Jack stepped back whenever she tried to close the gap between them. Four paces was the minimum distance he required for clear-thinking. There was no telling what he'd say if she came within arms' reach. He was proud of the fact that he'd lit up a cigarette too. It meant he had something to do with his hands besides grabbing.

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked him.

Jack took a steadying breath on his cigarette, but it only made his head swim. "North Africa, mostly. Joined the British Army, got captured by Bedouin raiders in Egypt, joined up with them, formed a kind of mercenary warband targeting merchant vessels along the Suez Canal. We even hired ourselves out to the Khedive of Egypt for his campaign against Ethiopia in '72."

Ellini, who had been listening to this speech with her mouth open, said, "It sounds as though you've been keeping yourself busy..."

"Had to," said Jack. He didn't elaborate. He didn't tell her what a torture it was to be in Egypt, where almost every woman looked like her—just enough to light a fire in his belly, but not enough to let him forget for more than a few, bewitching moments that they were not her, and that he had no hope of ever seeing her again.

"Maybe it was a good thing Robin separated us," she muttered. "If he hadn't, you wouldn't have been to all these amazing places and learned all these amazing things."

Jack shook his head, his smile slipping, his throat beginning to feel raw. "I don't—I don't know how to explain it to you. You never trusted him anyway. I mean, I didn't trust him—I'm not an idiot. But I liked him, and it's hard to come to terms with the idea that someone you liked could mean you so much harm."

He stopped. She was watching him with a faint, dubious smile, as if she didn't understand what he meant by 'harm'. She probably thought depriving someone of her company was a charitable act. He tried to explain.

"I suppose, to you, it must seem like I've just had a four-year holiday—travelling to exotic locations, meeting new people, learning anything anyone would teach me. Maybe it was better than being locked up here for four years, although I'll reiterate how awesome I find your gaoler. But I didn't want any of it—wouldn't even have thought about it if I could have had you instead. I mean, OK, I know it was the sort of thing I like, but it wasn't the one thing I wanted."

And it had taken him further away from her—in feeling as well as distance. He was a killer now. Sure, it was couched in military terms. It was impersonal, socially-acceptable killing, but it was still killing, and however long she'd been associating with killers, she couldn't think—surely—that she deserved one?

"Val's going to be back any minute," she said, taking a tentative step towards him. "I hope Gargotha taught you how to fight someone twice your size."

"Oh yes," said Jack. It was easy to smile again when he thought about Val. "The theory can get a bit technical, but I usually just try to get up somewhere high and kick them in the face."

Ellini looked around meaningfully. Apart from an ornamental fountain, and a few dark, pyramid-shaped hedges, the garden was flat for at least fifty yards in every direction. The sheer, white walls of the Bibliotheque loomed over them like an iceberg, but they seemed hopelessly devoid of ledges and handholds.

"Well, it's not the only way," said Jack. "Also, I think 'twice my size' is an exaggeration."

Ellini gave him an exasperated look, as though she thought he wasn't taking this seriously enough. She was worried, of course—but worried in that mild, distant Ellini way, as though she was thinking, 'Well, I'd be worried if I were you, but you obviously know better than I do.' It only made him even more sure of himself.

He wanted to hold up a mirror to her face and shout, 'See? See how pretty you are? See how you you are? How can you possibly be worried? For the first time in four years, everything's all right, and you insist on talking to me about gigantic women!'

"It's just... I've seen her kill a lot of people," Ellini murmured.

"Really? It looked to me as though you were much more interested in your book."

She glared at him, but he could tell she was interested. "You were there? You were the one who shot the other assassin?"

He shrugged. "Val probably would have got to him in time, but I wasn't going to take any risks."

It was nice to see her glaring. He'd spent the whole evening watching her drift around Paris like a sleepwalker, without a trace of passion or interest, unless her gaze happened to fall on a book. But when she was happy, or worried, or annoyed, a kind of awareness would creep into her eyes. He didn't know what it looked like—the actual appearance of her eyes didn't change—but he just got the feeling she was closer. The emotional distance she maintained was sort of... shortened. Her inner self would come right to the forefront of her eyes.

"Don't worry, little cricket," he said, shaking himself. "I do this for a living. I'll be fine."

He glanced over his shoulder. Paranoia—except that it wasn't paranoia, because, with Robin, you could never be paranoid enough—made him glance back at the long expanse of grass behind them. The buildings on either side of the garden had flat roofs and dozens of balconies. There were plenty of places for somebody to lurk unseen with a pistol or a crossbow. This wouldn't be a problem right away, because Val didn't strike him as the kind of person who would linger on rooftops and shoot you in the back, but Robin was exactly that kind of person, and he would be along soon enough.

