Port Meadow

PORT MEADOW

I was slower than usual. By the time I passed the Residence of the Suzerain, my run had turned into a limp. Several red-jackets were standing guard outside its gates, armed with rifles and flamethrowers.

Magdalen was the farthest residence from the Rookery. It stood between the shadow and the lamps. When I was halfway there, the siren changed. A Buzzer must have breached the city.

I almost fell against the door. Moments after I knocked, the night porter appeared, her face drawn. She pulled me inside and slammed the door shut.

‘You weren’t supposed to be out there.’

‘Sorry.’ I caught my breath. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

‘Of course not.’ She shot me a hard look. ‘Go straight to the Founders Tower.’

I left her to secure the door, noticing its iron bolts and drawbar. Still breathless, I crossed the first courtyard and stumbled into the dark cloister, where I stopped, my skin beading with sweat.

Behind the thick stone walls of the residence, the sound of the siren was duller. Beneath it, I heard someone running along the other side of the cloister. I wanted to check the æther, see if I could sense the Buzzers, but my head still ached from attacking Aludra.

Liss would be fine. She must have heard that siren many times. I took a moment to collect myself, then faced the steps to the Founders Tower.

The parlour door was unlocked when I arrived. I sidled inside and stepped quietly on to the flagstones.

Not quietly enough. Warden was in front of me at once, eyes flaming.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Outside,’ I said stiffly. ‘Why, where have you been?’

‘I ordered you not to leave.’

‘You said I was in no fit state to leave. You should be more specific.’

I could hear the insolence in my own voice. His expression never changed – all his displeasure was confined to his eyes.

‘You will speak to me with the proper respect,’ he said, ‘or you will not be allowed to leave at all.’

‘I’ll let you know if you earn my respect.’

Warden stared me down. I was playing with fire, but pain and fatigue had snapped my restraint.

When I refused to either apologise or avert my gaze, he walked past me and shut the door. My heart beat roughly, my hair clung to my clammy brow, and my leg shook, but I stayed upright.

‘You are fortunate that the Emim did not catch you in the open.’ He turned the key and tucked it into his belt. ‘Since you are not at your full strength, they would have made short work of you.’

‘If you want me at full strength, you might consider feeding me.’

‘Magdalen is not impregnable. The Emim have been known to enter the grounds and cloisters,’ he said, ignoring me. ‘As soon as you hear the siren, you are to return to this parlour with all haste. You will not tarry for any reason. Is that understood?’

I just looked at him coolly. He leaned down so his face was at my level.

‘Do I need to repeat myself ?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ I said.

He straightened to his full height, which was considerable. I braced myself.

‘The night porter had to wait for your return before she could secure the main entrance,’ he said. ‘You endangered all the residents of Magdalen by leaving in your condition. You also lied to her.’

‘It’s not her fault. I wanted to leave.’

‘What you want is irrelevant to the Suzerain. She expects your training to begin tonight. Now you have fewer hours of recovery.’

‘I won’t take another test,’ I said. ‘Just send me to the Rookery. I’ll juggle.’

‘Not with your gift. The Suzerain would not see you as a performer, existing only to entertain others. You have greater potential,’ Warden said. ‘Refuse to train with me, and she will use another human to compel you. I assume that is not what you want.’

I set my jaw. A few of us could disappear before this round is over.

‘The attic is now ready for you.’ Warden held out a key. ‘While there is an Emite in the city, I advise you to lock the door.’

‘Will it keep you out, too?’

‘I have my own key.’

‘Of course you do.’ I snatched the key. ‘Since we’ve separate quarters now, who’s going to save you if you’re injured again?’

‘I have addressed this matter with you.’

‘I wasn’t hallucinating.’

‘Go to the attic.’ His eyes flared. ‘I will rouse you at dusk.’

‘I want some water,’ I said, just to annoy him.

‘Take it, then.’

I chose the nicest glass from his cabinet, then picked up the pewter jug on the table. The room felt smaller, the air charged.

‘Before I go, I have a question.’ I poured. ‘What is the green pill?’

‘That is my concern,’ Warden said.

‘I’m the one taking it.’

‘And I am the one who gives the commands.’

I should have left him to bleed out. Jaxon really would be howling at the state of me. Honeybee, you just don’t have the sting in you.

Give me time, I thought.

Warden stood aside, allowing me to pass. I made a point of catching his gaze before I brushed past. He made a point of locking me out.

I really hadn’t thought he could get any more uptight.

Across the landing, I took the steps to the top and opened the door to the attic. The room had one small window, low down. The bed was simple, with a fleece blanket on top of the sheets.

I turned up the paraffin lamp by the bed. This room had no fireplace, and a draught was whispering from somewhere. It was still better than sharing even a hairline of my personal space with Warden.

Just as I had downstairs, I checked every corner and nook. I soon realised the window had been put in where a fireplace had once been. The old chimney went up a long way, but it had been sealed fast.

