Isaac swore silently, but he knew Lemuel was right.

He had been very uneasy at the notion of involving Lemuel in this adventure, but events had rapidly conspired to give him no choice. David had clearly been reluctant to help him find Magesta Barbile. He seemed paralysed, a mass of helpless nerves. Isaac was losing patience with him. He needed support, and he wanted David to get off his arse and do something. But now was not the time to confront him.

Derkhan had inadvertently provided the name that seemed key to the interlocking mysteries of the presence in the skies and the militia’s enigmatic interrogation of Ben Flex. Isaac sent word, got the name and what information they had-Mafaton, scientist, R amp;D-to Lemuel Pigeon. He included money, several guineas (and realized as he did so that the gold Yagharek had given him was slowly dwindling), and begged for information, and help.

That was why he contained his anger at Mr. X’s late show. For all that he pantomimed impatience, that kind of protection was precisely what he had approached Lemuel for.

Lemuel himself had not taken much persuasion to accompany Isaac and Derkhan to the address in Mafaton. He affected an insouciant disregard for particulars, a mercenary desire simply to be paid for his efforts. Isaac did not believe him. He thought that Lemuel was growing interested in the intrigue.

Yagharek was adamant he would not come. Isaac had tried to persuade him, quickly and fervently, but Yagharek had not even replied. What the fuck are you doing here then? Isaac felt like asking, but he swallowed his irritation and let the garuda be. Perhaps it would take a little time before he would behave as if he were part of any collective at all. Isaac would wait.

Lin had left just before Derkhan’s arrival. She had been reluctant to leave Isaac in his despondency, but she had also seemed somewhat distracted. She had stayed only one night, and when she had gone she had promised Isaac she would return as soon as she could. But then the next morning Isaac had received a letter in her cursive hand, couriered across the city with an expensive guaranteed delivery.

Dear Heart,

I am afraid you might feel angry and betrayed at this, but please be forbearing. Waiting for me here was another letter from my employer, my commissioner, my patron, if you will. Hot on the heels of his missive telling me I would not be needed for the foreseeable future, came another message saying I was to return.

I know the timing of this could not be worse. I ask only that you believe that I would disobey if I could, but that I cannot. I cannot, Isaac. I will try to finish my job with him as quickly as possible-within a week or two, I hope-and return to you.

Wait for me.

With my love, Lin

So, waiting on the corner of Addley Pass, camouflaged by the chiaroscuro of full moon through the clouds and the shadows of the trees in Billy Green, were only Isaac, Derkhan and Lemuel.

All three were shifting uneasily, looking up at passing shades, starting at imagined noises. From the streets around them there came intermittent sounds of horrendously disturbed sleep. At each savage moan or ululation, the three would catch each other’s eyes.

“Godsdamrat,” hissed Lemuel in irritation and fear. “What is going on?”

“There’s something in the air…” murmured Isaac, and his voice petered out as he stared blindly up.

To cap the tension, Derkhan and Lemuel, who had met the previous day, had quickly decided they despised each other. They did their best to ignore one another.

“How did you get the address?” asked Isaac, and Lemuel shucked his shoulders irritably.

“Connections, ‘Zaac, contacts, and corruption. How d’you think? Doctor Barbile vacated her own rooms a couple of days ago and has since been seen at this less salubrious location. It’s only about three streets away from her old house, though. The woman has no imagination. Hey…” He batted Isaac’s arm and pointed across the gloomy street. “There’s our man.”

Opposite them, a vast figure tugged free of the shadows and lumbered towards them. He glowered at Isaac and Derkhan, before nodding at Lemuel in the most absurdly jaunty fashion.

“All right, Pigeon?” he said, too loud. “What we up to, then?”

“Voice down, man,” said Lemuel tersely. “What you carrying?”

The massive man pushed his finger across his lips to show he understood. He held open one side of his jacket, displaying two enormous flintlock pistols. Isaac started slightly at their size. Both he and Derkhan were armed, but neither with any such cannons. Lemuel nodded approvingly at the sight.

“Right. Probably won’t be needed, but…y’know. Right. Don’t talk.” The big man nodded. “Don’t hear either, right? You have no ears tonight.” The man nodded again. Lemuel turned to Isaac and Derkhan. “Listen. You know what you want to ask the geezer. Wherever possible, we’re just shadows. But we have reason to think the militia are interested in this, and that means we can’t fuck about. If she’s not forthcoming, we’re giving her a helpful push, right?”

“Is that gangsterese for torture?” hissed Isaac. Lemuel looked at him coldly.

“No. And don’t fucking preach at me: you’re paying for this. We don’t have time to arse around, so I’m not going to let her arse around. Any problems?” There was no answer. “Good. Wardock Street is down here to the right.”

They did not pass any other late-night walkers as they picked their way along the backstreets. They walked variously: Lemuel’s sidekick stolidly and without fear, seemingly unaffected by the ambient nightmare quality in the air; Lemuel himself with many glances into dark doorways; and Isaac and Derkhan with a nervous, miserable haste.

They halted at Barbile’s door on Wardock Street. Lemuel turned and indicated for Isaac to go forward, but Derkhan pushed to the front.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered furiously. The others fell back. When they stood half out of sight at the edge of the doorway, Derkhan turned and pulled the bell cord.

For a long time, nothing happened. Then, gradually, footsteps slowly descended stairs and approached the door. They halted just beyond it, and there was silence. Derkhan waited, hushing the others with her hands. Eventually a voice called out from behind the door.

“Who’s that?”

Magesta Barbile sounded utterly fearful.

Derkhan spoke softly and quickly.

“Dr. Barbile, my name’s Derkhan. We need to speak to you very urgently.”

Isaac glanced around him to see if any of the lights in the street were coming on. So far they seemed unobserved.

From behind the door, Magesta Barbile was being difficult.

“I…I’m not sure about that…” she said. “It’s not really a good time…”

“Dr. Barbile…Magesta…” said Derkhan quietly. “You’re going to have to open this door. We can help you. Just open the fucking door. Now.”

There was another moment of dithering, then Magesta Barbile unlocked the door and pushed it open a crack. Derkhan was about to seize the moment by pushing past her into the house, when she started and stood quite still. Barbile was holding a rifle. She looked horribly uncomfortable. But however unpractised she was, the weapon was still levelled at Derkhan’s gut.

“I don’t know who you are…” began Barbile querulously, but before she could continue Lemuel’s huge friend, Mr. X, reached easily and without speed around Derkhan, grabbing the rifle and shoving the heel of his hand over the firing-pan, blocking the path of the hammer. Barbile began to keen, and she pulled the trigger, eliciting a mild hiss of pain from Mr. X as the hammer snapped onto his flesh. He shoved the rifle backwards, sending Barbile flying onto the stairs behind her.

As she flopped and scrambled to right herself he stepped into the house.