But maybe not quite yet. Jack knew Robin. He never got his hands dirty if he could help it. He would hang back and wait—either for Val to kill Jack or for Jack to kill Val—and then he would fight it out with whoever was left alive at the end of the evening.

Still, it would probably be a good idea to find some shelter for Ellini. There was a wall at one edge of the gardens, made shadowy by lilac and elderflower bushes. Robin was a good shot, but you'd need to be supernaturally good to spot her at night in the shade.

"Would you do me a favour and stand with your back against that wall over there?"

Trying not to think too much about the fact that this was the first time he'd touched her in four years, he gripped her shoulders, holding her at arms' length, and ushered her backwards.

"Why?" said Ellini, allowing him to steer her towards the wall. "Robin and Val aren't likely to shoot me."

"Robin might," said Jack, stationing her in a little alcove set into the wall. "At the end. When he knows he's beaten, that's when you get the really vicious swipes from him. He'll do anything to hurt you when he knows he's beaten—up to, and including, cutting his nose off to spite his face."

"And he's close by?"

"You mean to say you can't tell?"

He had meant it in a teasing way, but it couldn't have been completely without bitterness, because she shuddered. Back at Pandemonium, she had always been so good at sensing when Robin was close by. And, in a strange way, Jack had always been jealous of the sheer, momentous, physical effect he had on her. Was it awful that he wanted to affect her just as much as Robin had? Obviously, he didn't want to affect her in the same way, but... well... she really noticed him.

Jack drew out a branch of elderflower and positioned it so that it was shielding her face. Then, trying to keep his voice light, and swinging his arms in what he really hoped was a casual manner, he said, "By the way, I got your letters. Eventually."

Ellini just looked at him. He got the impression that her inner self had taken a few steps backward.

"They really made Robin angry," he went on. "You couldn't have written anything more calculated to drive him mad. Um. Was that why you wrote them?"

Ellini laughed and tilted her head, as though acknowledging a proud achievement. "No, that was just a happy coincidence." She was silent again, for a few moments. "I think I was a bit... candid... in those letters, wasn't I?"

Jack took a drag on his cigarette. "If by candid, you mean amazing, then yes, I agree."

He looked back at the rooftops behind them, keeping half an eye out for the glint of crossbows. "Before he gets here, there are some things I've always wanted to ask you..."

"Then I'm amazed you never asked before."

"Oh, I always wanted to ask—I didn't always want to know the answers. If any of them involve you saying nice things about Robin, I may have to kill myself."

"I think you're safe," she said, with a smile.

"All right." He took another thoughtful drag on his cigarette. "How old were you when he killed your family?"

"Sixteen."

Jack winced but didn't dwell on it. There was—in his opinion—a far nastier question coming up.

"And why did you stay with him at Pandemonium after he married Myrrha?"

"You seem to think it would have been an easy matter to escape."

"Oh, I know you could have escaped. I know how clever you are. You don't have to pretend with me."

She hesitated. But the answer, when it came, wasn't nearly as painful as he'd anticipated. In fact, it was more puzzling than painful.

"All right," she said, lowering her eyes to the ground. "For the same reason I haven't tried to escape from Val. There was a wonderful library at Pandemonium."

Jack frowned, took another drag, and then tried—very slowly—to summarize this new information. "Are you saying that you willingly submit to captivity so you can read books?"

"Nobody's in captivity if they can read books," she said, her eyes still fixed on the grass below her.

Jack shook his head, torn between horror and amusement. "Dear God, what are you?"

Ellini gave an awkward shrug, and then dragged her eyes back up to his face. There was a strange, rueful-but-defiant look in them.

"I'm a machine," she said simply. "I thought you knew that about me."

Jack considered this. But then he thought of her nervous laughter in the caves outside Edinburgh, and the way she had gasped and glowed when she'd seen the dragon eggs.

"You're not a machine all the time," he ventured.

"I wouldn't count on it." She frowned in a businesslike way, and added, "I'm sure it's not too late for you to get out of this. You know, if you want to. I could smooth things over between you and Robin if you walk away now."

Jack raised his eyebrows, trying very hard not to laugh. "You don't think much of me, do you?"

For an answer, she kissed him. Once again, she did it in a nervous rush—as though she wanted to outrun her second thoughts—standing on tiptoe and tangling her fingers in his hair.

It took about three seconds for reality to catch up with Jack. For three seconds, he was teetering on the precipice, his arms hanging serenely by his side, thinking, well, this is an interesting development. That man who always brought skinny brunettes back to his tent and insisted on making love to them in the dark, so that he could pretend for a few desperate, deluded moments that he was with Ellini—he would have loved this.

