She was only meant to be a metaphorical slap in the face, but Alice had problems with subtlety.

Jack caught the hand that went for him as soon as he entered the glass laboratory, but there was no way to prevent her from kneeing him in the balls.

As he doubled over and screwed up his eyes against the pain, he heard her ranting:

"You barbaric reprobate, keeping us awake with your grunts and groans like some kind of rutting animal! Crying out that you love that woman as if you hadn't done this a hundred times before, with a hundred different barmaids! And now you've poured all that nonsense into her ears, she'll go skipping around, talking about her trip to Edinburgh as if she's remotely prepared for it – as if she can do it all on her own and there's no need to trouble the rest of us. Was that your intention? To let her go off and kill herself before you had to make good on any of your promises to her?"

"Hello, Alice," he said, doing his best to smile. "Thank you for being annoyed on her behalf, it really strangled my impulse to hit you."

"I am angry on everyone's behalf!" she shouted. "And with everyone too, because they all insist on being so stupid!"

He backed away a little, until he was up against a row of test tubes. "Where's James? You two didn't have your own reunion-?"

"Don't be disgusting," she snapped.

"I honestly don't think I was."

She drew herself up, and something more than anger kindled in her cheeks. "James has gone to town to give an account of his travels to the Illustrated London News."

There was something about the warmth in her voice that drew the corners of Jack's mouth upwards. The poor girl didn't have many ideals left. Oxford and Faustus had turned out to be just as dumb as each other. James Darwin would turn out to be dumb too, if she really looked, but she'd never had the opportunity. Thank god she had chosen to idealize a man who was always absent. Nothing kept ideals alive like absence.

"And then the Royal Geographical Society are going to hold a banquet in his honour-"

"Isn't that the sort of thing his wife might be expected to attend?" Jack asked carefully.

"Yes," she said, narrowing her eyes. "It is exactly the sort of thing his wife might be expected to attend. Unfortunately, this wife has been appointed guardian of Oxford by a very thoughtless relative, and is obliged to wait in the city for a mad sorceress whom only she can kill, with the help of an unknown demon who has not seen fit to turn up."

She stepped back, her mouth clamped shut – either weary or conserving her energy for future shouting. Jack probably didn't help matters by saying, "Who is he? The demon who's supposed to help you kill her?"

"As I believe I have already said, I don't know. You were there when Faustus told me the little information I have. A demon of long life who can pass unnoticed in a crowd of men."

Jack raised a hand to his temple. There was something here. Not a solution, perhaps, but an aid to coping with the situation. If he could puzzle this out – get the vague, prophetic bits sorted while Ellini was in Edinburgh – it might prevent him from going mad with worry.

Oddly enough, what he had faith in was not the reincarnated soul of Martha Harrow, or the woman with smoke at her back who had crouched, serene as stained glass, over Anna's unconscious body.

What he had faith in was his clever Leeny. The woman who, while bleeding to death from a stab wound delivered by the only man she'd ever loved, had had the presence of mind to slip a sword into Alice Darwin's unconscious hand and use it to stab the gargoyle. Who had made herself so dastardly in the master's eyes that he had emptied the fire-mines to get her back, allowing her girls to sneak out undetected.

The woman who had manipulated all his insecurities to make him think she was leaving him for Robin Crake.

Myrrha had centuries of wiliness at her disposal, but surely no-one could be as clever as that?

While his faith clung to the stained-glass image, his sense clung to the clever girl who could parley opportunities out of nothing. Jack needed something more than faith, after everything he'd been through, and she had given it to him.

Did he have the same kind of faith in Alice? He'd need it, if she was going to be the one to strike the killing blow. He looked up at her. "Have you ever killed anyone before? I could teach you, if you like. It's not as intuitive as you might think."

Alice clutched at her voluminous skirts and drew them away, as if he was in danger of contaminating them. "I've told you, I don't intend to kill anyone. I am simply going to have a frank discussion with her."

"Like the frank discussion you had with Burgess?"

Alice didn't blink, but neither did she answer.

