sorry.’

He grinned. ‘Actually, it’s you that’s changing.’

‘Oh.’ I thought, as best I could past the fog in my head. What had happened when I’d hugged Jay, back at the tower? He had absorbed some of my magickal overflow, which had been a good thing at the time.

Alban was now doing the same, and it wasn’t such a good thing this time. But he was bearing it.

Someone had hold of my wrist, too. I’d thought it was Alban, but when I checked I saw Jay’s slim brown fingers wrapped around my hand.

Miranda sat at my feet. She had a grip on my ankle, and she didn’t look too pleased about it. But between the three of them, they were siphoning enough off me to keep me in one piece.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Anytime,’ said Jay.

I watched for a second as waves of magick pulsed through all three of them, doing some decidedly weird things. I’d really have to get a better grip on all that. I didn’t suppose Jay much appreciated growing feathers, though the silvery eye thing was pretty cool.

I looked around.

Em had done something to Fenella. I couldn’t tell what, but I did not imagine Ms. Beaumont had taken a seat in Emellana’s enormous armchair by choice. She sat with rigidly upright posture, her face fixed in her hostess smile, her hands gripping the chair’s tapestried arms. She did not move a muscle.

I caught Em’s eye. Somewhere at the back of my mind, beneath the chaos, a feeling of foreboding stirred. Whatever Em had done, it looked eerily like a total subjection of Fenella Beaumont’s will. The kind of binding the enchanters of Vale had used upon their unicorns and griffins. The same thing, I suspected, that Fenella had done to both Em and Alban, though with less effect.

Utterly illegal in our Britain, of course.

Emellana met my gaze calmly. Had she winked? Was that my imagination? ‘Ves,’ she said. ‘Help Zareen.’

Again with the helping Zareen? Hadn’t I done that enough? I’d already ascertained that Zar was still alive and breathing, which was about as much as I’d hoped for by then. She sat slumped against the wall, white as a sheet, but the blood had ceased to spill from her eyes.

Those eyes, though, were still coal-black, and she was breathing too quickly. ‘Yes,’ she said, hearing her name, and her gaze settled on me. ‘Help me, Ves.’

She spoke far too calmly, under the circumstances, and those eyes gave me the shivers. Nonetheless, I sat up. ‘What are we doing?’

‘Mass exorcism.’

‘Oh.’

She came slowly to her feet, and steadied herself against the wall. ‘George was supposed to help me, but since he’s otherwise occupied…’

I tried to get a look out of a window. ‘Where are we?’

‘Back in the castle grounds. And here it shall stay.’

‘Make some haste,’ said Emellana. ‘She is a strong woman. I cannot hold her indefinitely.’

I wanted to just bomb out of there and go Home, but Zareen was right. We had some housekeeping to do.

I held out my hand to Zareen. ‘The rest of you had better let go,’ I suggested. ‘For a bit. Zar gets the lot.’

Alban set me on my feet, and released me, to my distant regret. I focused my attention on Zar, who, with my infusion of raw magick, was rapidly turning scary-as-hell. Again.

And I’m really not kidding. It wasn’t just the eyes. She’d been way too pale before, but now she turned stark white in an instant, and sort of ethereal, like she was half-ghost herself. She radiated an icy frigidity, cold as the grave, and my fingers froze in her grip. Magick swirled around us both, ice-cold, smelling of fresh earth and decay.

The bones stood out in Zareen’s face. She was half cadaver, a creature of nightmares.

I hung grimly on, and shut my eyes to block out the sight.

But instead of the soothing blackness I’d expected, I received a different vision. I saw — or sensed — the outlines of the castle, magick glimmering in every brick. Shadowed motes blossomed all over the beleaguered place, grave-cold, trailing miasmas of despair. Were these the dead waymasters? I saw why Zareen had been so enraged. Every scrap of light or warmth had been wrested from them; they cowered, shattered and exhausted.

They deserved peace.

But peace was not quite what Zareen delivered. I felt her beside me, radiating icy fury. She was stronger than ever before; we were strong. We were one again, for an instant, and she was a queen of the dead as she stretched out her will and took hold of every one of those dark presences.

Then, with the negligent twist of a gardener uprooting a weed, she ripped them free of their earthly bindings and sent them sailing into the void.

With something like a gusty exhalation, Ashdown Castle settled around us, brick by brick, its animating forces dispatched.

‘No,’ gasped Fenella, twitching. ‘My castle.’ She was moving, slowly but surely, and though Em fought to hold her, she’d lost her grip. Fenella Beaumont, powerful as she was arrogant, wrested herself free of Emellana’s magick and surged to her feet. Ignoring Em, her face twisted with fury, she made straight for Zareen — and me.

The last time I’d seen Fenella Beaumont, she had been wearing a flashy designer evening-gown and too many diamonds. She’d hosted a massive party for a large group of magickal invitees — including us — in this very castle, specifically for the purpose of breaking the news about the fifth Britain. Jay and Zareen and the Baron and I had wrecked her little coup, which hadn’t exactly made us popular with her.

Her smiling friendliness unnerved me. So angry had she been about our interference, she’d taken an axe to poor Millie’s doors and windows. Now she welcomed us to her ancestral castle with impeccable manners and a smooth smile — the same castle Zareen had lately endeavoured to wrest from her entirely, with the help of George Mercer, supposedly one of her own employees. Was her friendliness purely because we had the answer to all her wildest magickal dreams in our possession? Fenella’s stated ambition was to revive magick in our own Britain, no doubt for nefarious purposes of her own. Torvaston’s invention would be as exciting to her as it was to us.

Still, I would have expected at least a genteel insult or two, delivered through that smiling mouth. Her elegant self-possession was out of character for a woman capable of hacking through solid oak doors in a fit of temper, and her air of gracious welcome was over the top.

And her captives now included all the people responsible for the collapse of her carefully-nurtured plans.

‘I do believe we’re in for a double crossing,’ I murmured to Jay and Zareen, as we followed Fenella through Ashdown Castle’s great hall.

Jay agreed. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as hand over the scroll and high-tail it out of here.’

Zareen’s only response was a black look of pure hatred. I wondered briefly what had passed between them during the days they’d been stranded in some other Britain together, and decided not to enquire.

‘You okay, Zar?’ I said.

‘No,’ she said shortly.

Fair enough.

Mission Objective: Retrieve Alban, Emellana and Miranda from Fenella Beaumont’s clutches, preferably without handing over any part whatsoever of Torvaston’s ancient research, then fly like bats out of hell. Before any of us went stark raving bonkers (again), or did anything we might regret; and without falling prey to any of Ms. Beaumont’s inevitable schemes for our downfall.

Easy.

The long drawing-room turned out to be a vision in sage-coloured silk and brocade, and in surprisingly good shape considering the tumbling-down state of the castle. It had the pristine, polished look of recent refurbishment, though since the room’s historic character had been meticulously preserved, it had to have been expensive. Very expensive.

Was the entire castle scheduled for a similar upgrade? The money it would take to restore Ashdown to its original condition would run into breath-taking sums, and I wondered, once again, where Ancestria Magicka’s cash came from. The Beaumont family had sold the castle to the corporation, which Fenella claimed to have founded. But that sale had been made because the family was virtually destitute. Either Fenella had somehow made eye-watering sums of money while she’d been somewhere off the radar (and if so I seriously wanted to know how); or they had an incredibly wealthy backer somewhere. We still didn’t know who that might be.

‘Nice paint job,’ I said lightly as we walked in. ‘Must’ve cost a bit.’ I scanned the room as I spoke. Alban stood near the fireplace, leaning one arm against the mantelpiece. He looked up at the sound of my voice, and smiled, but there was tension in every line of his body, and the smile was strained and forced. Emellana sat in a huge armchair a few feet away, ostensibly her usual serene self, though with a watchfulness about her that I hadn’t before seen. She looked at me without smiling, and I could not read what might be going on in her mind. Both of them looked oddly docile, considering their predicament. Either they were under some kind of enchantment courtesy of Fenella, or they were planning something, and waiting for the right moment to strike. Which was probably our arrival.

Things could get interesting, pretty soon.

Miranda stood by the window, looking thunderous. She glanced at me, and looked away, but not before I’d got a glimpse of the terror that lay behind her rage. Hardly surprising either. She’d lately betrayed the Society in favour of Ancestria Magicka, then betrayed Ancestria Magicka in order to help the Society, and now she was surrounded by representatives of both. Not an enviable position to be in.

Her own fault. I hardened my heart, at least for the present, and set that matter aside. We would get her out. What she did after that would be up to her.

‘It cost quite a bit,’ said Fenella drily, and waved a hand, indicating the glittering contents of her drawing-room as though she was personally responsible for the lot. ‘Like what you see?’

Actually, I did. The room was a vision of possibility. All the castles and great houses of Britain could look like this, if only there was money enough. But there never was. Most of them mouldered away under minimal maintenance, and too many fell into ruin. ‘It’s magnificent,’ I said, with total honesty.

She smirked. ‘What if I told you it wasn’t money that did this? Or, not only money.’

‘Then what was it?’

‘Magick.’ She stood between me and her hostages, watching me like some kind of widow spider. She was more casually dressed than she’d been the last time we had met, in a blouse and trousers, her silvery hair caught up in a simple knot. But she still reeked of money, and she had the predatory air to match.

‘So it’s illusion?’ I said, disappointed. Fakery was of little practical use.

‘No. Everything that you see here is real.’

‘I’m confused. You used magick to reupholster some chairs…? I suppose, if you’ve got the manpower—’

‘You aren’t thinking, Ves.’ Fenella cut me off.

‘Don’t call me Ves,’ I snapped.

‘Ves,’ said Alban. ‘They’ve used magick to regenerate everything in this room.’

‘Regenerate?’

He met my eyes, and nodded. He didn’t have to say anything else. My mind was already reeling.

See, regenerating damaged or decayed objects — or creatures — is one of the many arts we’ve just about lost. If it ever existed within the realms of possibility at all, and there are multiple schools of thought on that topic. It’s why the Society employs ordinary doctors, like Rob, despite having some of the most powerful magickal practitioners alive on its payroll. It’s why the team Miranda used to head up included a couple of veterinarians, and why we have conservators and restorers on the staff. Regenerating anything that’s broken or injured would require such huge expenditures of magick, it hardly bears thinking about. I mean, can you imagine what it would take, to turn back the clock like that?

There simply isn’t magick enough left in the world.

‘That has to be a lie,’ I said.

‘Why?’ said Fenella. ‘Possibilities abound beyond the borders of our own Britain. You have seen that for yourself.’

That silenced me. I hadn’t previously had any clear idea as to what Fenella and Co might want to do with Torvaston’s magick-regulating project, but I’m fairly sure the word “nefarious” passed through my thoughts.

This wasn’t nefarious. This was brilliant.

And exactly the right thing to wave in front of me, curse her.

‘Well, great,’ I said briskly. ‘Good for you. Anyway, about our colleagues?’

‘Perhaps they would like to remain here,’ said Fenella, in her silkiest voice. ‘Perhaps you might, too.’

‘No,’ said Jay briefly.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Another subversion attempt? No, thank you. We are never going to be interested.’

‘Oh?’ said Fenella politely. ‘At least one of your number has not been quite so impervious, has she?’ She looked at Miranda, whose face darkened even further. ‘And your own loyalties have proved to be more… flexible, than might have been expected.’

Damnit. Here was the backlash from Milady’s clever, Ministry-dodging schemes. As far as Fenella knew, we had abandoned the Society some weeks ago: ostensibly in favour of founding our own rival organisation, though now we were here under the Troll Court’s aegis. If we appeared unreliable, it was kind of our own fault.

‘We are not interested,’ I said firmly. ‘We want to make the exchange and then leave. Please.’

Sadly, Fenella shook her head. ‘How heart-breaking it is, to watch so remarkable a group waste your talents on such backward-thinking organisations. Bring Torvaston’s work to us. Give us exclusive control over it. We will do all the beautiful, magnificent, world-changing things the Court would never countenance. And you can be a big part of that, Ves.’