As well as a nightstand, there was a narrow closet for my uniform. Beside it, another door stood open, leading to a rudimentary bathroom. No window in there, but it did have a toilet and sink.

As promised, the nightstand was stocked with dressings and salve, along with some hygiene supplies: soap, comb, a toothbrush and paste, a frayed towel. As I scrubbed my teeth, I thought of Julian in his dark cellar, Liss in her cold shack. It might not be a hotel in here, but it was secure, and I had some privacy. I could sleep without fear that someone would steal from me.

Of the three of us, I was in the best position to resist. If I wasn’t fighting to survive, I could devote my attention to the matter of escape.

I couldn’t see any nightclothes. Once I was down to my undershirt, I dimmed the lamp and got into bed, each movement pulling at the tight skin of my shoulder. I curled into a ball for warmth.

I should have been out like a light, but I found myself skimming the edge of sleep, thinking of the past. I thought back to the first time I met Nick – Nicklas Nygård, who had introduced me to Jaxon.

Nick, who had once saved my life.

The year after we came to England, my father and I had been granted permission to leave the citadel for a few weeks. We had gone by train to the village of Arthyen, in the region formerly known as Cornwall, to visit a woman named Giselle, who my father said was an old friend. I never cared to ask him why he had old friends in England.

Giselle lived on a cobbled hill in a house with a roof that hung over the windows. The surrounding land had reminded me of Ireland – wild beauty, untamed nature, everything Scion had taken from me.

I had not adjusted well to London, or to my new school, where the other children took pleasure in tormenting me. I had learned words like kern and boglander, which were hissed at me in corridors, scrawled and shoved into my satchel. Not once had the teachers stepped in to defend me, even when I was sure they had seen. They ignored me in class, leaving me confused by half my lessons.

Scion welcomed countries that joined the fold by choice. But if one of its targets dared to fight back, its people were for ever stained. At nine years old, I was being punished for the Molly Riots.

The trip to the countryside was a reprieve. A summer holiday before I was thrown back to the wolves. At night, I would gaze at the stars, and I would miss my grandparents so terribly it hurt. My father had never explained why he left them in Ireland.

He had promised me we could visit the coast. I longed for open water – to breathe in the salt air of the sea, the glittering road that stretched to the free lands. Ireland lay over it, calling me home.

In the end, he was too busy with Giselle. They talked deep into the night. I would often hear their murmurs, but I never tried to eavesdrop. All I had wanted, in those weeks, was to be left alone.

London was dangerous for voyants, but the countryside was no idyll, either. Far from the Westminster Archon, amaurotics grew nervous, suspicious. They made a habit of watching one another, eyes peeled for a crystal ball or shew stone, waiting to call the nearest outpost – or take justice into their own hands. Even if you avoided being caught, there was no work. The land needed tending, but not by many hands. They had machines to farm the fields. No wonder voyants were drawn to the citadels.

At first, I hadn’t liked to leave the house. The people of Arthyen talked too much, looked too much, reminding me of school. Giselle was almost as unnerving. She was a stern and bony woman, with beady eyes and a ring on every finger.

But then, from her rooftop, I spotted a haven – a poppy field, a pool of red beneath the iron sky. Every day, when my father thought I was playing upstairs, I would walk to that field and explore for hours, watching the poppies nod their heads around me.

It was there that I had my first real brush with the æther. At the time, I had no idea I was voyant; only that I was different. Unnaturalness was still a story to a child of nine, a bogeyman with no clear features. I wasn’t yet a dreamwalker. I had sensed the æther since I was young, not knowing what it was, but no specific gift had manifested.

That day, everything changed.

Once more, I had gone to the poppy field – but for the first time, I wasn’t alone. There was a woman there. I didn’t see her, but I felt her watching me. I sensed her in the poppies, in the wind; I sensed her in the earth and in the air. I sensed her like I would a splinter trapped under my skin – out of sight, but sharply present.

I stretched my hand out, hoping to greet her. For a moment, I was colder than I had ever been, as if I had fallen through ice.

And then I was suddenly on the ground, bleeding. The woman had been a poltergeist – an enraged spirit, one that could touch the corporeal world.

I could see it again. A young man walking from the poppies, as if he had been waiting there – tall and pale, with a kind face. Seeing my injuries, he wrapped me in his overcoat and carried me to his car.

My name is Nick. You’re safe now, Paige.

In the dark, I dreamed. I dreamed of poppies struggling from dust. I had rarely seen colours when I slept before, but now flowers bloomed in my mind, red as blood. They sheltered me, shedding their petals, blanketing my fevered body.

When I woke, I was propped in a bed with starched sheets, my hand bandaged, the pain gone. The blond man was there, smiling at me.

Hello, Paige.

I asked him where I was.

You’re in hospital, he said. You had an accident.

