^^Above: Train station in London, back in the day.^^

Train Timetable, London North and East

May 1890

29 May.

Langdon Wilkes never stopped amazing me with his buffoonery. I couldn't imagine him hunting any more than me going off to university or Naomi entering the theatre. But seeing him in Shoreditch that night, with Cornelius Selling to boot, shattered any notion of what I'd thought was going on.

"What are you two doing here all by yourselves?" I asked him, while Naomi kept an eye on Cornelius. Not as though we thought he was going anywhere — rather, he looked about to collapse. And the ground was not somewhere you wanted to be in this part of the city.

"Rescuing him," said Wilkes, pointing to the tall cage that I hadn't noticed before sitting on the ground. It wasn't a bird inside, but a bat, clinging to the bars with the hooks on its wings and its toes, staring at us with wide red eyes.

"It's a bat, Wilkes. A vampire bat."

"It's Giff," he said.

"The King's Bench father had him," Cornelius said, having overheard us. "He must have forced him to turn and was probably going to leave him just like this."

"Poor Gifford," Naomi said, lowering herself to the bat's eye level. "Hello there."

The bat let out a soft squeak.

"What'll we do?" Wilkes asked. "We sort of...stole him."

"I mean, I guess you technically...rescued him, but..." I rubbed the back of my head. "Let's go back to ours. Then you can explain yourselves without all of this."

I made an all-encompassing gesture to the slum around us. Although this wasn't even the worst of them, the poverty was still on display here: streaks of black on every surface, even the laundry hanging on lines above us, piles of stinking rubbish lining the streets and the alleyways, tenement houses leaning so precariously on each other that one touch would send them collapsing like a pile of matches, scraping scuffling shouting barking coming from everywhere.

There was a screech, a human one, from somewhere above us, and breaking glass. Then running feet, and I looked up just in time to see a bare-breasted woman hanging out of the window above us, shouting in such an unintelligible accent I couldn't make out any words.

She looked down at me and scowled, not seeming to care how much I could see of her.

"Wot're yew gawkin' at, then?" she barked. She gave her exposed breasts a lift and a shake, then ducked back inside.

"Well, that was a show," said Cornelius.

"We should go," said Naomi, trying to sound businesslike. I knew the slums unsettled her, especially when things began to get out of hand. "And bring the bat."

—

Once we were safely back home, I herded the two of them into the sitting room while Naomi cleared off a space on the low table in front of the couch for the cage, which Cornelius carried. The bat inside had been quiet all the way back, watching the city pass with its eyes opened wide. I kept glancing at it, having to remind myself that it was Gifford in that cage, trapped in the body of a bat. It was likely that whatever the vampire father had done to force Gifford to change would be almost impossible to reverse, unless we found another vampire willing to help us. Which was unlikely.

"So how about the two of you start with what possessed you to attempt this?" I said, once Wilkes and Cornelius were sitting on the couch, the cage between us.

"I found out where Father was going to release Gifford this morning," said Cornelius. "And I told Wilkes here, since I knew they'd been mates."

"I figured since Father's plan already backfired once, why not do it again?" Wilkes shrugged. "Giff was a repeat test victim. Now they have none."

"True, but now we have a stolen vampire babe in our house," I said, stopping my pacing to point at the cage. "We won't have just your fathers after us for this."

"Technically, they were going to release him anyway," Cornelius pointed out. "So he actually isn't stolen."

"We're not talking technicalities," I snapped. "You two almost getting yourselves killed two times in one night is the issue."

"But we didn't," said Wilkes. "We're all in one piece."

"Yes, because we rescued you. How many times is this going to happen, Wilkes? I can't rescue you every single time you do something stupid!"

"But this time it really counted!" Wilkes yelped. "I mean...we have Giff now!"

"You are unbelievable," I hissed. "You two wait here. Don't move. I need a word with Naomi."

I stalked off to the kitchen, where Naomi was busying herself with making tea. She had loosened her hair from its braid, and it fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back. I saw her run a hand through it just a second before I said anything, and the motion seemed so much more tired than usual.

"Naomi."

Her head turned, and surprise crossed her face. "Wells? I thought you'd be with the others."

"I can't look at them for the moment." I scowled. "I need a word with you."

She sighed, then turned to face me and folded her arms as she leaned back against the edge of the sink. "What is it now?"

"Those two did something stupid and foolish, and you know it too," I said.

"Yes, they did," she agreed. "But it's kind of a miracle they didn't get themselves killed."

"Because we killed those banshees. I've never even seen a male one before."

"And here I thought you were going to talk to me about something relevant," she said. "Face it, Wells. You were just worried you were never going to see Langdon again."

"What? I wasn't—"

"We wanted to get out in front of the Sellings, Trenton Wilkes, Marcus Trotter...and we did. We released their blood-binding victims and stole their most valuable asset, which is Gifford. Not to mention we've got Langdon, Marjorie, and now Cornelius too. I'd say we've pulled one over on them not once, but three times."

"Now who's disregarding relevance?"