‘Don’t call me Ves.’

She gave a tiny sigh, and looked at Jay, and then Zareen. Both of them shook their heads.

I felt a moment’s unease. Clearly she had been having this conversation with Alban, Em and Miranda before we had arrived. They had refused — surely?

Of course they had. Emellana was as steady as a rock, and she’d been loyal to Mandridore all her long life through. And Alban’s devotion to his adoptive parents could not be questioned, considering everything he had taken on — and given up — for them.

I wasn’t sure about Miranda, and she would not meet my eye.

‘You’re getting Torvaston’s research anyway,’ I said to Fenella. ‘Just as soon as you release our friends. And then we will be leaving.’

‘I would prefer to have… everything.’

‘That is not going to happen.’

‘A pity,’ said Fenella, her smile still in place. She held out her hand. ‘I will take whatever it is you retrieved from that tower, then.’

‘The artefact no longer exists,’ I told her. ‘Torvaston destroyed it. But we have his plans.’ I withdrew the delicate scroll from my bag, and offered it to her. ‘Release our companions, and you may take it.’ And please don’t look at it now.

She made no move to do so. ‘Lovely,’ she said, regarding me with narrowed eyes. ‘But what a pity that the artefact no longer exists.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I agreed. If she imagined we were hiding the thing from her, well, that was a species of red herring. Perhaps it would keep her too busy to think of inspecting the scroll.

‘Well!’ said Fenella, turning to smile brightly at Alban, Emellana and Miranda. ‘It appears we are finished here.’ She inclined her head to them, apparently in respect, and something changed. Emellana sat up, blinking, and Alban straightened.

Miranda bolted, straight for the door. Alban and Em followed. Once all my friends were safely on my side of the room, with an open door behind us, I tossed the scroll to Fenella, who caught it with a flourish.

‘Perfect,’ she said, and waved the scroll in dismissal. ‘Delightful of you to visit. We must do this again sometime.’

Did that mean we were free to go? All of us? Without interference? I hesitated, alarms blaring in my mind. This was far too easy.

‘Ves,’ said Zareen. ‘She’s up to something. The ghosts— they’re—’ She broke off, crossed quickly to the nearest wall, and laid a palm against the silk wallpaper, her eyes closing.

The drawing-room door abruptly slammed shut behind us, with a resounding boom, and I heard the tumblers rattle as the lock turned.

Crap.

‘They’re what?’ I said. ‘Zar?’

‘George,’ she hissed, and her eyes flew open again, to settle accusingly on Fenella. ‘You made him do this.’

Fenella smiled. ‘George has remembered which side his bread is buttered. Shall we say that?’

‘Zar,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘They’re agitated. George is waking them up, making them—’ She paused for breath. ‘They’re preparing to move the castle.’

Uh oh. ‘Can they do that so soon?’

‘George is forcing them.’ These words emerged as a growl. ‘You can’t do this,’ she said, fixing Fenella with a wrathful stare. ‘This is why none of us wants to work with you. You use people for your own ends, and you use them until they break. You’ve broken George, and you’ll destroy these waymasters.’

‘They are dead,’ said Fenella.

‘They’re still people.’ Zareen’s eyes went ink-black from lid to lid, and she snarled something I couldn’t decipher. She was fighting back, trying to block George’s efforts to whip up the waymasters Fenella had enslaved.

She didn’t have the strength for that. Not now. She’d break, too, and I wasn’t at all sure if she would mend.

But I didn’t know how to stop her, or George either.

‘By the looks of it, Ashdown Castle is lying in wait,’ said Jay.

‘For us,’ I groaned. ‘This is what Alban meant, when he said Ancestria Magicka had some kind of a spy at Court. They knew we were headed out here.’

‘And they hoped we would be coming out with something priceless.’

‘Which we are.’

‘We can’t let them get hold of those plans,’ said Jay.

‘But that’s why they’re here. And they’ve got Alban and Emellana and Mir. They must do. And they’re waiting for us to walk right into the trap, which we are presently in the process of doing.’

‘Hostage situation?’ said Jay.

‘Right. They’ll try to trade our friends for our loot. And ordinarily I wouldn’t hesitate to go for a trade like that, but this is no ordinary loot.’ I backed up until Ashdown Castle disappeared from sight, then dumped my bag on the floor and crouched over it, rummaging through the contents. ‘Mauf, speak,’ I said, locating my precious book at the bottom. ‘Tell me you’ve got a grip on that scroll.’

‘I have done my best, madam.’

That would have to be enough. ‘The fate of the world rests in your hands,’ I informed Mauf as I drew out the scroll.

‘Regrettably, I have no hands,’ Mauf pointed out.

‘Your capable pages, then,’ I said, but absently, for I was busy eyeballing the scroll. ‘Or, maybe not entirely. Jay, got your phone handy?’ I’d let mine fall into the depths of my jumbled bag of paraphernalia, and it could take way too long to find it.

Jay however whipped his out in seconds, and was already snapping pics the moment I had the scroll unrolled. ‘But this isn’t helpful,’ he objected. ‘Keeping our own copies is good. Giving Ancestria Magicka the original is unthinkable.’

‘I know.’ My hands trembled as I gripped the aged vellum of that priceless scroll, and I had to take a moment to get a grip on myself. What I was about to do went as badly against the grain as defacing library books, or torching Orlando’s lab.

It took very little power, in the end. I watched sadly as the inked lines of Torvaston’s elaborate drawings began to fade.

‘Ves, no—’ Jay began, but it was already too late. I held a blank sheet of parchment in my hands. The original plans for the Heart of Hyndorin were gone forever.

Quickly, I rolled the scroll back up and secured it, then placed it back into the bag with Mauf. ‘Guard that phone with your life,’ I told Jay, and without speaking he zipped it into an inside pocket in his jacket.

‘Right,’ I said, straightening up. ‘It’s time for an exciting game of chance. Are you ready?’

‘You’re going to bluff your way through a hostage exchange?’ Jay said.

‘Do you have a better idea?’

Jay looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Again. I felt a twinge of disappointment, for it had been a while since he’d looked at me with such naked horror. I’d thought I was making some progress in his esteem.

Well. I had just callously erased the contents of a priceless academic artefact. And if we didn’t play our collective cards right, we’d either get our friends back but lose all trace of the plans, or we’d lose the lot. Including Alban, Em and Mir.

I tried not to think that way. Ancestria Magicka may be thoroughly unscrupulous, but they’d yet to show signs of murderous tendencies.

Still, the stakes were high. Dangerously high.

‘Are you with me or not?’ I said, skipping over the soothing platitudes. I wanted Jay to trust me, but we didn’t have time for long, self-justifying conversations just then.

‘Lead on,’ said Jay briefly, without the professions of faith and loyalty I was hoping for.

Oh well. When I set off in the direction of Ashdown Castle, Jay came with me, and that was the important part.

‘Are we just going to walk right up to the door?’ said Jay a moment later, as we approached the castle in full view of the windows.

‘Why not? They knew we’d come. They are waiting for us.’

‘It doesn’t seem right. No sneaking? None?’

‘What would be the point? It’s very hard to sneak past a castleful of people on high alert, looking specifically for you. Anyway, I want them to think they’ve won. That’s the whole point.’

‘Right.’ I detected more than a trace of doubt in the word, but Jay strode on beside me. ‘Where did Pup go?’ he said.

‘That… is a very good question.’ I’d momentarily forgotten about Pup’s headlong gallop, while I was grappling with the morality of erasing an irreplaceable scroll versus leaving my friends to an unknown fate. What had Goodie been haring towards?

Then something barrelled into me, something heavy, and knocked me flat. ‘Ves!’ said a familiar voice. ‘Don’t go in there!’

‘Zar?’ I pushed her off me, and tried to sit up, but she shoved me back down again. She had contrived to do the same to Jay, and we all three lay prone in the grass.

Something tickled my ankle. When I lifted my head to investigate, I beheld a bundle of tufty yellow fur and an enormous nose, the latter in pursuit of an enchanting scent relating to my left foot.

Ah. Pup had caught a whiff of Zareen on the wind, and boldly tracked her down.

‘Zar,’ I said again. ‘What the dickens are you doing here?’

‘Same as you,’ she said. ‘I was drawn here by wicked, deceitful arts, courtesy of our best friends Ancestria Magicka.’ She spoke with a vicious bitterness most out of character for her, and when I looked at her I beheld her usually calm face creased into a dark scowl. Her green-streaked hair was in a state of wild disorder; deep shadows under her eyes proclaimed her exhaustion; and she was pasty-pale, which wasn’t usual for her either. She’d had a hard week, clearly. But she was alive.

I felt a knot of tension ease somewhere inside. I’d been worried about Zareen for some time, but with no idea where she had ended up and no way to follow, I hadn’t been able to do anything about it. ‘What happened to you?’ I said, but when I tried to sit up she pushed me back down again.

‘Ves, you can’t let them know you’re here. That’s what they want. They’re waiting for you.’

‘We know.’

She blinked. ‘Then what the hell are you doing?’

‘Tell you in a minute. First, fill us in.’

She sighed, and let her head fall back into the grass. ‘George and I were working on those trapped spirits in the castle, trying to calm them down. Get them together. Build them up for one last jump, to a permanent new location for the castle. Then we were going to release them.’

‘I remember that part,’ I said. ‘No joy?’

‘Actually, we were doing pretty well. Until Fenella Effing Beaumont showed up, with her miserable crowd of cronies. Apparently they remembered a few things.’

‘Ah. Then Melmidoc happened?’

‘Right. He got pissed, and banished the entire castle to the worst Britain ever, do not go there, I am not kidding. The entire castle, Ves, with me and George in it, and Fenella and co as well.’ She paused for an instant, then continued, ‘George declared himself “done” with being dragged around after me, and the “stupid” stuff we were doing, and abased himself before Fenella, who graciously welcomed him back into the fold. Which left me, hiding in the walls while the lot of them played hunt-the-chicken, and George tried to coax me to throw in my lot with them.’

That explained both her exhaustion and her anger. I sensed a lengthy rant pending, but Zar got a grip on herself. ‘Long story short,’ she said. ‘It was some days before the castle could return to the fifth. In that time, I heard a few snatches of conversation between Fenella and some of her ratty disciples. They knew far too much about what you were doing, Ves. They probably knew about your current mission before you did. They had a plan to get hold of a certain scroll-case, which fell through; I didn’t catch why. The new plan was to lie low for a while, let you do the work while imagining yourselves unopposed, then swoop in at the end and swipe the goods.’

‘Which is where we’re at,’ said Jay, and gestured at the castle. ‘Swooping in progress.’

‘Yes, but you don’t have to just walk in there like a pair of idiots! Why do you think I risked discovery, in order to wait here for you?’

I patted her arm. ‘It was brilliant of you, Zar, and we’re both grateful and admiring. But they have Alban, and Miranda, and Emellana.’

‘Emellana. That the troll lady with the purple shirt?’

‘Right.’

‘Mm. That wasn’t anticipated, I think. Did you have to leave three associates on the outside, standing around by themselves, just waiting to be kidnapped? They were sitting ducks.’

‘Actually yes, it was necessary. We would have much preferred to take them with us.’

‘Well, I hope whatever you got was worth it. They’re all in there, and it won’t be easy to get them out.’

‘Yes, it will. We just have to do whatever they want.’ With which words, I stood up again, resisting Zareen’s attempts to render me prone, and dusted grass seeds off my clothes. ‘Which I intend to do without delay.’

‘You can’t.’ Zareen stared at me, appalled. ‘I don’t have a clear idea what you two got a hold of, except that it’s game-changing.’

‘World-changing,’ I said, nodding. ‘Don’t worry. I have a plan.’

Zareen rolled her eyes.

‘She’s going to bluff,’ said Jay.