Are you a doctor?

I am, but I don’t work at this hospital. I’m just here until your parents arrive. Can you tell me who they are?

I’ve just one, I told him.

Nicklas Nygård, a transfer from Stockholm, had saved my life that day. He had weighed the risks of taking me to a Scion hospital, invented a story to explain the wounds, bribed a nurse, and watched over me as my clairvoyance awakened.

Later, I learned that Nick had accepted a position at the same research facility where my father worked. During his probation, he had been working virtually, to adjust to life in England before he put his nose to the grindstone. I never did find out why he was in that poppy field.

When my father had arrived to pick me up, Nick had seen me to the door. I remembered him kneeling in front of me, taking my hands.

Paige, listen to me. This is important.He had spoken in a low voice, his face grave. I’ve told your father you were attacked by a dog.

But it was a lady.

That lady was invisible, sötnos. Some grown-ups – most – don’t know about invisible things.

But you do,I said, confident in his wisdom.

I do. But I don’t want other grown-ups to laugh at me, so I keep it secret. He looked me in the eyes. You must never tell anyone about her, Paige. Promise me.

I still had scars from the attack, clustered on my left palm – a collection of short grey cuts, colder than the rest of me. I hid them with a glovelette in the citadel.

I had made good on my promise. For seven years, I held the secret close. All that time, I wondered where the days had taken Nick, and if he ever thought of that little Irish girl from the poppy field in Arthyen.

After those seven years, my patience was rewarded. Nick found me again.

If only he could find me now.

I drifted in and out of the memory. Perhaps Warden was right, and all the flux was giving me hallucinations. As the hours ticked away, I listened for a footstep, or the echoing melody of the gramophone. All I could hear was the same thick silence.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep. Fever still burned through me, and I wrenched awake every so often, my vision bursting with pictures of the past, my shoulder ablaze under the dressing.

A knock on the door woke me. I opened my eyes to pitch darkness, disoriented. A moment later, the lock clunked, and a candle appeared. When I saw Warden, I backed into the headboard.

‘I’ll thank you to wait after you knock,’ I snapped.

‘I did.’ He placed a pressed uniform at the end of the bed. ‘The night bell will ring erelong. Get dressed and join me downstairs.’

Before I could fume at him, he was gone.

There was nothing else for it. Braced against the chill, I pushed the sheets off and sat up, not quite sure if I had slept or not.

With a shudder, I peeled the dressing off my shoulder. The wound was damp, so raw that even the air felt like steel wool on it.

I washed as best I could. Once I had patted my shoulder dry and dabbed it with salve, I covered it with a new dressing. Next came the clean uniform. I fastened the gilet and tied my bootlaces.

My leg, at least, felt stronger. I managed the stairs with relative ease.

Warden was in his parlour, leafing through a novel. I recognised it – Jaxon had a third edition at the den. Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley was banned in Scion.

‘I presume you are ready,’ Warden said, seeing me.

‘Sharp one, aren’t you?’

‘Hm.’ He set the book aside. ‘What does your dreamscape look like, Paige?’

The directness of the question caught me off guard. In the syndicate, that was something you only shared with trusted friends.

‘A poppy field,’ I said, wary. ‘Why?’

‘I was curious.’

‘Right. Any chance of something to eat, now your curiosity is satisfied?’

He looked away from me, into the fire.

‘Go to the Porters’ Lodge,’ he said. ‘I will meet you there.’

After a moment, I did as he said, my stomach grinding with hunger.

I reached the Porters’ Lodge just as the bell rang, ending the curfew. The night porter noticed me and removed her reading glasses.

‘There you are,’ she said. ‘Bear with me.’

If she was angry, she didn’t show it. Instead, she walked out. After a few minutes, she returned with a small bowl of porridge, thicker than skilly.

‘For training.’ She handed it to me with a spoon. ‘You’ll need it.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

She returned to her work. I ate the warm porridge with caution, half expecting her to snatch it from my hands. By the time Warden arrived, I had scraped the bowl clean and given it back.

‘Good evening, Gail,’ he said to the night porter. ‘I am bound for Port Meadow.’

‘Of course. I’ll sign her out.’

I glanced at him. It piqued my interest that he called us by name in Magdalen.

As soon as I thought it, I shook my head. The bar was on the floor.

‘Do not open the door for anyone but me.’ Warden took a lantern from a bracket. ‘The creature may still be loose in the city.’

‘No one will go in or out,’ Gail said. ‘What time do you intend to return?’

‘No later than midnight.’

She nodded and opened the door for us, letting in an icy gust of wind.

Warden took me along Magdalen Walk and made a right on Turl Street. We passed the Rookery, which was almost deserted, before taking the long thoroughfare that ran past Amaurotic House.

The performers must still be in hiding from the Buzzer. I reached for the æther, but couldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary.

