In the shadow of her bonnet, Madame Pipet grinned hungrily. A couple of lonely teeth gleamed briefly in the cafe lights. ‘It will do.’

Kai’s mind drifted as Catherine verified the book’s authenticity. He urgently wanted to know how Julie Robilliard had found out about Irene’s visit. The most obvious explanation was that Julie had spied on Madame Pipet . . . but that didn’t explain the mysterious bearded man from France. And it certainly didn’t cover whatever had happened to Vale and Irene.

If anything had happened to them, he would raze this island to the bare granite.

‘Correct binding, correct printer’s mark, correct chapter headings – I believe it’s genuine.’ Catherine folded the shawl back over the book and closed the case.

‘Good,’ Kai said with relief. ‘In that case . . .’ He offered Madame Pipet the envelope.

‘Most generous,’ she said, and tucked it into her bodice. Leaning on the arms of her chair, she levered herself to her feet. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to buy a remedy for poison?’

‘I thought we didn’t look very poisoned,’ Kai said.

‘I could be wrong. Julie has a real fondness for her herb garden. Her henbane, her foxgloves, her castor oil plants . . .’ Madame Pipet’s gaze was bright and sharp; she kept one eye on Catherine, who flinched. ‘I wouldn’t ask you very much for a cure.’

‘How much?’ Kai asked, out of curiosity.

‘A certain suitcase with a book in it, maybe?’

‘But we just paid you thousands for it!’ Catherine said.

‘Quite right too. But they do say that nothing’s more important than one’s health.’

‘No deal,’ Kai said firmly.

Catherine glanced sidelong at him, then set her jaw, trying to look stern. ‘No deal,’ she echoed.

‘Ah well,’ Madame Pipet said. ‘Adieu, my children. Enjoy your time on Guernsey. Whatever time you have left.’

Her attendant opened the door for her, juggling the umbrella to shield the older woman from the driving rain, then followed her out.

As the door shut behind them, Catherine turned to Kai. ‘So it was all a bluff, then, and we aren’t really poisoned?’

‘Actually, we probably are,’ Kai admitted. ‘But we ate it rather than inhaling, which should give us sufficient time for treatment. First we need to find Irene—’

Suddenly they heard the rattle of gunfire outside, and screaming.

Both Kai and Catherine hit the ground, Kai snatching the suitcase as he went down. ‘Keep an eye on that,’ he instructed Catherine, as he crawled towards the window.

‘I thought Guernsey was a nice quiet place, with cows,’ Catherine muttered bitterly. ‘Since when did they have gangsters?’

‘I think they’re actually smugglers – they’re notorious here,’ Kai said, cautiously peering through the window. ‘Four of them. Two have shotguns, two have pistols. Madame Pipet’s down. So’s her assistant. We’d better go out the back.’

‘What makes you think they won’t have people out there too?’ Catherine demanded.

‘They did,’ Irene said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchens, a bundle under her arm. ‘They don’t now. Let’s get out of here while we can.’

Given the rest of the mission had collapsed into desperate improvisation, Irene supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find this part was also chin deep and sinking. So much for a quiet journey to a pleasant holiday location, with some straightforward training for Catherine. And it was still raining.

‘Situation report, Kai,’ she said, since he seemed to be having trouble pulling himself together.

He blinked, then said, ‘We have the book. We may have been poisoned. And our purchaser’s just been shot down outside by a faction of local smugglers.’

Irene’s heart clenched. She knew that she should have been faster, that she shouldn’t have gone hunting Lord Guantes. ‘What was the poison?’ she asked.

‘Ricin.’ Kai didn’t look as nervous as she’d expected.

‘Inhaled or ingested?’

‘Ingested, but we’re not feeling anything yet.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Catherine muttered. ‘I feel awful.’

‘That’s just nerves,’ Kai said reassuringly. ‘We’ve at least six hours before we need to start worrying. What have you been up to, Irene? Why did something blow up out there under the sea? Where’s Vale?’

‘Long story,’ Irene said, deciding the Lord Guantes update could wait till they were safely out of danger. The Fae had kidnapped Kai, tried to auction him off and had intended to start a war by selling him. So Kai wasn’t going to be very happy when he heard Lord Guantes had been alive all this time. Or raised from the dead. Whatever. ‘I’ll tell you later. We’ll leave through the back, this way.’

Kai snatched up the suitcase and followed. They hurried through the kitchen, and out to the side street.

From the main road there came the mournful hoot of a steam whistle. ‘That’s the steam tram!’ Irene exclaimed. ‘We can catch it to the zeppelin port – Vale’s meeting us there, he went ahead to secure transport.’

Even poisoned and carrying the suitcase, Kai outpaced both Irene and Catherine. Irene caught the younger woman’s arm, tugging her forward. The steam tram was just starting to pull away from its resting place; a plume of smoke trailed from the funnel that crowned the sleek maroon-painted engine. In the exposed carriages, hard-bitten travellers perched on the benches, stoically wrapped up against the elements.

Shouts came from behind them. Irene knew that symphony; it started with There they are and continued on to Stop them, with occasional gunshot obbligato.

‘Get on!’ she gasped.

Kai swung the hard-won suitcase up onto the open carriage, then vaulted over the side as the tram picked up steam. Irene forced herself to sprint. She grabbed Catherine under the elbow, and boosted her up into the carriage as Kai reached out to catch the Fae.

But then Irene stumbled. She frantically grabbed at one of the carriage rails, her skirts tangling around her ankles – and missed, clutching fistfuls of air instead. Lord Guantes’ laptop was like a dead weight under her free arm, and it was taking everything she had just to keep pace with the tram. Desperately, she put on one last burst of speed. By some miracle, Kai grabbed her shoulders and dragged her safely inside.

The steam tram rattled its way through St Peter Port, the open sea on one side and shops on the other: grey granite and white-painted facades disappeared behind them, washed clean in the constant rain. The sound of pursuing feet and yells died away as the tram jolted towards the edge of town.

Irene tried to catch her breath. ‘Thank you,’ she said. She turned to Catherine. ‘Are you all right?’

‘This is not the serene life of reading and study I expected,’ Catherine muttered. She hunched her shoulders defensively, looking thoroughly miserable. ‘And I’ve been poisoned.’

The rattling of the open carriage drowned out their quiet conversation – though Irene suspected the local passengers were probably hanging onto every word they could hear. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘If I remember correctly, it takes about six hours for ricin to have a significant effect. It’ll be easier to do something about it once we’re on the zeppelin and out of public view.’