‘Bluff?’ repeated Zareen.

‘The timing will be tight,’ I said. ‘We need to make the trade, then get the lot of us out of there before they discover our sneaky double-cross.’

Zareen stared at Jay, as if to say, are you going along with this madness?

Jay shrugged. He’d gained his feet, too, and now fell in beside me. ‘Onward, captain.’

Zareen groaned, and said distinctly, ‘Fuck my life.’

‘It’s a good life,’ I said, smiling. ‘It may not feel like it right now, but someday you’ll remember what food and sleep and friendship are like, and it’ll be okay again.’ I held out my hand to her, and with another muttered curse she grasped it, and permitted herself to be hauled up. ‘How long has the castle been lurking out here?’

‘A couple of days.’

‘Right. Let’s go.’ We set off towards Ashdown Castle, me trying to walk like a woman of confidence and not like a woman whose legs felt like jelly and whose guts were churning with unease. What if I was wrong?

No time to worry about that now. I lifted my chin, and sailed towards the castle like I’d never heard the words reckless, mission-wrecking insanity in my life.

Some distance still lay between us and the front door. As we crossed it, walking at a brisk but leisurely pace, I had ample opportunity to observe the effects of repeated teleportation upon the crumbling old castle. It had been in poor shape to begin with, due to centuries of insufficient care. Three or four jumps across worlds had not been good for it. Some of its chimneys were gone, tumbled into pieces; windows were a mess of broken glass and warped leading; holes had opened up in the walls, where its mortar had crumbled and brown bricks had fallen away. A building on its last legs, so to speak. It wouldn’t be long before the walls collapsed and ceilings caved in.

I tightened my resolve. Ancestria Magicka had no respect for history, magickal or otherwise. No doubt they would do their utmost to justify themselves, and cajole us into taking their side. They wouldn’t receive an ounce of sympathy from me.

Throughout that nerve-wracking stroll, I had the prickly feeling of eyes upon me. Lots of eyes. And here came the proof, for as we neared the great oaken doors, they swung slowly open.

Fenella Beaumont herself stood upon the threshold, smiling graciously at us.

‘Welcome, Miss Vesper, Mr. Patel,’ she said smoothly. ‘And Miss Dalir. How charming of you to join us at last.’

Zareen’s scowl deepened. Before she could say anything, I cut in. ‘Ms. Beaumont. How about we glide past the chit-chat, and get down to business? We’re here to retrieve our friends.’

‘Do you know, I thought you might be?’ Her smile widened, and so did the doors. ‘Do come in. They await you in the long drawing-room.’

Invoking my Nerves of Steel, I followed Fenella Beaumont into the depths of enemy territory, Jay and Zareen and Pup right behind me.

‘You cannot simply bond with a Familiar at your own convenience,’ said Luan severely. ‘A living, magickal beast is not an artefact to pick up and drop at will, or a toy to play with whenever the mood takes you.’

‘I know that,’ I said, as patiently as I could. Honestly, he sounded like Miranda.

‘It takes months, and in some cases years, to forge a trusting relationship with a suitable animal,’ continued Luan.

‘No problem there,’ I said. ‘Addie and I have been going strong for a decade.’

That gave him pause, and a little of the disapproval smoothed out of his features. ‘Then, if the creature is willing, you may create a soul-bond via a magickal binding. It is common to employ a catalyst to complete this process.’

‘A binding?’ I said. ‘That sounds uncomfortably like the griffins and unicorns up at Vale.’

‘No. There are great differences. For one, it is not possible to force such a bond upon any creature. They may reject it at any time, and many do. For another, it is a link that goes both ways. You are not binding a unicorn into your personal service, as though it were some manner of slave. You will be at your Familiar’s service, too.’

‘And it is permanent, you said?’ asked Jay.

‘Naturally. Such a bond may only be severed by the death of one or both parties.’

I began to understand why Familiar-bonding was bordering upon banned in our Britain. Serious business.

Addie was no low-level magickal beastie. Unicorns were among the most powerful of creatures, surpassed only by the likes of dragons and griffins. I thought back to what Miranda had said. People try to take on creatures of far greater magickal potency than they can handle. The beast suffers, and the owner probably ends up as mincemeat.

Could I handle a unicorn? Or would I hurt Addie, and wind up as mincemeat?

Course, the link worked both ways, and I was presently a magickal powerhouse. Could Addie handle me?

‘And this is why we needed Miranda,’ I said to Jay, with a rueful smile. I’d resented Milady’s insistence on that particular point, but she’d been right. Again.

‘Right. We find Miranda and we make this happen,’ said Jay.

‘First, though, we retrieve Pup.’

We found my disgraceful Goodie Two-Shoes (hah) lying upside-down atop the Hyndorin Silver stash, belly turned up, paws limp, and a sublime grin upon her tiny houndy face. ‘Drunk on treasure,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘That’s our Pup.’

‘She looks like a felled dandelion,’ said Jay.

‘A dandelion of unusual size.’

The Silver storeroom was situated not far from Torvaston’s chambers, which I thought was likely not a coincidence. Jay had seen a flash of yellow fur as Pup whisked past, and followed her there.

I’d expected a stout room with a stout door and lots of security, but the Silver Stash had none of those things. The place was more of a spacious alcove, decorated with mosaic tiles and gilding and all that jazz, and the Silver occupied a depression in the floor. It shone softly, moon-pale, and seemed piled there more as a decoration in its own right.

‘Won’t somebody steal it, if you leave it out in the open like this?’ I said to Luan.

He looked oddly at me. ‘Somebody who?’

I was forgetting the layer upon layer of magick and illusion which protected their hideout from outside intruders. Nobody had penetrated all that guff in many a long year, so fair enough. And apparently they didn’t have a problem with their own citizens making off with the loot, for it was all still here.

I nudged one of Pup’s splayed-out paws with my toe, and she woke with a start.

‘Come on,’ I told her, looking meaningfully at the door. ‘Fun’s over.’

Pup whined, and flattened her ears.

‘I know, life is unspeakably hard. But you still can’t waltz off with all of Hyndorin’s worldly goods.’

She slunk down off her personal Treasure Mountain, and trailed over to me, tail drooping.

I felt like the worst person alive.

‘I’ll get you something shiny when we get home,’ I promised her, and patted her ears.

No response.

‘Parenting,’ said Jay. ‘It’ll break your heart.’

I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘We’re going,’ I informed them both, and checked to make sure I still had Torvaston’s scroll of exciting plans, plus Mauf. ‘My lord Evemer. We thank you most heartily for your time and assistance, for ourselves and also on behalf of Their Majesties at Mandridore.’

Luan bowed. ‘It is a pleasure to be of service to Their Majesties,’ he said, without conviction. Still harbouring doubts, was he? I couldn’t blame him, but that was too bad. No one’s life work ever did anyone any good gathering dust in a vault.

I pictured how delighted the Majesties in question were going to be, when we came back with the plans. And how pleased and interested Alban would be, when we showed them to him. How incredible Farringale would become, once released from the curse of the ortherex. The entire troll nation would be reunited with this vital piece of their magickal heritage. The entirety of our Britain could look forward to a stronger, more magickal future.

I’ve never done anything so important, or so satisfying, in my life.

When we left the tower and stepped out into what was left of the afternoon’s summery sunshine, I was walking on air.

I didn’t come down, even when we encountered Wyr on the doorstep and he was still a tree. If anything, he was settling in to his new, leafier life, for his rather formless shape of before had acquired some refinements. ‘He’s a chestnut,’ I informed Jay, inspecting the Wyr-leaves. ‘I think.’

Jay shook his head. ‘He’s nothing I recognise. He’s his own, unique kind of tree. A Wyr-tree.’

‘Are we leaving him like this?’

‘Do you have any idea how to change him back?’

I did not.

I did try, honest. As it turns out, you can give a Ves as much power as you like, but if she has no idea what to do with it, then nothing can help her.

‘He likes being a tree,’ I decided at last. ‘That’s the only possible explanation.’

‘Nothing to do with ignorance or ineptitude on the part of the enchanter,’ said Jay.

‘Nothing whatsoever.’

‘If you’re finished failing at reverse transmogrification, shall we go find the others?’ He stepped onto the lift-stone and I followed, pretending not to notice as Pup performed a second set of, er, ablutions around Wyr’s roots.

Hey, he was in no condition to mind.

‘Right, where did we leave the others?’ I said, as we arrived back at the base of the rocky promontory. A glance up revealed that it was a mountain again, or so it appeared; Torvaston’s spectacular tower was gone from my sight.

I experienced a brief stab of regret. I may have had no interest in remaining in the Hyndorin Enclave forever, but in all probability I would never see that tower again.

Anyway. ‘Thataway,’ I said, waving an arm in what I imagined to be Alban’s general direction.

‘No, I don’t think that was one of them,’ said Jay, glancing about in that keen-eyed way he had when he was getting his bearings. He set off after a moment, and Pup and I trailed after him.

Ten minutes later, though, we’d walked and walked without coming across anybody at all. ‘Who are we looking for just now?’ I called to Jay.

‘Em was out here,’ he said with a frown.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’ Was that a trace of irritation I detected? Fair enough, if it was. Who was I to question Jay’s sense of direction?

But after another five minutes, I could see that Jay, too, was beginning to doubt. ‘Let’s try for Alban,’ he said, and changed direction.

I smothered my unease. I could have sworn we had passed right through the glade in which we had previously left Emellana; I’d seen a pair of withered orchard trees that looked familiar. But what did I know? I never could remember very well what I had or hadn’t seen. I was probably wrong.

But for Jay and I both to be so vague was not at all common, and when we failed to find Alban either, I began to feel worried.

‘This is odd,’ said Jay, stopping. ‘This is where Alban was standing. I could swear to it.’

‘Something’s going on,’ I said. I wouldn’t doubt Jay twice. He had proved the superiority of his navigational skills time and time again.

‘It might be nothing,’ Jay said. ‘After all, once we were inside the tower they didn’t need to stay put. They probably got bored of standing in the same spot, and went off somewhere.’

‘Likely true, but where? Surely they’d gather somewhere near where we were likely to come out.’

‘That would make sense,’ said Jay.

‘Where else would they go? There isn’t anything else here.’ Except natural beauty, but unless the three of them had developed a sudden passion for any particular tree or hillock, I couldn’t see why they would have wandered off.

My sense of foreboding deepened.

‘Right,’ said Jay. ‘They obviously aren’t where we left them, and just as obviously did not choose to wait near the tower. So. Where else could they be?’

‘Somewhere we have yet to explore,’ I said. ‘It isn’t an especially large valley. Where haven’t we been?’

Jay took off without comment, and I hurried to catch up. He walked much faster this time, driven by the same alarm I felt. It’s probably nothing, I told myself again, but we would both of us be much more comfortable when the mystery was solved and we were reunited with our friends. They were probably sunbathing on a nice rock somewhere, feasting upon orchard fruits that looked like apples but smelled like cherries.

I kept my eyes peeled (what a disgusting saying) and my ears open (bizarre: who closes their ears?), but nothing met my searching gaze but more verdure, and I heard only stray birdsong, and the rustling of tall grass in the breeze.  

I ached to hear Alban’s voice. Just one little word would do.

‘We’ve lost them,’ I moaned after a while. ‘The Court lent us one of their most powerful practitioners and the heir to the throne, and we’ve lost them.’

‘Not forgetting Miranda,’ said Jay. I’d still love to forget Miranda more often if I could, but not like this.

It was then that Pup’s hunting instincts kicked in. Throughout our fruitless search, she had ambled along at my heels, apparently uninterested in anything going on around her. Still sulking about the Silver Stash, I’d thought. But she got a whiff of something electrifying, and abruptly took off at a full gallop.

I exchanged a look with Jay, and we broke into a run, pounding through the grass after her.