He had never told her that he knew. He'd been too afraid of her. But she had already done the worst she could possibly do, and he'd lived through it. More than lived through it – he had prospered and healed through it. Though it hadn't felt like that at the time.

"Somebody had to stop him," she said at last.

"I think the police had already stopped him."

"And," she went on, smoothing down her impeccable skirts, "his trial would have stirred up all the ill-feeling between humans and new-breeds that your revolution had done so much to suppress."

"So you went for the quick fix," said Jack, who was long past shuddering at her coldness. "There's no chance you could do the same with Myrrha?"

"I said I would have a frank discussion with her. I didn't say it would be lengthy."

Jack gave her a thin-lipped smile. She was comforting, in a way. Oh, he still had his doubts – he was riddled with them – but Alice was powerful. In her own city, backed up by a demon of long life who could pass unnoticed in a crowd of men, what might she not achieve?

"And Myrrha has to be inside the city," he went on, half to himself. "Once she's inside the city, you can-" He broke off, catching Alice's eye, and used her carefully chosen euphemism, "-have a frank discussion with her."

"So the old man tells us."

"Ah, but the city was smaller in his day, wasn't it? Within its original walls? Will that matter? Will she have to be within the confines of the old city?"

"Perhaps," said Alice. "It sounds as nonsensically plausible as everything else he's told us."

"Where were the old walls? They're still in place at New College, aren't they? That's why Long Wall Street is called Long Wall Street."

He stopped, as another thought occurred. This one made him shudder, because it was bound up with an image of Faustus and his chapped, bleeding lips. "Where was the North Gate?"

"Where the old Saxon church is," said Alice. "Hence the name? St Michael at the North Gate? If you recall, you smashed the lily-glass window there, at more or less the same time you set fire to the Bodleian?"

Jack waved her away impatiently. "I do know something about this, don't I? The old Bocardo prison was there – where they kept the Oxford martyrs before their execution?"

"It was joined on," said Alice, who liked to get things right. "The prison itself was demolished years ago."

Jack wondered if the martyrs were part of Faustus's spell – if their unquiet shades policed the boundary between Oxford proper and the outside world, where Myrrha could get away with anything.

And then he realized he was thinking about Burgess again, because Burgess had sunk his teeth into Sam's throat on the site of the martyr's memorial. Maybe Burgess had been policing the boundary too.

Well, you'll find out, won't you? he said to himself. You're the Watchman at the North Gate. Faustus knew that was where you'd end up waiting for Ellini's return. As soon as she's within the old city walls, you can protect her. And as soon as Myrrha's within the old city walls, she can die. You're going to spend a very anxious time in that Saxon church, shivering in the breeze from the priceless window you broke. Burgess and the martyrs won't be the only unquiet spirits on the spot.

Jack shuddered again. He was too far away from his jar of black sand – the one that sat on top of the piano and reminded him of silver dragons, and Ellini's message, and all the other, lovely things that seemed so unlikely in the cold light of day.

It had happened. The rawness of his face from the sand – the twinge in his ankle where the lady had wrapped her tentacle round it – even the shudder itself was evidence. He had been to that place, and he had survived. Silver dragons had plucked him out of the water and brought him a message so simple, so infuriating, that it could only have come from Ellini.

Dear Jack,

Don't despair.

He could take the jar of sand with him to the North Gate. He could turn it over and hear the grains trickle, while the time of their separation ticked away.

***

Ellini sprang down the steps and hovered irresolutely in the hall. Her head and her torso both felt very clear, no longer fogged up with anxieties. She thought: Is this what it feels like to be cured? Am I still me, without my disease? How would I tell?

And it did seem important, but not quite as important as everything else. After all, whoever she was now, it would unfold as she acted, and meanwhile the whole world was pressing in on her attention.

The hall was exactly the same as she had left it last night, but there were a million things she hadn't noticed. The fire-screen was slightly charred on one side from where it had opened onto the demon realms. Here and there, in the cracks between the floorboards, little grains of black sand glittered. And there was a whole jar of the stuff on top of the piano. It had a label which read Robertson's Best Strawberry Preserve.

