‘So far he’s demonstrated an annoying ability to predict our moves,’ Irene muttered.

Vale favoured her with a rare smile. ‘He didn’t predict that I’d ask you to accompany me, Winters, or that you’d agree.’

‘Or that I’d leave Kai and Catherine behind,’ Irene said, a cold hand closing round her heart. It had seemed safe enough to leave them alone for a short while, but now . . . ‘Vale, we have to get back at once. If Lord Guantes is the one who has been attacking us over the last few weeks, you won’t be his only target. And if he’s to be believed, your letter isn’t here anyway. Are we going to have to use that tunnel, or is there a quicker way out of here?’

Any sensible secret base should have an emergency exit, and Vale seemed to have studied its plans. She had to get back to the surface right now. If Lord Guantes had somehow returned from the grave, then Kai was in great danger. After all, Kai had been Lord Guantes’ primary target – and saving him had been the goal of her Venice mission. It felt so long ago now.

Vale frowned. ‘There is a quicker way out of here, yes. But, Winters, we absolutely have to check for that letter. The British government is depending on me.’

‘The British government can cope with one more would-be crime lord in London,’ Irene retorted angrily. ‘Besides, Lord Guantes said it was gone! And I need to protect Kai.’

‘Strongrock’s capable of looking after himself for five minutes,’ Vale countered. ‘And Lord Guantes may be lying. I simply can’t take that chance.’ His face was set and expressionless. She knew that he’d analysed how much danger Kai might be in, just as she had. ‘I need your help, Winters.’

For a moment Irene couldn’t believe what he was asking. Then practicality cut in, harsh and unwelcome. Vale had a responsibility to the British Empire, even if she didn’t – and this wasn’t her world, after all. She knew that if she were to say no, Vale would accept it and show her the emergency exit. Five minutes might make the difference between safety and danger for Kai – and Catherine, too. But Vale was her friend, and her help might make the difference between his life and death. She couldn’t abandon him.

Irene clenched her hands and forced herself to decide. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘But there’s no time to waste.’

Prince Kai, the dragons’ treaty representative, son of his majesty Ao Guang, King of the Eastern Ocean, once apprentice to Irene Winters and now her lover, but also – and most importantly – her friend, looked out of the teashop window. He wished he could somehow erase the street’s heavy grey stone buildings so he could see the ocean beyond. Humans called it the English Channel – if they were English, of course. The French called it La Manche, ‘the sleeve’, and other nationalities called it something different again. But the sea had its own identity. He could feel its presence, its motion, its long heartbeat. The rolling waves and dragging tides sang in his blood and hummed in his bones, soothing his current irritation until he could almost forget it.

Almost. It was very hard to ignore the irritation in question, as she was sitting directly opposite him.

Catherine scribbled in her notepad without looking up, the top of her pen jerking enthusiastically with every added underlining or exclamation mark. She’d bisected the table between them with a barricade composed of the teapot and cake-stand, an unofficial declaration that she wasn’t interested in conversation. The harsh ether-lights drained the colour from her golden-brown skin and the red from her chestnut hair, and turned her navy coat dull and drab. She was smaller than he was, so the high back and arms of her chair rose around her like walls. She resembled nothing so much as a minor, but still intimidating, enemy force. And she was ensconced on the other side of his table.

There was no point checking his watch again. It had only been five minutes since the last time. He shook out the local newspaper and skimmed through its contents. Cattle-breeding. French politics. English politics. Radiation experiments in the local tomato greenhouses. Tide tables. He sighed inwardly.

The rain slapped against the window and rattled forcefully on the cobbled pavement outside with a noise like gravel. Men and women hurried past, bundled up in heavy knitted guernseys and shawls. The teashop itself was empty of customers except for the two of them; it was a Tuesday morning, so working men and women were at their jobs. And it was too early for elderly ladies, gossip being their main occupation, to turn up and crowd the tables with nodding bonnets and whispers.

The waitress caught his eye, giving him a smile. Kai gestured at the teapot and obtained a refill.

‘Thank you,’ Catherine said, putting down her notepad for a moment. The sentiment wasn’t particularly gracious, but Kai decided he’d take it as a victory. Light glinted off her bronze-rimmed glasses as she poured herself another cup, then – remembering after a moment – one for him. ‘Anything interesting in the paper?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Unsurprising. There’s nothing of interest here,’ Catherine muttered.

‘That’s not true,’ Kai protested. ‘There are . . . um . . . purebred cows, buildings left over from the Napoleonic Wars, even a thriving witch-cult. They’re known as the Gens du Vendredi, or the Friday People . . .’

‘Are they on the agenda for today?’

‘Probably not,’ Kai admitted.

Catherine planted her elbows on the table. ‘This would have been a quick pickup job if Irene—’

‘Miss Winters,’ Kai corrected her.

‘She told me to call her Irene,’ Catherine said smugly. ‘Anyhow. We could have collected our target book and left already if she hadn’t gone off with Peregrine Vale. Which she shouldn’t be doing.’

Kai was still rather bitter that he hadn’t been asked along himself but had been left to take charge of Catherine instead. ‘I’m sure he has reasons for asking her.’

‘No, you don’t get it. She’s supposed to be politically neutral in this world, isn’t she? Like you? Yet she’s hanging out with someone whose sister is high up in the British government. Not only that, but they’re visiting a top-secret submarine base together. How can that be neutral?’

That was actually the most politically astute comment Catherine had made since they’d met. Kai had had the dubious pleasure of making her acquaintance just a few weeks ago, and it felt as if she hadn’t stopped glaring at him since. He disagreed with her, of course, on principle. ‘Vale is a good friend,’ he parried. ‘She has every reason to spend time with him.’

Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, and pigs fly, and my uncle’s planning to take vows of celibacy. Come on. Also, I don’t see why I had to come in the first place. I could have stayed in London.’

‘Irene wanted you to get some first-hand experience of being a Librarian. And when we pick up the Merlin document, that’s exactly what will happen.’

‘By standing around while she hands over money? I could understand it if she wanted me to learn something cool. But if not, why not leave me behind to do something useful?’

Kai shrugged. ‘Irene wanted to give you a thorough grounding in Librarianship. Besides, have you forgotten the recent little . . . unpleasantnesses?’ He wasn’t sure that Catherine was a target – nobody had tried to kidnap or kill her, after all – but he and Irene had both been victims of near misses or failed abductions in the last month. Vale had said he was looking into it, but he had yet to come up with an answer.