‘It’s nothing,’ I panted after a while, as we ran and ran and encountered only more grassy meadow. ‘Pup’s just having one of her mad moments—’

I stopped dead and shut my stupid mouth, for the view changed. An instant before, I’d seen only an expanse of tall grass dotted with wildflowers, stretching as far as the horizon.

Then, between one step and the next, a building loomed out of the empty air. A familiar building.

‘Jay,’ I whispered. ‘What the giddy gods is Ashdown Castle doing here?’

I pelted towards Jay and Luan, dying for a glimpse of the scroll for myself. Plans for the Heart of Hyndorin! A paint-by-numbers how-to I could take back to Mandridore, from which they could build their very own magickal regulator.

Farringale would be saved.

The magick of the sixth Britain would be saved.

We’d done it.

But as I approached, Luan turned away from me, hiding the drawings behind his very broad back. ‘Hey,’ I objected. He’d pushed Jay out, too, and stood hogging all that delicious arcane knowledge for himself.

‘This must be destroyed,’ he said.

My jaw dropped. ‘What?’ I squeaked.

‘For the same reason that His Majesty destroyed the Heart itself.’ Luan began rolling up the scroll again, handling it with exquisite care. I wondered why he bothered, if he was just going to burn it or something. ‘If it should fall into the wrong hands…’

Hard to argue with that. If it fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be bad.

Well, so what. The same went for literally every good thing ever known to man or beast. Or troll.

‘You can’t destroy it,’ I said, exchanging a look of pure horror with Jay. ‘It’s too important for that.’

‘Precisely,’ said Luan, unmoved.

‘Torvaston left this here on purpose,’ I said. ‘He went to a lot of trouble to leave a trail to it, too. Why did he do that, if someone wasn’t supposed to follow it someday?’

Luan hesitated, but only briefly. ‘His Majesty had not, at that time, beheld modern Vale.’

‘No, but he saw it coming. That’s why he destroyed the original. But he still thought it worthwhile to leave this here for us.’

Luan said nothing.

‘He knew magick would decline in our world,’ I said. ‘His writings suggest it. He left the keys to get in here in our Britain, and I think that’s because he left this here for us. We were supposed to find it someday, and use it. To mend the damage done to Farringale. To reverse the decline of magick. To fix things, Luan! Don’t take that from us. Please. We have to get this back to Their Majesties at Mandridore. They have a right to it, as Torvaston’s heirs.’

Luan looked at me. Instead of the anger or disapproval or even fear I had expected to see in his face, I saw profound sadness. ‘This was once the grandest, the most marvellous of all the Enclaves of Britain,’ he said. ‘Without contest or question. It was a place of… pure wonder. All that’s gone now.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s still a place of pure wonder. We’ve seen nothing like it.’

He shook his head. ‘It is nothing to compare to its heights. Nothing at all. And that is because of the Heart. The acrimony that it caused, the conflicts, the destruction…’

‘The Heart may be the reason for Hyndorin’s downfall,’ I said. ‘But it was also the power behind its days of glory. Without the Heart, neither the one nor the other could ever have happened. Luan, if you destroy this, you ensure that neither your Britain nor mine will ever see its like again.’

‘Especially ours,’ put in Jay.

I gave him a moment to think. We were getting somewhere, I could see it.

Then I said, ‘This is what His Majesty wanted.’

Luan hesitated, and sighed — and offered the scroll to me.

I grabbed it quick, with both hands, before he could change his mind. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Future generations will worship at the shrine of you.’

Jay frowned at me.

Right. Poor taste.

Hastily, I tucked the precious scroll into my shoulder-bag. I wanted it out of Luan’s sight, before he could work himself back around to another fit of opposition. Out of sight, out of mind?

Also, I wanted Mr. Mauf and Mr. Scroll to get acquainted. I didn’t yet know what Mauf had contrived to absorb down in that old workshop, but if he compared whatever he’d got with the contents of the new scroll, the results might be quite interesting.

Time for a speedy subject change. ‘About Pup,’ I said to Jay. ‘I don’t see her up here. Whereabouts did you leave her?’

‘Silver stores,’ he said. ‘Which are…’ he looked blank, and shrugged. ‘Somewhere else. All this voluntary/involuntary teleporting has me confused.’

I directed a hopeful look at Luan.

‘Allow me to be quite clear,’ he said, and the disapproving tone was back. ‘You will not be leaving here with that scroll, and our stores of Silver.’

‘We have not the slightest wish to,’ I assured him, which was a total lie, because the second I set eyes on that “gigantic pile” of fabulously valuable Silver I knew I would want every single scrap of it. ‘All we want is to retrieve Pup, and get out of your hair.’

‘My hair?’

Oops. ‘Just an expression.’

‘We’re going home,’ Jay supplied.

‘Well, they’re going home,’ I amended.

‘You are staying?’ said Luan, swift with suspicion.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Where?’

‘I… don’t know.’ The prospect of being left behind while Jay and Alban and Em went home sent the bottom dropping out of my stomach. Where would I go? What would I do, stranded in the fifth Britain by myself?

‘We aren’t leaving without you,’ said Jay firmly, and I could almost have kissed him for that, except that it would never do.

‘You have to,’ I retorted. ‘Someone’s got to get this scroll to Mandridore, and quickly.’

‘Then first we need to fix you.’

 Fix me, like I was a broken refrigerator. Malfunctioning gadgetry, just see the repairman and all will be well.

I realised I was gazing at Jay with the Eyes of Hope, and hastily composed myself. ‘Do you think it’s possible?’

‘Ves. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from hanging around with you, it’s that every gods-damned insane thing imaginable is probably possible, if you can manage to be batshit crazy enough.’

My turn of phrase was rubbing off on Jay. ‘Are we batshit crazy enough?’

‘Always.’

My eyes filled momentarily with tears, rather to my shame. Sensible, unflappable, by-the-book Jay was volunteering to be a total madman for my sake.

My corrupting influence knew no bounds.

Jay gave a slight cough, and added, ‘Of course, we could use a little help.’ He was looking at Luan as he said it, the cheek. As though we hadn’t already complicated the poor Earl’s day enough.

Luan, unfortunately, looked nonplussed.

‘I have an idea,’ I said. ‘Magickal Silver absorbs magick, right? So how about you throw me head-first into that gigantic pile of yours and see how much of me comes out.’

Jay looked appalled.

‘It’ll be okay,’ I said, with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m pretty sure I’ll still have arms, legs and a head.’

‘No,’ said Luan. ‘I am sorry, but there is no known way to reverse the effects you refer to.’

I swallowed, for once in my life struck speechless. No way to reverse the effects. I was stuck forever. I would never see Home again. I’d have to spend the rest of my life living in Vale, just to be comfortable.

Only iron will kept me from bursting into tears and sobbing like a five-year-old all over Jay’s shirt.

Jay stared at me.

I can’t absolutely guarantee that my lip didn’t quiver, or that I didn’t look back at him with the lost look of a stray puppy.

I tried to be dignified, but news like that tends to cut a person off at the knees.

‘There has to be a way,’ Jay said, jaw set. ‘If we have to move a gods-damned mountain to get Ves home, we’ll do it.’

‘Jay—’ I began.

He cut me off. ‘Do you think Alban or Em wouldn’t say the same? We are not leaving without you.’ He enunciated the last six words clearly and with emphasis; clearly comprehensible, even for an idiot like me.

I took a shaky breath, and nodded. ‘Luan. You mentioned that some of you leave Hyndorin on occasion, but you implied that it wasn’t in order to visit another magick-drenched location, such as Vale.’

‘We go shopping,’ he said, with a twinkle. ‘Once in a while.’

‘In places of lesser magickal impact?’

‘Yes. Enclaves as — what did you call it? — magick-drenched as Hyndorin and Vale are not common, even in this Britain.’

‘How do you manage it, then? For if you live here with ease, you must be as magick-drowned as I am.’ I hoped. Either that or they were just used to dosing themselves with powdered unicorn horn every six hours.

Somehow I didn’t think that was it. Hundreds of years had passed. Generation after generation had lived here, and stayed here, even when they had little reason to remain.

‘The arts relating to the creatures known as Familiars,’ said Luan. ‘Are they still known about, in your Britain?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Well, yes. But it is rarely practiced, and bordering upon illegal, because we’re stupid about it.’ That was roughly what Miranda had said.

‘A deep bond with a suitable creature can be of great use,’ said Luan. ‘But such a bond should not be lightly entered into, for it is permanent, and it will change you.’

‘Change me?’ I echoed dumbly. I mean, I wanted to be changed, at this point, but that was vague.

‘A Familiar may enhance its bonded partner’s magick, or alternatively it may lessen it,’ said Luan. ‘This is because, once fully bonded with a Familiar, its magick becomes yours, and vice versa. The bond is one of shared magick, and it is absolute.’

So if I were overflowing with too much of it, I could pool my magick with my Familiar, reducing the excess upon myself and strengthening my beast. Or, the other way around.

‘But,’ cautioned Luan. ‘It is no easy thing to arrange. Understand that an ordinary domestic cat or dog, or any creature commonly kept as a pet, will not serve. Even the more common of the magickal breeds will not do.’

‘Not Pup, then?’ asked Jay.

Luan shook his head. ‘A nose-for-gold, however talented, has not the depths of magick necessary to serve well as a Familiar. I do not believe I have ever heard of such a bond being formed.’

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. ‘How about… a unicorn?’

I waited, crossing my fingers behind my back.

Luan paused in thought. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘Some are much diminished now. Those you will have observed at Vale, for example, are little better than cattle, poor creatures.’

‘But a unicorn of royal lines?’ said Jay, anticipating my line of thought.

‘Royal lines?’ said Luan, with a curious tilt of his head. ‘Is that what they are calling them now?’

‘Apparently. Could such a unicorn function as a Familiar?’

‘Indeed, yes,’ said Luan, and I could have cried with relief. ‘One of my sisters has such a Familiar.’

Milady’s words floated through my mind. And, Ves, if you can contrive to take your unicorn companion along, you may also find that a useful measure.

Ha. To say the least. Had she known how useful, when she’d said those words, and in what way? Or was it just a hunch?

Thank you, Milady, I told her in my thoughts. Thanks to her foresight, however it worked, I might actually get the chance to say that to her in person sometime soon.

‘Next question,’ I said. ‘Um. How does one go about bonding with a Familiar?’

To call our next destination a Royal Bedchamber would be to grossly understate the impact of the place.

It wasn’t fit for a king so much as a… well, a god. In size alone, it staggered me. Okay, Torvaston was a troll, and they aren’t short, but even so: how much space does one person need? We emerged in a chamber the approximate size of a football field (yes, I exaggerate, but not by much). Dominating the centre of that space was a bed large enough to sleep about thirty human-sized people. Its four posts were trees, crystalline and sparkling but clearly tree-shaped, and apparently alive. Canopies of cobwebby gauze hung about it, and its pillows and blankets had the kind of plushness a Ves could cheerfully sink into forever.

I’ve never seen an article of furniture so clearly scream magick!

The rest of the décor was of a piece with it. Lamps of contorted crystal hung from the ceiling and erupted from the walls, glowing under their own power; carpets covered the hardwood floor, their patterns and colours shifting as I looked at them; cabinets held artefacts safely behind glass, though every time I glanced their way I beheld a different array of objects.

Etc. If this was the lifestyle of a king in a magick-soaked enclave, I could definitely see its upside.

Luan walked through that room as though he walked in the presence of a god. His soft-footed, wide-eyed, reverential behaviour unnerved me. Did he think Torvaston was going to show up?

Was Torvaston going to show up?

‘You look petrified,’ Jay said, glancing at me.

I composed my features. ‘It’s the word “god” that did it,’ I said.

‘And?’

‘Any sane person is terrified of gods.’

‘Does that include the giddy kind you keep referring to?’

‘A degree of healthy irreverence is good for a person,’ I retorted.

Jay made no answer, save for his by-now-familiar eyebrow quirk that said whatever you say, Ves.

I shut my mouth.