"I was getting to it, if you'd shut your gob for a minute," Naomi said sharply. "What I was saying, before you interrupted, was that now we have leverage. There are things we know about them that could bring their legacies down around their heads. And we have proof. Marjorie is living it."

"Then what're we supposed to do with that knowledge? Just hang it over their heads forever, or what?"

She sighed again, winding a strand of hair around one finger. "I don't know how much you're going to like this idea, but I've been thinking about one thing we could do."

I shook my head. "I'm used to it by now, from you."

She gave me a glare from under her lowered brow. "I'm not even going to ask what that means. Anyway. If we want to get anything out of the Sellings, who are obviously the ringleaders, we have to extend an olive branch. Since Langdon's favour with their family is infallible, now we have to earn the same."

"I don't like where this is going," I said.

Naomi ignored that. "They knew Papa well. And both of them were infatuated with Mama. So I'm going to give them what they want."

"Please say it isn't you." I shook my head again. "I thought you hated them."

"First of all, I'm not you," she said. "Second, Cornelius is closer to my age than you. If I can wrap him around my finger, maybe we'll have a chance."

"Naomi, no. I won't have you trying to seduce him."

"I'm not seducing him. I'm distracting him." At that she lifted her chin and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Although I may have to use some seduction."

This was an insane idea. Absolutely mad. But I didn't see a whole lot of other options.

"So how do you plan on doing it, then?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "I think you should leave that to me, don't you?"

I saw it in action a couple minutes later when the tea was ready. Naomi gave me the task of carrying the tray with all the settings, and as I set it down on the low table next to Gifford's cage, she turned it on like a faucet.

"How do you take your tea, Cornelius?" she asked, her voice softer and breathier than I'd ever heard it.

He startled, like he'd been struck by lightning. "I...er...it's sugar. No milk."

"How many scoops?" She laid a hand on his knee, and I saw him blink in confusion.

"Two...er...actually, three. Yes. Three."

She scooped the sugar into his tea with a slowness I'd never seen her do anything with before. All the while she kept her hand on Cornelius's knee and gave him coy side-glances.

I poured some tea for Wilkes and then for me, and as soon as he'd stirred in milk and sugar I caught his eye and nodded for him to follow me. We would let Naomi work her magic in peace.

"What's she doing?" Wilkes asked, when we were out on the back stoop. "Naomi?"

"She noticed how easily you earned favour with the Sellings by becoming a suitor to their daughter. So she's trying to woo Cornelius with her charms." I shrugged.

"He's not easily wooed," said Wilkes, blowing across the surface of his tea.

"Yes, but..." I hardly wanted to admit that my sister was beautiful, but it was the truth. She was beautiful and could be cordial and demure when she wanted to. I could see men watching her when we were out, following her with their eyes and their heads. She was no longer a child that needed protection, especially from me. She was a woman. "Naomi's a master at it."

"I'll admit even I was charmed by her when we first met," Wilkes said. "She's very beautiful."

"She could charm the stripes off a tiger, if that was possible," I said, shrugging. "Most men are not immune to her."

A very small part of me wondered if Wilkes wasn't either. He'd kissed Marjorie and liked it, and had an increasing fondness in his voice when he mentioned her. I knew it was possible to fancy both men and women, emotionally and physically. And I knew also it was much easier to hide. My fancies, on the other hand, were not.

"You didn't let her charm you, did you?" I nudged him.

"I mean...I could have, if...I hadn't been so afraid of you," he said.

I looked over at him, surprised. "You were afraid of me?"

He shrugged. "The first couple times we met weren't convincing me to be otherwise."

I sighed. He had a point. "And now?"

"Oh, I'm still afraid of you. Just for other reasons." He nudged me back.

I caught his arm before he could pull away, taking his teacup and setting it down next to mine. I saw confusion cross his face, right before I tugged him up against me.

"You know I don't want to bloody drink tea with you and discuss my sister, don't you?" I dug my fingers into his hair.

"Now I do," he squeaked.

I yanked him close and pressed my mouth against his. At first he resisted me, probably surprised at the abruptness of it. But when I slid my hand up his chest to catch the back of his neck, he gave in. I felt him relax into me, and his hands floated up to cup my face. It wasn't the hard face-mashing, button-ripping, finger-clawing kind of kiss. This was a genuine one, without the heat. I slid my other hand, still in his hair, to his cheek, and I felt him exhale against my mouth. This was the kind of kiss I'd wanted to give him for our first. One that I'd wanted to give him for a long time.

"That's what I wanted to do," I said, holding his head between my hands and pressing my forehead into his when we pulled apart.

"I like that alternative," he said, running his own hands down to flatten on my chest.

"I wish I could have told you earlier," I said. "I wanted to tell you how I felt about you. But I wasn't sure how you felt."

"I think you timed it exactly right." He nudged the end of my nose with his. "Because I was just discovering how I felt about you too."

"You aren't exactly a master of good timing," I said with a grin.

"By that logic, neither are you." He reached up to give my hair a tug. "And I thought you said less talking and more kissing."

I didn't say anything. Just pulled him in again.