‘That book you were reading, Frankenstein,’ I said. ‘It’s blacklisted.’

‘Yes,’ Warden said.

‘So is the music on your gramophone.’

‘Indeed.’

And those were the only answers I got. I blew out my cheeks and trudged after him.

Once we were past Amaurotic House, Warden continued along the same wide path, ignoring a brighter one to our left. The red-jackets kept to their posts and said nothing.

‘Walton Street is the only illuminated way to the training grounds,’ he told me. ‘While you are a pink-jacket, you are not to use any other path without me.’

I looked over my shoulder at it. ‘Why aren’t we taking it now?’

‘To familiarise you with the city. When you are a red-jacket, you will be expected to know the streets well enough to patrol them.’

Warden led me well beyond the lamplight. The moon was new, leaving us with nothing but the lantern. As we neared the outskirts, the buildings started to look derelict. Scion must not have wanted to spare the money to look after them.

He turned left on Observatory Street. It was lined with old terraced houses, all crumbling. From the look of it, this district had been a slum when the Rephs took the city. I sensed ghosts nearby, along with a pair of weak poltergeists. Warden showed no fear.

By that point, we had been walking in silence for a while, giving me no distractions from the many aches in my body. My breath smoked from between my lips.

‘I don’t suppose,’ I said icily, ‘I could have a coat at some point?’

‘They are not provided in the spring.’

‘This is not a normal spring.’

‘If you say so. I feel little cold myself.’

The quilted doublet and cloak must help. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets.

Keeping us cold must be meant to weaken us, like depriving us of food. If you were cold and hungry, you had no room to develop notions.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘it doesn’t seem as if Scion has too much respect for your consort, letting half this city go to rack and ruin.’

‘It would be a waste of resources to maintain the outskirts,’ Warden said. ‘A modest central district is easier to preserve and defend.’

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’

‘I sleep by day.’

He was still expressionless. I wondered what, if anything, made him tick.

The training ground stretched ahead of us. Oaks and pines grew up to its boundary, needled with rime, blocking any glimpse of the outside world. That must be the edge of Gallows Wood.

A fence surrounded the meadow, at least thirty feet high, topped with coils of barbed wire. I read the rusted notice on the sally port:

PORT MEADOW – FOR TRAINING ONLY

USE OF DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORISED

The deadly force in question seemed to be a Reph. His pale face reminded me of white gold, while his hair – smoothed into a ponytail – was more like brass in tone. In both ways, he resembled Nashira.

Ivy stood a short way from him, stooped and shivering. The buttons had been removed from her tunic, forcing her to hold it shut against the bitter cold. Her shorn head was bowed, her lip split.

Warden approached the sally port. A moment later, I went after him. When we were close, the other Reph swept into a bow.

‘Behold the concubine,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘What brings you to Port Meadow?’

‘I am here to instruct my tenant,’ Warden said. ‘The blood-sovereign should have informed you, Thuban.’

‘Patience, concubine.’ Thuban Sargas wore a cloak, but no livery collar. ‘What is its number?’

‘XX-59-40.’

‘Is it sighted?’

‘No.’

Ivy caught my gaze as the questions continued. She was scrawny as an awl, her collarbone protruding. On the first night, she had been in tears, but now she looked resigned, her dark eyes dull and weary. We both just came up to our keepers’ shoulders – I must look as frail as she did, in comparison.

I didn’t recognise her from the syndicate. Still, if she had broken out of Corpus in a heartbeat, she must have a few skills up her sleeve.

‘These questions serve no purpose. I can only assume they are meant to waste my time,’ Warden said, snapping me back. ‘Such pettish conduct does not befit a Sargas. I am sure my consort would agree.’

Thuban curled up the corner of his mouth. The smile fit badly on his face, as chilling as the laughter on the night of my test.

‘The red-jackets lost track of the Emite,’ he said. ‘Since it may return tonight, your training session is restricted to one hour.’

‘Very well,’ Warden said.

Thuban glanced down at me. I only just remembered to lower my gaze.

‘I hear this creature sees fit to insult and threaten the blood-sovereign.’ He tilted his head. ‘Did you punish it for showing your consort such disrespect, Arcturus?’

‘Suhail took it upon himself to act in my stead,’ Warden said. I bristled. ‘I assure you that she has suffered for her insolence.’

‘You should not be complacent.’ Thuban motioned to Ivy. ‘This one has already tried to escape. As you can see, I have humbled it. Next time it leaves Corpus without permission, I plan to break its legs.’

Ivy stiffened. I suddenly wanted to hurt Thuban. He reminded me of the worst brutes of the syndicate, whose only currency and power lay in violence.

‘Humans require a firm hand,’ Thuban said. ‘If you wish, I can help you discipline yours.’

‘Nashira entrusted this one to me.’ Warden stepped forward, so I was behind him. ‘If you doubt her judgement, you should express it to her. In the meantime, I will execute her wishes.’