Jay was right about the bedchamber more nearly resembling a museum. Like the rest of the tower (or as much as we had seen of it), it was meticulously well-kept, without a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. Considering these rooms had been sealed for centuries, however, that fact registered as highly unusual. Moreover, it had the air of a museum about it, of a place not merely dusted and swept but preserved. As though the effects of time had been, if not outright stopped, then at least slowed down.

Strong magicks indeed.

I wondered again why Torvaston had closed off this room, while apparently going to some trouble to preserve it. For whom? The chances that anyone would manage to follow his obscure trail of clues and oblique references and stray magickal bits-and-bobs were vanishingly small, which was why hundreds of years had passed before anyone had done so.

And I still felt like we were here more by some kind of fluke than by our own efforts.

Or by Milady’s possible flickers of clairvoyance. After all, it was she who had manoeuvred things so that we could keep our mischievous nose-for-gold Pup. It was Pup who had retrieved the scroll-case from Farringale, and brought it to me. It was Milady again who had brought in the Baron, and through him we had forged links with the Court at Mandridore — who had sent us out here. With Alban in pursuit, bearing just the things we needed to get into this room.

I shied away from concluding that anything like fate had brought us here; that would be absurd. But a somewhat manipulated run of “luck” certainly had. So then, why?

‘What’s in here that’s important?’ I said to Jay. Luan was on the other side of the room, still in a state of reverence. I half expected him to fall to his knees before an enormous, bejewelled chair that strongly resembled a throne. He’d probably die before he so much as considered sitting on it.

I, however, strongly wanted to plant my derriere on those sumptuous green velvet cushions.

I turned my face away from it, lest the temptation should overcome me.

‘Important?’ Jay said, frowning. ‘All of it, surely.’

‘As far as intriguing uses of magick go, and evidence of a delightful excess: yes. But I mean, what’s important to us in here.’

‘You mean, what would Milady want us to shamelessly make off with?’

‘No!’ I gasped, appalled. ‘What would Milady want us to… heroically liberate in the name of magick.’

‘My mistake.’

‘Hint: It’s unlikely to be anything with material value.’

‘So not the gigantic pile of magickal silver lying in a storeroom a ways nearby.’

‘Is it really gigantic?’

‘Relatively speaking. It’s enough to make a few lyres and snuff boxes, anyway.’

‘None of it looks like it might be a conveniently flat-packed magickal regulator, I suppose?’

‘Because they absolutely had IKEA for uniquely powerful artefacts in the seventeen hundreds.’

‘You never know.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, I do. And no, it doesn’t.’

‘Curse it.’

He looked around at Torvaston’s glamorous bedchamber, and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Ves. Everything in here is dripping in gold. It could be anything or nothing.’

Most likely nothing, I thought, though my eye lingered on those cabinets. The curiously changeable nature of the contents intrigued me a little. What better way to protect objects of unusual value, than to make it impossible to identify what each object was?

Then again, it could also be an elaborate feint. If I were prone to thieving artefacts of great power — just for instance — the so-obviously magickal nature of all those carefully stored articles would attract me greatly. I’d be inclined to empty those cabinets forthwith, and might miss something more subtle.

Like… like a secret door, for example. Secret, but not because it was hidden. More because it was so subtle. Blandly mundane in the midst of such splendour, and half-hidden behind a cabinet to boot.

‘Did you go through that door?’ I asked Jay, pointing.

‘What door— oh.’ He blinked in its general direction. ‘I didn’t notice it before.’

‘Because you looked right past it, or conceivably because it wasn’t there before?’

Jay thought. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

‘I vote we investigate.’

‘Seconded.’

But as we ventured towards the door, it melted away.

There and then gone.

Jay took this in stride, which said a lot about his experiences with the Society since he’d joined us. Disappearing doors? All in a day’s work. He went up to the wall where the door had been, and felt around with his hands. ‘It’s really gone,’ he reported.

‘Right.’ I did a three hundred and sixty degree turn, scanning the room.

And spotted the slithery thing skulking behind an elegant console table, not far from the throne. Chair. Whatever. ‘There!’ I said, and ran for it.

This time, I almost made it before it began to fade. ‘No, you don’t,’ I said, and made a grab for the heavy silver (or Silver?) doorknob.

My fingers closed around it, and I yelped. It was cold, like ice fresh from the freezer. It hurt to touch it, but I grimly hung on, and threw my full body weight behind my efforts to haul it open.

Without much effect. A five-foot-barely-anything Ves doesn’t weigh all that much, I guess. The door fought me, inexorably squeezing itself closed. ‘Ow,’ I yelled, the doorknob burning my hands in that weird way that only ice can do.

Jay’s hands closed around mine, and suddenly the door’s trajectory was reversed. Inch by inch, we prised it open until Jay could get a foot in between it and the doorjamb.

There was no stopping him after that. He dragged the reluctant door open by sheer brute force, face thunderous, and finished the process off by way of a couple of rather savage kicks. ‘You can let go,’ he said, and dragged my hands away from the doorknob.

I relinquished it gratefully. Jay, standing squarely in the way of the door, wouldn’t let me go in until he’d turned my hands palm-up and checked them over.

‘Hurts?’ he asked.

I twitched my fingers. ‘Ow,’ I confirmed.

He glanced again at the door, and the thunderous look returned. Was he angry with it for burning my hands? ‘I’ve nothing to say in defence of the door’s conduct,’ I offered. ‘But in fairness, it was me who grabbed the handle like an idiot.’

Jay released me. ‘Whatever’s out here better be worth it.’

At first glance, it didn’t look like it. Stepping from Torvaston’s spectacular bedchamber into his hidden rooms was like going from a palace into a monastery. We beheld a simple scholar’s cell, white-walled, with an unpolished oaken floor and a single desk — the high-backed kind, once commonly used in cloister libraries.

I hastened eagerly towards that desk, my injury forgotten.

But only disappointment awaited me there. The desk was bare. No ancient quill-pen did I see, lying where Torvaston (presumably) had left it before he died. No stone inkwell sat waiting, filled with peculiarly fresh ink.

No books, scrolls or diaries lay open and inviting, filled with ancient secrets for Val to pore over.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said, searching in vain for signs of something interesting in that room. ‘Why was this place hidden and protected, if there’s nothing here?’

‘Well.’ Jay paced back and forth, his dark eyes scanning every inch of the walls and floor. ‘If the room itself was hidden and protected, does it not stand to reason that its contents might be as well?’

Hmm.

I devoted myself to a close scrutiny of the desk. I patted it all over with my hands, searching for signs of a hidden drawer. I knocked upon its panels, hoping for hollow sounds suggestive of a secret compartment.

Nothing.

‘What is it that you are doing?’ came Earl Evemer’s voice all of a sudden, and he sounded every inch an aristocrat. Grave, pompous, disapproving.

‘Looking for something significant,’ I answered, without stopping what I was doing. Having got this far, we weren’t stopping just because Luan wanted to treat Torvaston’s personal effects as religious relics.

‘Be careful,’ he snapped, as I knocked a little too hard on the heavy oak wood and made it rattle a bit.

‘I could set fire to this thing and it would be virtually untouched,’ I said, with faint annoyance. ‘They’re built to withstand the apocalypse, and this one no doubt has heavy magickal wards as well.’

Luan began to look like a harassed parent with two exhaustingly wayward offspring. ‘I begin to think—’ he said, but whatever he had begun to think was destined to remain forever unknown, for Jay’s cry of triumph interrupted him.

I looked up. Jay stood face-to-face with a plain, white-washed expanse of wall. He had his fingers in something. As I watched, he peeled back a section of the wall like it was wallpaper.

Which it wasn’t. I felt a surge of magick from his corner of the room; he was stripping away glamours like they were pasted on with glue.

I made a mental note to ask him how he’d done that, later.

Behind the glamoured wall, another door lay concealed, but this one was tiny — about two feet square, and positioned about seven feet off the floor.

Over Jay’s head, and well over mine.

‘I need a box to stand on, or something,’ said Jay, breathless with excitement, because above his head the door — crystalline and sparkling with magick — was slowly opening.

‘Allow me,’ said Luan severely. Before either of us could interfere, he reached up with ease and extracted the contents of the glamoured space in the wall.

My librarian’s heart beat quick, for it was a scroll, and a good one, too. Wide and fat, it contained a great deal of rolled-up parchment. It practically glowed with promise, but that might just have been my fevered imagination.

I stopped breathing as Luan slowly, carefully unrolled it.

‘These are plans,’ he said, in the hushed voice of awe.

‘Tell me they’re for the Heart,’ I blurted.

He didn’t so much as glance at me, his gaze glued to the parchment. ‘I… I believe that is exactly what they are.’

‘Not just any silver,’ said Jay helpfully. ‘I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same kind as the lyre.’

‘That is entirely—’ said Luan, and stopped. ‘What kind of a hound circumvents my defences and finds its way straight to the most valuable artefacts in the building?’

‘She’s a nose-for-gold,’ I said quickly, remembering too late that I had glossed over Pup’s presence before.

His face set into disapproving lines. ‘I think you said you were not treasure hunters?’

‘We aren’t. It’s just Pup that has a few bad habits…’

‘And what manner of scholar keeps a nose-for-gold?’

A fair question. ‘She’s an academic oddity where we come from,’ I said, trying my best smile.

‘We aren’t here to steal your silver,’ said Jay irritably. ‘We came looking for Torvaston’s project, that’s all.’

‘That,’ said Luan in a terrible voice, ‘is our silver.’

Jay blinked. ‘…Oh.’

So the “Heart” was a dismantled pile of Silver with a capital S, and it was lying in a storeroom somewhere in this largely-empty tower. I remembered myself telling Wyr he was welcome to plunder at will once we got inside, and winced. All right, I hadn’t thought the place would prove to be inhabited, but that was the best excuse I had for my reckless promise. A cache of something so frighteningly valuable and powerful must never be permitted to fall into the hands of someone like him.

Earl Evemer and his compatriots had successfully protected it for centuries. It was our unauthorised presence here that put it at risk.

Way to go, team.

‘We should go,’ I said.

Jay looked sharply at me. ‘Go?’

‘What we came for no longer exists,’ I said. ‘Mission over. We can go back to Mandridore and tell them it’s a no go.’

‘We?’

For a second, I’d forgotten my no-fly state. ‘Erm.’ I looked around. ‘Where is Pup? You left her with the Silver?’

‘If you’d like to try prising her off that stuff, be my guest.’

I sighed. ‘I am very sorry,’ I said to Luan. ‘If we can retrieve my disgraceful thief of a Pup—’ (and, come to think of it, my intellectual thief of a book) ‘—We will get off your lawn, and stop complicating your day.’

Luan held up a hand. ‘Not so fast.’

I stared. ‘What?’

‘I would like a look at that lyre, please.’

I dithered. I could hardly blame him for asking, but… I did not want to hand it over.

Then again, we stood here swearing blind we weren’t there to rob the place, and expected him to just trust our word, despite all apparent evidence to the contrary. It would be unbecoming to refuse to trust him for even five minutes with our articles of value.

I looked at Jay. He had hidden the thing; it was for him to decide whether or not to reveal it.

He looked quizzically back at me. I’m the new guy, his face (probably) said. Why are you making me decide, o mentor?

Because your guess is as good as mine, I signalled back.

He shrugged, and set the snuff box down. Which reminded me. ‘Hey, where in the tower did you get swept off to?’

‘Some kind of bedchamber,’ he said, counting downwards through the buttons on his shirt. ‘Or a museum. The place was practically preserved in aspic.’

A choked sound emerged from Luan.

‘You okay?’ I said.

‘A grand chamber?’ asked Luan.

‘Fit for a king,’ said Jay. ‘Probably literally.’

Luan groped for his chair, and sat back down. ‘His Majesty’s private quarters.’

I studied him. He’d turned white. ‘Why’s that so shocking?’