Then he remembered that he was that man, and all the desperation of all those nights was bubbling under his skin, ready to rip through him if he didn't catch hold of her. He dropped his cigarette and brought his hands up to her jaw, neck, back, hips, trying to find a purchase that was strong enough.

She was driven back against the wall, but she was still clinging to him—her hands were still lost somewhere in his hair. And that was incredible too, because he could tell—he could just tell—that she was present in every limb. She hadn't switched off any of her senses. She was there with him, feeling all this. And maybe it was terrifying her but, even if it was, she wasn't running away.

And then she made a noise—it could have been pleasure or pain, but this was Ellini, and he wasn't going to risk it. He pulled back, his heart thumping painfully, and held her at arms' length, trying to catch his breath. "I'm sorry—"

Ellini shook her head rapidly. "It's my fault. I want to, I just—I haven't done this for a while..."

In spite of all the heart-pounding, Jack started to laugh. "Sorry," he said, in answer to her incredulous look. "That just makes me so happy..."

Ellini folded her arms, half-amused and half-outraged. "It makes you happy that I was lonely?"

"It makes me happy that you were lonely for men," he corrected her. "Women, I wouldn't have minded, as long as you told me about it in detail afterwards."

Ellini laughed, but her eyes were still flashing. "And how lonely were you?"

Jack stopped smiling. "Technically very."

"Technically?"

He shifted uncomfortably. He had known this was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. "Look, I got everything wrong. I'm sorry, Leeny. He told me you were with someone else—he said you'd forgotten me—and it was so easy to believe—"

"Why?"

"I don't know!" he protested. "I don't know! But look, I always get things wrong to begin with. You think I was good at playing piano or fighting when I first started? That's just what happens with me—I get things wrong, and then I get incredibly good at them. It's good that I've made a mess of things with you, because that means I've got it over and done with! I just wish I'd only hurt me by my stupidity—"

Ellini shook her head again. "I'm a machine, remember? I don't get hurt. I'm so thick-skinned, you'd have a job getting me to feel anything."

Jack stared at her, hardly daring to believe that this part of the conversation was really over. On top of everything else, he could have sworn that her last remark was a kind of invitation.

She smiled again, her eyes full of that glorious awareness. "You know what I like about you? You never get worn out. Even when you're beaten, you can never wait to get back up and try again. I noticed that when I was watching you play piano at the Assembly Rooms in Edinburgh. You'd get to the climax of the piece—and it was so quick and so tricky that I could see the sweat running down your forehead—and I thought: 'surely, any minute now, he's going to collapse over the keys. He can't go on like this much longer.' But not only did you not collapse, you went on getting quicker, and the music went on getting better, and you seemed really annoyed when you got to the end of the piece and were obliged to stop."

"Oh, I could go five rounds with any piano in the business," said Jack proudly, "back in the day."

"Why don't you play anymore?"

"I don't know," he said, because he was worried that she'd stop liking him if he tried to explain to her that he couldn't—if he explained that, somehow, piano-playing was for people who didn't make their living in the mad joy of violence. Any insensitive thug could play guitar, but you needed a soul to play piano.

"Anyway, you were relentless," said Ellini, blushing at her own enthusiasm. "You—" She hesitated, and then plunged on recklessly. "You need to be relentless, if you're going to live with me."

"Well, that's good, because I don't think I could relent with you if I tried." Jack stopped, shut his eyes, and said, "Sorry that came out wrong. I mean, obviously, I'll relent with you in the bedroom—you know, if you ask me to, and you give me a few minutes."

Ellini giggled. He knew he was talking at random, being much too exuberant and much too explicit, and yet he was so hysterically happy. Everything was funny in that moment.

"If I ever don't stop when you ask me to, please kick me. If you love me, maybe kick me in the leg before you kick me in the balls. But, if that doesn't work, my darling, don't hesitate. We've all got to do what we've got to do in this life."

Ellini seemed to think this was the funniest thing in the world, and it was a few minutes before she could stem the tide of giggles for long enough to say, "I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"There's no rush," said Jack. "We've got ages." He lifted his eyes from her face for the first time in what seemed like hours, and went on, "I've told you, I'm not going to die toni—oh, fuck."

There wasn't time to work out what was happening. Most of the images, he assembled in retrospect, through the haze of pain. But he was fairly sure that something lithe and glinting and huge had leapt down from the top of the wall, struck him in the face with metal shinpads, and knocked him flat on his back among the grass and marigolds.