Thuban looked up at him, his eyes roaring blue.

‘Do not go too far,’ he said at last. ‘Stay within my sight, concubine.’

Warden strode past him without a backward glance. I went after him.

Until that moment, I hadn’t suspected any conflict among the Rephs. To see a crack after less than a week – well, that was promising.

Warden led me through the sally port. Behind us, Thuban turned on his heel and struck Ivy. She caught herself on the fence and looked after me, jaw tight, eyes glinting.

I didn’t want to train, but I would make this lesson count.

Warden took long strides. I dallied some way behind him, surveying Port Meadow. This was as close as I had ever come to Gallows Wood.

Before the treeline, the meadow was divided into arenas. The central one – the largest – had watchtowers on either side and smaller pens around it, presumably for individual training. I took note of the unusual fences between them, toothed with small icicles.

Warden waited for me by a shallow pool. Its frozen surface was smooth as a mirror, good for scrying. Wisps and shades – the most predictable types of spirit – were drifting all over the place, waiting to be drawn into combat, but none of them strayed beyond the enclosure. Only ghosts usually stuck to one place.

‘The fences,’ I said slowly. ‘They’re not electric, are they?’

‘No.’ Warden started walking again. ‘Your scientists have recently begun to develop hybrid technology, which combines our expertise with yours. These fences are powered by ethereal batteries, which each contain a poltergeist – a spirit that can interact with the corporeal world. The friction generates ethereal energy.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘All information about hybrid technology is highly classified.’

Of course. That amount of hypocrisy would hardly go down well.

‘Poltergeists can escape physical constraints,’ I said. ‘How could you trap one in a battery?’

‘With a skilled binder or a willing poltergeist. Something of an oxymoron,’ he said, seeing my sceptical expression, ‘but I trust your first week in this city has opened your mind to the impossible.’

I could give him that. Even if I had been unconscious for some of it, this week already seemed like a year.

‘Our counsel also led to the invention of Fluxion 14 and Radiesthesic Detection Technology,’ Warden said. ‘Scion is close to perfecting the latter.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Scarlett Burnish takes pains to remind us.’

So the Rephs were responsible for Senshield. Danica had never understood how Scion had developed it, given their aversion to unnaturalness.

Warden chose the largest of the individual arenas. A clock was mounted on its gate. I stood at a safe distance, keeping my guard up.

‘To turn you into a fighter worthy of our garrison, I must first assess your existing skills,’ Warden said. ‘Tell me what you can do, and be truthful, so I may train you accordingly. We know you are a dreamwalker. Attempting to deceive me will not serve you now.’

‘I can sense the æther at a distance,’ I said. ‘About a mile.’

‘Impressive. What else?’

‘You know.’ I was already losing patience. ‘You’ve seen my records.’

‘I am aware that you killed an Underguard.’

‘I killed two.’

‘No. One was found in a state of unresponsive wakefulness,’ Warden said. ‘Scion chose to euthanise him.’ I pressed my lips together. ‘You botched your attack on Aludra, too. You can project your spirit from your body – but from your lack of endurance and grace, it has not been long since you discovered this.’

‘The train was the first time,’ I said.

Warden nodded. ‘Your dreamwalking is raw, unhoned. I intend to improve it.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Do you, now?’

‘Yes.’

Nashira had killed Seb to punish my disobedience. For now, I had no choice but to go along with this.

It could work in my favour. I needed to control this ability, before I disembodied someone else by accident. If Warden thought he could help me, so be it. I could take his knowledge and turn it against him.

Warden unfastened his cloak and hung it up under the clock. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do have you any combat experience?’

I folded my arms. ‘Spirit combat, or the other kind?’

‘Either.’

‘Both,’ I said.

‘Good,’ Warden said. ‘I want you to fight me.’

I almost laughed, then realised he was serious. ‘I’m not going to do that.’

‘I confess myself surprised by your reluctance.’

‘Believe me, I’d relish it, but I’d lose. You’re a giant, if you hadn’t noticed. No, if I was going to attack you, I would ambush you,’ I said. ‘A nice stab to the kidney to get you down to my level, then a knife to your neck. You wouldn’t know what hit you.’

‘Stabbing your opponent in the back would be dishonourable.’

‘Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.’

‘Very well.’ He turned away. ‘I trust you will defend yourself.’

When he faced me again, he was holding a knife. I tensed rigid.

‘When those Underguards detected you, you must have believed your life hung in the balance. Your spirit responds to danger.’ He levelled the blade at me. ‘Allow me to provide it.’

‘Don’t you—’

He threw the knife. I twisted to avoid it, hearing it clatter on to the concrete.

‘You have quick reflexes,’ he observed.

I flicked a curl from my eyes, teeth gritted. ‘Were you trying to hit me?’

‘Perhaps.’