‘Because,’ he said faintly, ‘those rooms have been inaccessible since Torvaston died.’ He lunged suddenly, way fast for such an old man, and scooped up the snuff box that Jay had set down on the arm of my chair. ‘This must have belonged to His Majesty,’ he said, and his voice shook. Then he chuckled, though the almost maniacal glint in his eye took all the mirth out of the sound. ‘Not that we have nothing left of his personal possessions, but none of them have ever worked. Because he attuned the charm to… to a snuff box.’

‘And whata snuff box!’ said Jay, producing the damned lyre with a flourish.

All thoughts leaked out of my foolish brain, and time stopped. I stared like an idiot at the pretty thing, its curving frame gleaming like moon-touched silver, its strings rippling like sun-touched waters, and the cursed thing sang to me. The melody reverberated through my bones, and I knew I would remember those notes for the rest of my life.

Magick pulsed around me. I no longer saw Earl Evemer’s handsome, old-fashioned parlour, or not in such prosaic terms as walls and furniture and fireplaces. I saw the world as a flow of magick, colourless yet shimmering with all the colours in the world. Jay was a firework throwing off sparks — my doing, perhaps. Luan blended in, seamlessly, like a single thread in a complex, perfect tapestry.

I do not know how I might have appeared, for I could not see myself. But I felt right. Slotted in like the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle. Powerful.

I do not know what happened between the moment of Jay’s waving the lyre around, and the moment when he hid it behind its glamour once more. I came awake with a start, to find Jay looking unperturbed (good, Earl Evemer had not tried to make off with the lyre), and his lordship seated once again in his deep armchair, looking six ways shaken.

‘I would like very much to see His Majesty’s chambers,’ said Luan.

‘You do have the snuff box,’ I pointed out. He still held it clutched in his left hand.

His fingers opened as I spoke, and he offered it back to us. ‘And I have taken it without your permission.’

‘Do you need our permission?’ I said, uncertain. ‘It more rightly belongs to you than to us.’

But Luan shook his head. ‘I may not know why, but Torvaston had his reasons for leaving these things in your Britain. And he was of your world, not ours. If you are here at the behest of his natural heirs, then I will not lay claim to this box.’

I exchanged a look with Jay. ‘I can’t think of a single reason to object to your using it,’ I said.

‘Neither can I,’ agreed Jay.

Not that I didn’t suffer a moment’s disquiet. Why had Torvaston locked everyone out of his rooms, and left the key in our Britain instead?

But I couldn’t afford to start doubting Luan’s motives now. Apart from anything, I badly wanted to see those rooms, too.

‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘Oh,’ I added casually, ‘And I’d like to stop by that workshop on the way there. I may have, um, left something behind.’

Ten minutes later, I stood with Luan and Jay at a crossroads in the network of passages that ran throughout the tower. These four-way junctions functioned as transport points, Luan informed us, provided you either knew how to manipulate them, or you were carrying something that served as a token.

That didn’t explain how one of them had swept Pup away, but since no one was likely to have any explanation to offer for Goodie’s peculiar brand of larking about, I chose not to raise the issue.

Mauf lay snug in my shoulder bag. Snug and smug. ‘Miss Vesper!’ he had greeted me as I stole into the workshop. ‘I lay my intellectual riches at your exquisite feet.’

I’d stopped, surprised into immobility. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I,’ he said proudly, ‘have been very busy.’

If I didn’t know it to be impossible, I would have said he sounded drunk. Drunk on knowledge? Intoxicated by academia? Mauf had drunk deeply from the Well of Wisdom, and was now high as a kite.

I gave his front cover a soothing pat as I picked him up. ‘Just out of interest, could you actually read any of those texts?’

‘Not a word.’ He giggled.

I gave up.

He now lay asleep (supposedly) in the bottom of the bag. Once in a while I heard something like a stray chortle from somewhere in the vicinity of my right elbow.

Best to ignore it.

‘Forgive me,’ said Luan, paused on the brink of taking the plunge into Torvaston’s Royal Apartments. ‘Is your bag… laughing?’

‘Long story,’ I said.

He just looked at me, and I felt a bit guilty. I had just used Mauf to thieve Hyndorin secrets, even if I hadn’t taken anything of material value. I had no business standing there like butter wouldn’t melt.

Then again, if the snuff box was more rightly our property than his, because our Britain and natural successors and representatives of the Troll Court, yada yada, then surely works related to Torvaston’s projects qualified under the same rule. Right?

Sometimes I envied Jay his utter moral certainty. It did make him a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes, but at least he was spared these exhausting bouts of wrestling with his conscience.

It being rather too late in the day to set about being a goody two-shoes, I abandoned that line of thought.

Luan was hesitating.

‘Everything all right?’ I said, when time passed and he did not move.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is only that… no one here has seen these rooms in hundreds of years. Their very existence has become the province of more myth than fact.’

‘That makes it exciting,’ I offered, bouncing a bit on my toes.

He nodded, and straightened purposefully. I wasn’t fooled. His hands were shaking.

People really revered Torvaston, didn’t they? I hoped he was the kind of person who deserved all this adulation. As far as I could determine, his track record was a bit too varied to merit it.

‘He must have had a really magnetic personality,’ I muttered.

‘Torvaston?’ said Luan. ‘He was like a god.’

With which bombshell, he stepped into the crossroads vortex and vanished, sweeping Jay and I away with him.

‘Hippogriff, I think,’ said Luan calmly, and pointed to Jay’s feet.

Hooves. Dead giveaway.

Jay said something beaky.

‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed.

‘Your associate?’ said Luan.

‘Yes. And I would love to know where he’s been this past hour or so, but I think I’ll have to get him out of here to find out. He was okay outside.’

‘Magickal dissonance,’ said Luan, nodding. ‘It has been harder to maintain a balance since the Heart was lost.’ His eyes narrowed, fixed upon me. ‘How is it that your companion is so much affected, while you are not?’

I had not yet got around to telling him that part of my increasingly complicated story. ‘It all started in Vale,’ I said, trying unsuccessfully to soothe a visibly alarmed Jay.

‘Vale?’ echoed Luan sharply. ‘What were you doing up there?’

‘Looking for this place. Torvaston’s map depicted both the valley of the Vales of Wonder, and the Hyndorin Mountains, and we went to the other one first. It’s… interesting up there.’

Luan gave a faint snort, but did not offer any further comment.

‘Well, and we were all losing our collective… er, marbles in Vale. It’s way too intensely magickal for a feeble crowd from a magickal backwater. We were given these disgusting unicorn potions to drink, and that helped. For a while.’

‘And then what?’ said Luan, when I fell silent.

How to explain the rest?

All in a giant rush, and hope for unusual mental acuity in my auditor. Go.

‘We went to the top of Mount Vale and there’s major griffin and unicorn activity up there by the way, not without a certain amount of forced labour, and we were kind of in trouble and we wanted to release all the shiny beasts. So I took out my mother’s magickal lyre of fabulousness and it sort of adopted me and I came out of that experience soaked in magick up to my eyeballs.’

Luan looked at me in silence.

‘That part has yet to go away,’ I finished. ‘Hence, I am okay in here but Jay is not. Which is rather the reverse of the way things were back in Scarborough, when everyone else was okay and I existed on the point of imminent explosion.’

Luan nodded slowly. ‘It is many years since any of us were in Vale,’ he mused. ‘You have guessed, I suppose, the connection?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t—’ I paused, and thought. Jay had taken a seat beside me, and I realised I was absently stroking his arm. He had soft feathers. I have no idea if it was more soothing to him or to me.

Connections between the enclaves of Hyndorin and Vale. Torvaston had clearly had an interest in the latter, even if he had not chosen it for his headquarters. His scroll-case told us that much. But if he hadn’t settled there, and his successors at Hyndorin never went there anymore, what possible link could there be?

Jay said something, his beak clattering, and gesticulated.

‘How long has there been a settlement in Vale?’ I said. ‘In Torvaston’s day, it appears to have been known as the Vales of Wonder, which is suggestive of an area of natural magickal intensity. We were surprised to find a town, when we went there.’

Jay said something else, and I even caught a word or two. ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Some parts of the town did appear to be very old.’

Luan smiled faintly. ‘Very good. Yes, the settlement there is not so old as this one, but nearly so. It dates from the mid eighteenth century.’

Or, around the same time that the Heart of Hyndorin was destroyed. ‘That is where Torvaston’s disgraced courtiers went,’ I guessed. ‘The ones who opposed him, and were kicked out.’

Luan inclined his head. ‘It has been built according to very different values. I am disappointed to hear that little has improved since those days.’

Jay rolled his eyes, and slumped back into the cushions in an attitude of despair.

I patted his hand. ‘Hippogriffs are noble creatures.’

Whatever Jay said next sounded suspiciously like a curse.

‘I may be able to help,’ said Luan. ‘But first, I would like to hear more about that lyre.’

‘It’s an Yllanfalen artefact. Its primary purpose is to select a king or queen for Ygranyllon, the kingdom of its origin, and it’s been doing that for centuries. Supposedly it was created by one of their early kings, who the Yllanfalen revere almost as some kind of god, and it’s made out of skysilver or moonsilver or some such fancifully-named thing.’ I paused for effect, and added: ‘Or, what His Majesty Torvaston seems to have referred to, slightly less imaginatively, as “magickal silver”.’

That got his lordship’s attention. ‘Magickal silver?’ he repeated, and sat up in his chair. ‘That is— remarkable.’

‘Just like the Heart, am I right?’

His expression became guarded. ‘I cannot say.’

‘I get it. You can neither confirm nor deny.’ I held up the compass. ‘And am I much mistaken in thinking this thing has a few moonsilver parts to it, too?’

Luan’s lips twitched. ‘I cannot say.’

‘Mm.’

Jay held out the snuff-box, in the palm of one clawed hand. ‘That, too?’ I said, looking at him.

He nodded furiously. I gathered that his possession of the box had taken him somewhere quite interesting indeed. We really needed to get that beak off his face.

‘The key, too,’ I said. ‘So it appears that this substance, by whatever name it is known, is capable of serious business when it comes to magick.’

‘Because of which, it is almost impossible to find any longer,’ said Luan. ‘There was a seam of it in the environs of Vale, long ago, which is perhaps a partial explanation of Torvaston’s interest in it. Most likely that particular source was exhausted before the town was settled.’

‘Are there any more known?’

‘Not at this time. Nor is it possible, any longer, to acquire unworked examples of the metal. Therefore,’ and he looked seriously at me, ‘I need hardly tell you how incredibly valuable is that lyre. Its properties do not surprise me, if it is made entirely from magickal silver. There are people who would kill you in a heartbeat for possession of so much of it.’

I thanked my lucky stars for my odd obsession with the lyre. If it were not for that, Jay would not have had reason to hide it, and we might have been waltzing all over the fifth Britain carrying more magickal goodness than our collective lives were worth.

‘Question,’ I said. ‘Have you heard before of the silver’s having a… mesmerising effect, on some people?

‘Is this what you meant when you referred to its having “adopted” you?’ asked Luan.

‘Sort of. That didn’t happen until I picked it up and played it. Before that, I had trouble resisting the temptation to do so. I practically had to be restrained.’

‘Hmm.’ Luan looked me over thoughtfully. ‘Would it interest you to know that His Majesty was said to have a similar fascination with the stuff?’

‘Why yes, it would.’

‘History does not say why, however. I am unsure whether the reason for it was ever known.’

‘Curse it.’

‘Does it bother you so very much?’

‘It didn’t, until I played the thing. Now I am too explosively magickal to go home, and that bothers me quite a lot.’ I did not add that I felt condemned to Torvaston’s own fate. Exiled from my own Britain, and obliged to stay forever in a place like Hyndorin or Vale. I mean, it was a perfectly lovely tower, but nothing to compare to the familiar comforts and chaos of Home.

A swift stab of intense homesickness took me aback, and I paused to swallow it down.