She retrieved her coat and hat and put them on, without having any real idea where she was going. She wanted to feel the wind on her bare fingers. She had stuck them out of the window a little, back in Sita's room, but it wasn't the same as being outdoors.

She turned to adjust her hat in the hall mirror, and when she turned back, Jack was standing in front of the door.

It was so sudden that she started. He put out a hand to soothe her, but he didn't say anything. He was tilted forwards, as if he was trying not to lean against the door.

"What's all this hat and coat business?" he said, plucking vaguely at her sleeve.

Ellini smiled. She wouldn't have believed it, but there were things she hadn't noticed about him. She realized that the stubble on his face was dark and, if it were ever allowed to grow into a beard, it would be quite a different colour from the hairs on his head. And there were more creases around his eyes than there had been in India. His face was thinner.

The thought didn't fill her with guilt and anguish, as it would have done a few days ago, but with eagerness. She couldn't wait to smooth the creases with her hands. She couldn't wait to convince him there was nothing to worry about.

"I'm going to see Matthi," she said, though she hadn't known this until now.

"Are you?" His tone wasn't disbelieving, just despondent.

"Did you think I'd go off to Edinburgh without saying goodbye?"

"I haven't decided what you'll do," he said, "because I don't know what the kindest thing to do would be. Whatever it is, you'll do it. But, since I don't know what it is, I'm going to have to resign myself to a surprise."

Ellini reached for his hand, which was clasped awkwardly behind his back. Since it wouldn't budge – perhaps because he was reining himself in so tightly – she held it behind his back and leaned in close.

"I'll be two hours at most," she said soothingly. "I love you."

"Yes. Sorry. I know."

There was a moment where he seemed to contemplate stepping back, and then he said, "What if I come with you? Have we talked about that?"

"To Matthi's?"

"To Edinburgh."

Ellini's smile died on her lips. She knew that, because she saw him flinching. She tried to compose herself. "Well, firstly, you and Robin would kill each other."

"No, I would kill him," said Jack fervently. He caught her eye, and muttered, "Also, I wouldn't, if you asked me not to."

"And, secondly, I need you and Sita to be where Myrrha can't touch you."

"She can't come into the city. That doesn't mean she can't touch us."

"You know what she does," said Ellini, shaking her head at this. "She's done it before. She'll try to take away my loved ones. In story-book ways. But as long as you and Sita are safe, she can't hurt me."

"Except physically," said Jack, staring at the floor.

He looked up, flinched for a second, and then started to laugh.

"What is it?" said Ellini.

"I'm sorry. You're just – looking at me a lot. I don't think I realized how much you used to look at the floor. In the old days."

Suddenly – unaccountably – Ellini was embarrassed. "Oh, I-"

"No, I like it," said Jack. "Don't think I don't. You're really..." He waved a hand, and then drew it once again behind his back. "It's just difficult to concentrate. It's something I'm going to have to get used to." His voice grew heavy. "And I may not get the chance."

"I'm not leaving you."

"-yet," he put in.

"I'm coming back! Both times!"

She opened her palm and pressed her hand against his, lining up their fingertips. He seemed to notice, for the first time, that she wasn't wearing gloves.

He snatched up her hand and kissed it – fierce, feverish kisses that spun her round and pushed her up against the door without her realizing it.

"Oh, what does she want me to do?" he muttered. "She looks into my eyes as if she could dive right into them, she takes off her gloves, and then she tries to leave-"

"I'm not going," she said, half-laughing, trying to surface between the kisses, which had moved up to her head and face now. "I'll be two hours at most. Let me."

He pulled back with a sigh. It would be a long time, now, before he was able to insist. Perhaps he never would again.

Still, he was smiling, in an exasperated way. He opened the door and let her tumble down the steps. She staggered upright, gave him a parting glare, and then turned her back. She had a feeling he was watching from the doorway as she disappeared up the street, but she didn't dare look over her shoulder to make sure.

***

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