He looked towards the watchtower and raised his hand in a clear signal.

Something flew past my ear. I recognised the whistle of a flux dart. Before I could even flinch, a second came my way. I gave in to those quick reflexes and ran.

Another dart had me turning south. The fourth almost hit me in the shoulder. They were herding me towards the ethereal fence. My sixth sense quivered. By the time I was six feet away, I was nauseous.

Now multiple darts were crisscrossing around me, driving me towards the boundary. I stumbled on a wedge of cement and fell into the frozen wires.

My vision turned white, then red. Goosebumps broke out all over me, and fractured memories stuttered before my eyes – the memories of the poltergeist, a murder victim. A deafening bangshook my every bone. I saw a spill of blood, bone shards. My stomach gave an almighty heave. I hit the ground and retched.

When I came to my senses, my body felt uncoordinated. I crawled and lurched away from the fence, blinking away grisly impressions.

Warden was waiting for me. I retrieved his knife, my fingers almost too numb to grip it.

‘All right,’ I said, breathing hard. ‘If you want a fight, let’s do it.’

‘I would not stoop to sparring with a craven like you, human.’

I shook my head. ‘You told me to—’

‘You are not a worthy opponent.’ Now his voice was cold as steel. ‘You hid your gift in your first test. Now you run from me. The yellow tunic is too good for you. I should have you beaten.’

The anger was as sudden as it was blinding. I ran at him, driving my good shoulder into his trunk.

I might as well have charged a statue. Not only did Warden not budge an inch, but I was the one who went reeling back, winded.

‘As you conjectured earlier, you cannot best me with your bare hands,’ he said. ‘Play to your strengths, or you will fail.’

I grasped my shoulder, shaken. ‘Are you made of stone, or something?’

‘Unlike you, I am no weakling.’ His eyes burned. ‘Small wonder you could not save Sebastian.’

And just like that, I felt myself sever. The ghastly pull from that day on the train – spirit rending from skin and bone, the agony before release.

A dreamwalker can cross the æther, Jaxon whispered. She alone can be discarnate …

I shed my body and flew at Warden.

My spirit went slashing into his mind. Like a knife through taut silk, I cut through his defences, entering the darkest circle of his dreamscape.

As soon as I was there, I regretted it. I was straining against formidable strength, barriers I had no means of breaking. The light of his centre was so far away, and I was already exhausted. Like an elastic band stretched too far, I snapped back across the æther.

My heart fluttered. My cheekbone hurt. I drew a shallow breath, got my bearings. When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled on the ground.

Aludra had buckled when I attacked her. Warden was still upright, but I had rattled his composure. The light in his eyes flickered.

‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Better than I expected, given your injuries.’

I tasted blood. ‘You were trying to make me angry.’

‘It seems to work as well as fear.’ He took another blade from his doublet. ‘Try again.’

‘Are you—’ I could hardly catch my breath. ‘Are you joking?’

‘By no means.’

‘I left my body. Without life support,’ I ground out. ‘I also fell on my face.’ I touched my throbbing cheekbone. ‘I can’t just … do it again, you idiot.’

‘Think of your spirit as a muscle, tearing from its natural place,’ Warden said, unmoved by the insult. ‘The more you use it, the stronger it will become, and the better your body will handle the shock.’

‘You don’t know anything … about dreamwalking.’

‘Neither do you, as we have established. Walk in my dreamscape, I challenge you.’

I rose with caution, finding my balance. I seemed to have avoided a concussion.

‘I know what Nashira is. Now she knows what I am, too.’ I clutched my chest. ‘Does she really just want me to be a red-jacket?’

‘What else do you think she wants?’

I fell silent. If I admitted what I knew about the angels, I might get Liss in hot water.

‘Nashira has plans for you,’ Warden said, ‘but you should first concern yourself with mine. I chose you. Your progress reflects on me. You will not shame Magdalen with your incompetence.’

‘That isn’t going to work again.’

‘Then embrace your own rage.’ He pitted his gaze against mine. ‘You must despise me – your jailer, your tormentor. I did not intervene to save Sebastian. Seize your chance to punish me for that, if nothing else.’

My fist clenched. I thought I could resist until my fingers protested. They ached from the strain of cleaning his arm – that act of mercy he refused to acknowledge. A mercy he had not shown Seb.

Two guards entered the pen. I held my whole self in place, body and spirit. Warden waited, hands behind his back, as the red-jackets stacked cushions between us.

As soon as they had shut the pen, I let my spirit fly.

In the hour we spent on Port Meadow, I barely dented his dreamscape. Even when he dropped his defences, I couldn’t get any farther than his hadal zone, the outermost ring. His mind was just too strong.

He goaded me the entire time, always in the same callous voice. At first the needling did its job, but the closer we got to the end, the less his insults provoked me. By then, I had a crushing migraine.