‘Magickal silver is sought after for more than one reason,’ said Luan. ‘Partly for its propensity to absorb magickal energy. It is only a personal theory, but I believe that may have been the original source for His Majesty’s ideas.’

‘Yes!’ I said. ‘That makes sense. Perhaps he thought it could be used to absorb the excess at old Farringale, and… undrown it.’

‘Perhaps so,’ Luan allowed. ‘But it also, as you have discovered, has the capacity to expend energy in interesting ways — specifically, without much depleting stored magicks. In other words, it absorbs and also generates, in a cycle reminiscent of the behaviour of nesting griffins.’

I nodded. This coincided, more or less, with our own ideas. ‘And Torvaston himself?’ I guessed.

Luan eyed me. ‘I may be wrong, but your condition could prove confirmation of an idea I have long toyed with.’

‘Torvaston was a kind of human griffin,’ I said. ‘His personal papers suggest as much.’

‘Yes. And he may have become so in the same way that you have. Through close contact with, and manipulation of, a charged source of magickal silver.’

That agreed with everything Alban had told us. ‘Was he… ever known to have, um, stopped being a human griffin?’

‘No.’

Damnit. I really was stuck forever.

‘The lyre, perhaps, may prove both curse and cure,’ suggested Luan. ‘But in the meantime, let us tend to your unfortunate colleague.’ He stood up — but then his eyes flicked to me, and he said, ‘Or perhaps you may do so.’

‘Me?’ I echoed dumbly.

‘Imbalance is the problem. Your friend — you called him Jay? — is out of his magickal depth, here, and is therefore vulnerable to interference.’

‘Magickal shot straight to the heart?’ I suggested.

Luan blinked, nonplussed. ‘If you were to share some what you call your excess magick with your colleague, it may stabilise him.’

I liked this idea much better than chugging unicorn organs. ‘But will it make him like me?’ I asked, struck with sudden alarm. Jay might have talked of staying in the fifth Britain forever, but absolutely had not been serious. I didn’t want to condemn him to share my exile.

‘Were the effects of those “potions” you spoke of permanent?’ said Luan, with an amused smile.

‘Strictly temporary.’

‘Then I believe you may proceed with confidence.’

All well and good, but how exactly did one go about magickally supercharging one’s friends? ‘No offence, Jay, but I’m not giving up a kidney for this.’

He gave me a flat, hard look. It probably said, if you imagine I’m drinking any potion made from your internal organs, you’re a madwoman.

Good that we were on the same page.

I thought back a few hours, to our madcap journey up to Hyndorin. Jay had hauled me through the Ways via physical contact, in spite of the fact that touching me produced clear signs of magickal disorder.

But that was outside, where Jay was comfortable and I was not. I’d messed him up because proximity to me had thrown his magickal balance out of whack.

Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe, in here, all I needed to do was touch him, and I’d throw his magickal balance into whack. Or something.

‘Righto, Jay,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing else for it. It’s hug time.’ I held out my arms, smiling beatifically.

I received a look of narrow-eyed suspicion in return.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Do you want to spend eternity as a hippogriff or not?’

Damn him, he actually thought it over.

Then he swept me up in a bone-creaking hug, the kind which lifted me a couple of inches off the floor.

‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘Having a beak isn’t that bad.’

Apparently it was, for he did not release me until I’d passed out from lack of oxygen.

Okay, no. He didn’t release me until the feathers were on the retreat and the beak was gone and those weird incorporeal wings had faded into the aether.

Then he dropped me. ‘Finally,’ he said, and I smiled into his reassuringly normal Jay-face once more.

He did not smile back. ‘Ves, do you have any idea what that hound of yours has gone and done?’

I stopped smiling. ‘Pup? No, why? Is she okay?’

‘Oh, she’s fine.’ He began, oddly, to laugh. Mild hysteria. ‘She’s done what she usually does, and scuttled her wriggly little way to a stash of treasure.’

‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ I said cautiously.

‘I’ll give you a hint. It’s silver, and there’s quite a bit of it.’

‘What— wait, how did she not get ported outside? I thought you said—’ I looked at Luan, and was struck by the gobsmacked look on his face. ‘Not relevant. Lord Evemer? Are you all right?’

He visibly swallowed, and said in a constrained voice: ‘Did you say silver?’

So much for my brilliant theory. Torvaston came here to perfect his magick-regulating device, I’d thought, so that he could someday go home and repair the damage he had helped to cause at Farringale. True, I had come up with no ideas as to why he never had gone back — except that the device, perhaps, never worked.

To hear that he had actively chosen not to go back, and indeed to hide the thing from everyone who might come looking for him… well, that changed things.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

The elderly troll straightened. ‘If I tell you that your purpose in coming here cannot be fulfilled, and Torvaston’s work will never be released to you. Do you, then, still wish to ask questions of me?’

‘Of course,’ I said, frowning.

He nodded once, and held out his hand, Torvaston’s compass still tucked into his palm. As I took it, he tightened his fingers briefly around mine, before releasing me. I hoped it was a gesture of goodwill. His scrutiny of me appeared, now, more curious than suspicious. ‘The sixth Britain,’ he mused. ‘But Torvaston always said that magick would decline there, and you— do not appear to bear out that theory.’

Not bristling with magick as I was, no. I stood there as his (temporary) equal, a natural part of all that lovely magickal flow. ‘It’s complicated,’ I said.

His lips curved in a faint smile. ‘I am the seventeenth Earl Evemer,’ he said. ‘But you may call me Luan.’

I made him my best Milady-curtsey, which prompted another smile. Then I ruined it by saying, ‘Call me Ves.’

Quarter of an hour later, I sat in a quiet parlour some floors below with Earl Evemer, being plied with good things. Always my favourite part of any mission.

‘You are not, then, here alone?’ I enquired, somewhere in the midst of my third scone.

‘Oh, no. We are not so numerous as once we were, of course, but twenty-one wardens remain, along with our families.’

‘Wardens?’

‘Our lineages were tasked with the care and protection of the tower and its contents, before His Majesty died. Some few of us have died out in the intervening centuries, but enough remain.’

Seventy or eighty people, perhaps, in a building the size of a small town. No wonder it felt deserted, or some parts of it did. Here on the lower floors, I’d seen signs enough of habitation, though we had not yet encountered anyone else.

‘You never bring in anyone from outside?’

‘Outside?’ he echoed, aghast. ‘Never.’

I thought about everything I had seen beyond this serene enclave forgotten by time, and couldn’t wonder at it. Twenty-one wardens and their families could never be enough to protect the tower from the likes of Wyr, and his trade-partners of Vale. Hungry for profit, morally moribund, and devoid of respect for either history or consequence, they’d decimate the place.

But, how isolated an existence. And the ultimate fate of everyone who lived here must be a final and irrevocable decline.

I was growing tired of that general theme.

Earl Evemer — Luan — munched his way slowly through a sweet roll, his gaze fixed somewhere on the middle distance. I didn’t rush him. Having just given him the speedy low-down on everything that had led me to his tower, my next duty was to leave him a moment to think it over.

And devour a couple more delicacies in the process. Gods, but I was hungry.

By the time he again spoke, I was happily replete and dozing off in my dangerously comfortable armchair. A fire burned in the grate, around which we and our tea-table were arranged. Watching the flames, I’d been close to gliding off to sleep.

‘One or two points do not perfectly make sense,’ said Luan at length, startling me awake.

I sat up quickly, trying to look alert. ‘Mm,’ I said intelligently. ‘Um. Yes.’ I tapped the compass on the arm of my chair.

‘Yes,’ said Luan. ‘That is the salient point.’

‘You don’t know how this came to be at Farringale?’

‘I did not know that any had been left there.’

‘Plus the key to the door, tucked inside a scroll-case. And on the inside of that case was a map of the mountains within which this enclave is hidden. Either Torvaston himself returned once to Farringale and left these things there, or he sent someone else to do it. So, if he did not want his work to be unearthed by his descendants, why did he leave us the means to follow him?’

Luan stared at the compass. ‘I cannot answer that. But, Ves, you should know…’

I waited, but he did not finish the sentence. ‘What should I know?’ I prompted.

He looked at me, and I read unease and something like guilt in his eyes. ‘His Majesty’s… project,’ he said.

‘The, er, regulator?’

‘If you would like to call it that, yes. It… well, it no longer exists.’

I almost dropped my tea cup. ‘Tell me I heard that wrong.’

Luan shook his head. ‘The records state that His Majesty came to regret the project,’ he said, and fell silent again.

Much as I could sympathise with his predicament, I did not really have a lot of time to waste while he wrestled with himself. ‘Because it never worked?’ I prompted.

He blinked. ‘Oh, no. It wasn’t that it did not work.’

I reminded myself to breathe. ‘You mean… do you mean that it did work, or the fact that it didn’t was not the source of Torvaston’s regret?’

‘It worked,’ he said. ‘This enclave was built partly with the assistance of— it is referred to as the Heart of Hyndorin. Because, we must conclude, that is precisely what it was. Coming as you do from a diminished Britain, you might not suppose that this place is a pale shadow of its former glory. Yet, it is much faded, because the Heart is gone.’

I stared. ‘The thing worked! Giddy gods, this changes everything.’

‘Yes,’ said Luan heavily. ‘It did, change everything. It was too much of a success, you see. It was His Majesty’s greatest pride, and as you have surmised, he did hope to return to Farringale with it, and reverse that enclave’s destruction.

‘But, others among his courtiers had different ideas. Where there is powerful magick, there will always be— avarice, and ambition. In this instance, there was not only powerful magick but the means to generate more and more of it. You may imagine, I suppose, what that represented to some of the members of His Majesty’s Court.’

I could not suppress a sigh. What a tired old story. ‘And this is why we can’t have nice things,’ I said.

Luan blinked at me, and I reminded himself that he came from a society worlds away from mine. ‘The Court divided into two factions,’ he said. ‘Torvaston’s closest allies, and those who came to oppose his ideas. The Heart became a dangerous bone of contention between them, and— matters soon grew out of hand. Much damage was done. His Majesty came to doubt his own plans, in the wake of this disaster, and wondered whether the very descendants upon whom he had expected to bestow his work might not prove unworthy of it. Placed into the wrong hands, it would do far more harm to your Britain than good. And he had been in such a position before.’

Of course, he had. He was the king whose efforts to save his kingdom had ultimately hastened its demise. He would be the last person to sail blindly into another such mistake. My heart ached at the tragedy of it, and the waste. I’d fairly castigated Wyr and his ilk for insufficient interest in the consequences of their actions; had the opposite attitude led Torvaston to destroy his irreplaceable work?

‘The Heart was destroyed in 1741,’ said Luan. ‘At the very end of Torvaston’s life. It broke his heart to do it, so they say, for he did not long survive its destruction. Those whose actions had led to his decision were expelled forever from Hyndorin. Those who remained were appointed tower wardens, to guard what was left for as long as we could.’

‘Against the return of Torvaston’s enemies?’ I guessed.

‘Yes. And everyone else.’

‘Has no one else ever got in? Ever?’

Luan shifted in his chair. ‘Once in a great while. We are not quite self-sufficient here; occasionally it is necessary for some of us to leave, to procure necessities, or to conduct research. Carelessness or ill luck are inevitable in time, of course, and it has sometimes happened that someone has followed one of us back inside.’

‘And… what came of that?’

‘We dealt with it,’ he said, in a harder voice. ‘And took greater care in future. It hasn’t happened in a long time.’

I wanted to ask how they had dealt with it, exactly. No reports of successful infiltration of this Enclave had made it beyond the walls, apparently. But Luan was looking, grimly and with some sadness, at an unusual standard lamp in one corner. I’d noticed it before, for it was oddly twisted in shape, and its green silk shade tilted, almost like a bowed head.

I thought of what I had done to Wyr, and decided I did not need to know the details.

‘So you see,’ said Luan, returning his attention to me. ‘I cannot help you fulfil your mission, for it is beyond my power.’

‘Even if it was ultimately Torvaston’s wish?’ I said. ‘Maybe he thought differently, before he died. Maybe he had a little faith in us after all.’

‘Even if he did, the Heart is gone forever. There is nothing for you to take back to his successors.’

I saw that he did not much regret having to give me such a negative for an answer. Despite the evidence of the scroll-case and the compass and the key, as far as he was concerned, his ancestral king had decided the Heart was not to be entrusted to anyone ever again. He and his ancestors had dedicated their lives to protecting what was left of Torvaston’s legacy. They were used to doing as he was thought to have wanted.

Also, in fairness, even the compass and scroll-case did not absolutely mean that Torvaston had changed his mind. It could have been someone else who’d taken them to Farringale, after his death. It wasn’t a likely explanation, but nor was it impossible.

‘I understand,’ I said graciously, even as my mind was busy working on a way around the problem.

An idea occurred to me, and I sat up. ‘Luan,’ I said. ‘One question.’

‘Yes?’

‘I suppose there isn’t any chance that Torvaston lied?’

‘Lied?’ he repeated, with strong disapproval.

‘About destroying the Heart. You don’t suppose he might have made everyone believe that he’d wrecked it, while he’d actually hidden it instead?’

‘No,’ said Luan, crushing my hopes. ‘Its destruction was witnessed by his most loyal courtiers. The materials that went into making it were redistributed, and crafted into other artefacts, many of which are still here. There can be no doubt that the Heart is gone.’

I sagged back in my chair again, disappointed.

But. The Heart itself might be gone, but someone had built the thing in the first place, and someone had possibly kept records of the process. And guess who had a friend in the library/workshop upstairs, cheerfully soaking up every word the trolls of Hyndorin had written?

‘I do believe we are about to have company,’ said Luan, his eyes going faraway. ‘Someone of your acquaintance, I hope.’

In other words, someone unfamiliar to him. I had only an instant to think of Jay before the door swung open, and someone charged into the room, stopping just short of colliding with Luan’s chair.

The newcomer was about Jay’s height and had his colouring, but otherwise the resemblances were few. This man was sprouting feathers, and a pair of incorporeal wings hovered behind him. His long fingers curled under like claws, and they were tipped with talons.

I did not want to look too closely at his face, because I was fairly sure he had more beak than mouth and good heavens.

He was wearing a familiar jacket.

‘Jay,’ I said. ‘I don’t wish to alarm you, but you appear to be turning into a griffin.’

Whatever swept me away in Torvaston’s tower felt like a species of Waymastery, though I had never before heard of the kind that operated on an involuntary target. Or that could achieve the process so smoothly. Not to disparage Jay’s skill; he does remarkable things with the pale, faded stuff we call “magick” in our Britain. But this was something else. Even the henge complexes weren’t quite so seamless.

‘Jay,’ I began, once reality solidified around me and I’d stopped moving. ‘How do you think this works? I mean, even the complexes require some kind of token, though maybe that’s more to do with tax revenue than—’ I stopped, because I abruptly realised I was alone. Neither Jay nor Goodie were anywhere in evidence.

I steadied myself, and took a long look around. I had been dropped in the middle of a room the size of a hay barn. Oceans of space opened up around me. I couldn’t immediately decide what the chamber was for. Bookcases were in evidence, running from floor to ceiling, which suggested a library, except that there were nowhere near enough of them. One wall featured a row of high tables which reminded me of those in Orlando’s workshop, but their surfaces were bare. The far end of the room sported enormous armchairs upholstered in silk, elegant little tables, and plush rugs strewn about the plain oak-boarded floor. At the other end, great crystal cabinets rose some eight or ten feet high, their doors shut, and a complicated chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights composed of jewels in the same shades as Torvaston’s compass.

Not a sound disturbed the dense silence. It was the same stillness we had experienced in old Farringale, the kind resulting from a profound absence of life.

Like Farringale, it showed no other signs of long abandonment. Shafts of sunlight shone through the long windows, illuminating clear, dust-free air. No cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling. The luxurious upholstery of those grand armchairs was untouched by time, and the carpets were pristine.

Hardly surprising, I supposed. The enchantments that lingered at old Farringale must have been the work of Torvaston’s court; of course they would have brought those magicks with them.

I felt a moment’s unease, though, at all these parallels. What else did Torvaston’s tower have in common with old Farringale? Why was this place abandoned, and so-long sealed to the outside world? I thought of Alban and Emellana outside, and fervently hoped that the same fate as Farringale had not befallen this place. If the rocky promontory upon which this tower was built was infested with ortherex, they were in danger.

Probably it was lucky they had been obliged to stay outside.

‘Stop gawking, Ves,’ I murmured, and forced my feet to move. I could worry later about my companions, and time would soon tell where Jay and Goodie had ended up. Investigation beckoned, and I’d better get on with it.

Being me, I went first to the nearest bookcase. A perfunctory perusal revealed a slew of texts, mostly hand-written. None of them in any language I could read.

‘Mauf,’ I said, retrieving him. ‘If you’d be so kind? The scholars of Mandridore don’t have nearly enough to do already.’

‘Madam, I would be delighted,’ said Mauf, as I placed him on a low shelf.

I could swear I heard him giggle.

‘Good stuff?’ I said.

‘Delicious,’ he purred.

What might rank as delicious in Mauf’s odd little world, I judged it best not to enquire into. ‘Have fun,’ I told him. ‘But if you can make it quite quick, that would be great. We are, as ever, pressed for time.’

Mauf rustled his pages in a sigh. ‘Great work cannot be rushed, Miss Vesper.’

‘Nonetheless, you always manage it somehow. Thanks, Mauf.’

He did not reply. I hoped it was because he was absorbed in the task of soaking up knowledge, not because he was offended with me.

Then I wondered how it had come about that I worried over the tender feelings of a book. And considered this normal, to boot.

‘Life doesn’t get any simpler, does it?’ I said to the empty air as I wandered off to look at the cabinets. They were locked, of course, every one, and I could see nothing of their contents through the frosted glass doors.

Nothing else of any interest beckoned, and I stopped, nonplussed. The place had the look of a workroom about it, excepting perhaps the plush luxury of the armchair nook. But if it was Torvaston’s old inventing room, standing in it wasn’t helping me much. Whatever he and his colleagues might once have worked on was long gone. Or well hidden.

I went to a window, and glanced out. I was much higher up the tower, the view told me that much. But how close I was to the tower-top rooms, I could not tell.

‘Mauf,’ I said. ‘Time to explore. How are you getting along?’

‘I will need at least an hour,’ Mauf told me coolly.

‘We don’t have an hour. Can you prioritise?’

‘Which ones would you like me to prioritise?’

‘The… most interesting ones?’

‘Please elaborate on how you are defining the word “interesting” in this context.’

‘Um. The most important? No, don’t say it. I don’t know. Carry on.’

The silence that followed was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I felt a surge of relief. ‘Jay,’ I said as the door opened. ‘Where did you get to— oh!’ Halfway to the door, I stopped dead, for the person coming through it was not Jay.

Nor was he human.

‘Sorry,’ I said numbly, paralysed with shock. Two minutes ago I had been certain that the tower was deserted; the absolute lack of signs of life, together with the deep silence, had equally proclaimed it. As had Wyr’s assertion that nobody had got inside in centuries.

But here was a living person, a troll, clad in the fashions of eighty or so years ago but very much alive. Elderly, judging from his white hair and stooped posture, though his face was largely unlined. He stared back at me with a shock to mirror my own, and stammered something I could not understand.

‘Apologies,’ I said, moving forward again. ‘I would not have barged in had I known I was intruding on somebody’s home — though to be quite truthful, I did not perfectly intend to be up here at all. I’m Cordelia Vesper, a… scholar.’ I held out my hand.

He did not immediately take it, nor did he speak again. I found myself scrutinised by a pair of lively, but wary, grey eyes, with a shrewdness to his glance that made me most uncomfortable.

‘I must say,’ he said at last. ‘Treasure-hunters have changed a great deal in recent years.’ He spoke lightly accented English, with a hesitation that suggested he did not often use the language.

‘I’m not a treasure hunter,’ I said firmly, choosing not to mention that I had brought one such to his doorstep. Even if I had also turned him into a charmingly unthreatening tree.

I was awarded a handshake at last, though a tentative one. ‘And yet,’ he said, ‘you have contrived to find your way straight into the workshops.’

‘Not entirely by choice. I was on the ground floor, and then somehow whisked up here—’

‘Oh?’ he interrupted, and looked at me afresh. Was it my imagination, or had the suspicion increased? ‘And how came that about?’

‘I do not know, sir. I wish I did.’ I hesitated, on the point of telling him about Jay and Pup. Should I?

Yes. Something told me that to err on the side of honesty might be wise.

‘I came here with an associate,’ I said. ‘And a… dog.’ Curse it, if he found out that the dog in question was a treasure-sniffing nose-for-gold, he would never believe that I wasn’t a thief. ‘I do not know whereabouts they have ended up.’

‘Outside, most likely,’ he said, with a trace of amusement. ‘That is where intruders are usually sent.’

Oh. Then I was on my own in here.

‘The question remains,’ he said, looking keenly at me. ‘How is it that you were not? And indeed, how came you to pass the wards at all?’

If by “wards” he meant the spectacular illusions which disguised the tower as an impregnable mountain, I was dying to ask him all about that.

But courtesies first.

‘Regarding the second question,’ I said, ‘I have this.’ I showed him the compass. ‘I have three other associates outside. We took down the wards between us. Though we did not expect to encounter… occupants.’

Why hadn’t they? Because the enclave had been founded hundreds of years ago. Because according to Wyr, the door hadn’t opened in living memory; no one had got in, and presumably no one had been known to come out either. Because I was used to the echoing decay of lost civilisations, in particular Farringale, and to imagine that someone might still be living in this one had seemed unthinkable.

My unexpected interlocutor had gone very quiet. He held out his hand for Torvaston’s compass, and with only a slight hesitation, I gave it over to him. It lay in his palm, untouched, and he gazed at it as though he beheld a miracle.

Slowly, carefully, he stroked a thumb over its surface.

‘Well, now,’ he said softly. ‘And I never thought to see its like again.’

It struck me that my possession of the compass might prove to be the answer to both of his questions. If the henge complexes operated based on something in the traveller’s possession, might not the tower’s Waymastered enchantments also respond to something I held? If I hadn’t had the compass with me, I might well have ended up booted outside.

Which led my thoughts back to the topic of Jay. He’d had the snuff box with him. So, then. Was he outside, or somewhere else in the tower?

My new troll friend (hopefully) looked up. ‘I think you had better tell me how you came by this,’ he said, and a hint of steel had crept into his tone. ‘Was this stolen?’

Tricky question. ‘It— well— no, although also yes. It’s complicated—’

His eyes narrowed, and I stopped gabbling and held up my hands.

‘I work for the Troll Court at Mandridore, on the sixth Britain,’ I said hastily. ‘We’re here at their instigation. We took that— object— from old Farringale-that-was, withTheir Majesties’ permission, so in that sense it isn’t stolen. And somewhere in the valley out there is Prince Alban, next heir to the troll throne.’

All of this came out in a rush, and was met with silence.

Then: ‘And what is your aim, in infiltrating this tower?’

I swallowed. ‘We— perhaps ought to have a longer conversation about all this.’

I expected more of the inquisition, perhaps greater hostility. To my surprise, instead, he gave a mournful sigh, his fingers closing slightly around the compass. ‘We knew it would come,’ he said, so quietly I wondered whether he was talking to me at all. ‘Well, and it has come.’

‘May I… ask what you mean?’ I said.

‘His Majesty’s kin,’ he said. ‘We hoped you would not find us. And at such a distance of years, it seemed unlikely that any of you now would.’

‘But… why?’

‘Because you would doubtless come looking for his work, and… it was not his wish that you should ever find it.’