In the last few minutes, he threw another knife, taking me by surprise. Though he aimed wide, the sight of the flying blade was still enough to set my spirit loose again. I woke on the pile of cushions.

In all, I managed a dozen jumps before my vision darkened and the migraine grew unbearable. I crumpled.

Warden knelt in front of me. The ground was cold under my palms.

‘Let me guess,’ I said, once I was confident I could speak without throwing up. ‘You’re going to tell me I’m pathetic.’

‘Quite the opposite. You did well.’

‘Keep your praise. You’re forcing me to do this.’

‘It is necessary.’

I tried to stand, but the migraine was sickening in its intensity, bringing hot tears to my eyes. Warden held out a gloved hand.

‘Allow me.’

If he left me on the meadow, I would freeze before dawn. Not for the first time, I was going to have to swallow my pride. I took his hand.

Warden helped me back to my feet. When I promptly keeled over again, he hooked my knees over his arm and lifted me against his chest. My eyes throbbed as he opened the enclosure.

‘I need life support,’ I slurred. ‘If you want me to do that again.’

‘I can request it,’ Warden said, ‘but the decision lies with Nashira.’

‘You might as well bury me now, then.’

‘That would be self-defeating. We still have far too much to do.’

He walked towards the sally port. I closed my eyes, hating every moment of being in his arms.

Thuban had gone a short way from his post, but watched us leave. When Warden approached the sally port, Ivy fumbled to let us out.

‘Thank you, Ivy,’ Warden said as he passed. Ivy stared after him.

He carried me through the haunted outskirts. I almost dozed off in his arms, my heart flapping like a bird with a gammy wing. Nick would be aghast to know how hard I had just pushed myself.

Warden set me down at the end of Observatory Street. ‘Can you manage from here?’

‘Yes.’

‘You touched the ethereal fence,’ he said. ‘Show me your hand.’

After a moment, I did. The thin mark had turned milky, my fingertips grey.

Warden took out a glass vial and tipped a clear droplet into my palm, spreading it over the mark. Before my eyes, it melted away, leaving no trace. I snatched my hand back.

‘What was that?’

‘The nectar of a certain plant,’ he said. ‘A plant from the Netherworld.’

I watched him tuck the vial into his doublet. His breath didn’t cloud in the cold, as mine did, but for just a fraction of a moment, there was something human in his face – something pensive, almost sad.

He caught me looking, and it vanished.

‘You must rest for a few days,’ he said. ‘We will return to Magdalen.’

I was too tired to argue with him. This time, he let me walk at his side.

The training had been unexpected. I had steeled myself for rampant brutality, but Warden had never laid a finger on me. No doubt this restrained approach was a trap, designed to lower my guard.

Liss had been confident that Nashira wanted my gift. To get it, she would have to kill me. Perhaps the idea was for me to die fighting the Buzzers – but that seemed unlikely. If she was some manner of binder, she would need to be close to my spirit to catch it.

I would get to the bottom of this. Even if it had been gruelling, I had only been here a few days. I could afford to bide my time.

Warden took me on a long route back to Magdalen, avoiding the Rookery. When we reached Carfax Tower, he stopped. A red-jacket was on the corner of Fish Street, pacing with folded arms.

When she saw us, she quickly composed herself. Shadows hung under her bloodshot eyes.

Warden crossed the street. ‘You should not be alone with an Emite loose,’ he said to her. ‘Where is the rest of your company?’

‘They’re close, my lord. We’re fine.’

‘Whose blood is that?’

Her lips parted. She looked down at her tunic, seeing the handprint on her shoulder, darker than the red fabric.

‘There can be no secrets in this city,’ Warden said quietly. ‘Better to make a clean breast of it now.’

With a defeated look, she led us into the backstreets.

In a doorway, two more red-jackets were crouched beside one of their own, a cryomancer in his forties. His hand had been ripped and twisted from his arm, as if it had been caught in a machine. One of the other men was trying to stem the blood with his tunic.

‘Shit,’ I murmured.

Warden surveyed the scene. ‘What happened?’

‘We split up to look for the Buzzer. He found it in Wheatsheaf Yard.’ The woman dashed sweat from her brow. ‘The other companies have already chased it back to Gallows Wood.’

‘Why have you not taken him to Exeter?’

‘He ran, my lord. A few people saw him,’ one of the men said. ‘He’s already been yellow twice, but he shouldn’t have been on his own. It’s our fault. We were just … working out what to do.’

Warden seemed to consider.

‘Nembus will evict him,’ he concluded. ‘Nonetheless, he has been loyal.’

They all waited. The injured man was trembling, his face slick with sweat.

‘Take him to Oriel. The porter there may be able to help,’ Warden said. ‘But you cannot hide this from your keepers. By dawn, you must report to Exeter and inform Nembus.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

The three of them lifted their friend from a pool of blood. Together, they started moving him towards the nearby Residence of Oriel.

‘He needs a paramedic,’ I said. ‘Can’t you call your outpost?’

‘Nembus will not deem a coward worthy of treatment,’ Warden said.

‘As charming as the rest of you, then.’

He answered me with a chilling look. I desisted.

Warden left the backstreets. I shadowed him, trying to tamp down the migraine and the fresh disquiet. I had seen maimings in London, but nothing like what had befallen that cryomancer.

‘What have we here?’

We stopped. Two men had just emerged from Catte Street.

‘Ah, 40. What a pleasure to see you again,’ one called, his voice tinged with amusement. ‘The pink tunic suits you very well.’

When he came into the light, it took me a moment to recognise him. The medium who had led my arrest, the one who had chased me across the rooftops. He wore thick greasepaint now – red mouth, black eyebrows, chalky face – and carried that same pistol in a leather holster on his belt. I clenched a fist at my side.

The other man was the oracle. He had a shaved head and mismatched eyes – one dark and piercing, one hazel. His tunic was the same colour as mine.

‘Congratulations,’ the medium said to me. ‘I knew you were a diamond in the rough. We all follow your progress with great interest.’ He flashed me a smile. ‘Allow me to formally welcome you to the city. I am the Overseer.’

‘You vile bastard.’ I started towards him. ‘If you hurt my father—’

‘Stand down,’ Warden cut in. ‘And hold your tongue.’

I stopped about a foot away from the Overseer, who smirked. ‘I understand your father works directly for the anchor,’ he said. ‘I do hope he won’t face too harsh a judgement for your nature.’

My fist tightened. Even if Scion spared my father, his career would be in shreds. That had been his only protection. There was no room in London for an Irish man with an unnatural daughter.

‘This is 12, a new tenant at Merton.’ The Overseer drew the younger man forward. ‘As you can see, he is as quick a study as 40. Earlier this evening, he was confirmed to be a talented oracle.’

Warden glanced at me, then back at the young man. It didn’t surprise me that the other jumper had also been fast-tracked.

‘The Suzerain was wise to test him swiftly,’ the Overseer said. ‘I hear the visions were spectacular.’

‘I hope to serve the Suzerain for a very long time,’ the oracle said. ‘I’m grateful to her for clearing my eyes. In all my visions, I never saw a purpose for myself. Now I have a path laid for me.’

Either this man was an excellent liar, or he meant it. From his easy smile and the hands in his pockets, you would think he was comfortable here.

‘I see,’ Warden said.

‘You ought to hurry back to Merton, 12,’ the Overseer said. ‘Give Pleione my regards.’

‘I will,’ the oracle said. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Overseer.’

He made himself scarce.

‘How fortunate that our paths crossed,’ the Overseer said smoothly to Warden. ‘If I may be so bold, I had been hoping to extend an invitation to the dreamwalker. By your leave.’

Warden just looked at him.

‘This September,’ the Overseer said to me (apparently taking the frigid silence as permission), ‘a party will be held in honour of the twentieth Bone Season, to celebrate the two hundred years since the arrival of the Rephaim.’

‘You refer to the Bicentenary,’ Warden said.

‘Precisely. During the festivities, the Great Territorial Act will be signed.’

That didn’t sound good. Before I could hear any more, a vision flashed in front of me.

Nick was an oracle. He received visions from the æther, but he could also form and send them himself. 12 had the same ability. I glimpsed a clock at noon or midnight, then a flight of steps I knew.

‘Get to the point, Overseer,’ Warden said. I blinked the picture away. ‘There are matters that require my attention in Magdalen.’

The oracle had stopped on the corner of Grove Lane. He raised his eyebrows at me. When I gave him the slightest nod, he walked away.

‘Of course,’ the Overseer said, his voice as soft as oil. ‘I have written a masque for the Bicentenary, which requires many participants. I wondered if 40 might like to join us, as our guest of honour. I was impressed by her strength and agility on the night I captured her, and my rooks could use some inspiration. Perhaps you would permit her to learn one of the performing arts alongside her combat training. I daresay she would make a fine dancer.’

I was about to tell him where to stick his dancing when Warden did it for me, in as many words: ‘As her keeper, I forbid it.’

I looked up at him.

‘She is not a performer,’ Warden said, ‘and unless her conduct forces me to evict her, she remains in my keeping. I will not allow her to be paraded like a common seer. The oracle may be our first in decades, but a dreamwalker is another matter entirely.’

The Overseer managed to keep his smile up. No doubt he was used to being rebuffed.

‘Very good, my lord,’ he said. ‘Goodnight.’

Once he was gone, Warden said, ‘Do you know the oracle?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘He never took his eyes off you.’

‘Probably just interested in my aura,’ I said. ‘Isn’t everyone?’

Warden looked hard at me, then walked on. I followed him towards the flickering lights of Magdalen.