—

30 May.

I'd kept watch over the bat-formed Gifford for most of the night. He hadn't done anything in the way of mischief, instead preferring to hang upside-down from the top of his cage and watch me back, his large red eyes never blinking once.

"What did you see in there?" I'd asked him, but of course he didn't reply. Just stared.

The next thing I knew, Naomi was shaking me awake. I pushed myself up on an elbow, groggy and sticky-eyed.

"I'm awake," I said. "I'm up."

"The others are coming over," she said, her voice stern like a schoolmarm's. "You ought to make yourself presentable."

"Others?" I rubbed at my eyes. "Who're others?"

"Marjorie, Cornelius, and Langdon. Apparently their fathers are furious."

Right. I'd forgotten about that. "And...then what?"

"We're leaving," Naomi said, nodding at two packed bags by the door. "I didn't know what clothes you wear and which ones you don't, so I packed most of them."

"Leaving?" I stood abruptly. "We can't just leave, Naomi. We have the business...Father..."

"Who is going to the asylum this afternoon, in case you forgot," she said. "But we can't stay here any more than they can, Wells. Besides, we have him."

At that she pointed at Gifford's cage.

"And you know Zora Selling knows where to find us. So in short: We. Cannot. Stay. Here."

She was right. Mrs Selling had found us once, which meant she could find us again. Actually, the Sellings probably had eyes everywhere now, looking for us. We were fugitives.

"I'm going to kill Langdon Wilkes." I clenched my fists.

"No, you're not," she said. "Because then you wouldn't have anyone to snog."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh shut up."

Less than an hour later, they arrived. Both Wilkes and Cornelius had changed into fresh suits of clothes, looking like they were both out for a jaunt in the park except for the overstuffed carpetbags they both carried. Marjorie appeared to have done the same, in a blue watered-silk dress with a slight decoration around the cuffs and conservatively high collar.

"So," said Wilkes, heaving his bag and Marjorie's down on the floor while Naomi breezed back upstairs for another moment. "Where're we going? This lot wouldn't tell me."

"That's because 'this lot' didn't want to have to repeat it," said Marjorie, bumping Wilkes with her shoulder in a gesture that made me bristle slightly. It was so familiar, like they'd been doing it for years.

"Where's that sister of yours?" Cornelius glanced over his shoulder, back into the foyer.

"She'll be down in a moment," I said. I felt hot and itchy under my clothes, which weren't the much more comfortable hunting leathers I preferred. Naomi had insisted I clean up and wear proper attire.

She did come thundering down the stairs a moment later, apologising for not being around to receive them. We'd kept our father practically drugged since the morning he'd hit me and Naomi. Catatonic and drooling was better than violent.

"This is how far we've planned it," said Marjorie, once we were all together. "There's a safe house in Swansea, where I've written and asked if we could stay for a night, no questions asked. Especially when we have him."

Just like Naomi, she nodded at Gifford's cage.

"There's another in Galway," Cornelius continued. "Apparently the Irish hunters don't care much for convention, and they agreed to help us escape from there."

"To...er...where, exactly?" I asked.

The Selling siblings exchanged a glance, one that Naomi and I were quite familiar with. Should you say it or should I was one of its meanings.

"The continent," Marjorie said finally. "They've promised to get us as far as Brest. Apparently there's an entire network of these safe-houses, with rogue hunters that strike out on their own. After that...it's sort of up to us. Since we're on the run."

"All while trying to protect him," I said, glancing at bat-Gifford. He flapped his wings and wriggled his ears in agreement.

"When do we leave?" Naomi asked.

"There's a train that leaves for Cheltenham tonight at half-seven," Cornelius said. "We're going to have to be some of the first on it."

"How are we supposed to look inconspicuous?" Wilkes finally chimed in.

"Fortunately our brother Julius loves the theatre and brings home many costumes," Marjorie said. "He isn't supposed to, but no one's caught him yet."

"We had our other brother Laertes nick some for us." Cornelius picked up another, smaller bag I hadn't seen him carrying before and set it on the couch. "Pick your poison."

We took turns browsing through it. There were fake beards, noses, spectacles, and even a long pale thing that Marjorie said was a chin extension, and another that was a bald cap. There were pieces of what looked like chalk, grey and powdery. That, Cornelius explained, was to streak into your hair to age you. There were also pencils actors used to draw age lines on their faces, and what we could too, to our advantage. Hopefully.

As always, Naomi volunteered to go first. She plucked out a pair of spectacles, the chin extension, and an old shawl from the coat rack in the entryway and trooped upstairs.

"Do you think it'll work?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too doubtful.

"It has to," said Marjorie. "Or else we're all doomed."

—

By the time two men from the asylum showed up at our door to take Father away, everyone except me and Marjorie were in disguise. I directed them upstairs, and while they were busy, she took my hand and squeezed it gently.

Then, once they were gone, we made ourselves up. Naomi had herded Wilkes and Cornelius and our baggage into the kitchen, so the asylum men wouldn't see them, and had whisked bat-Gifford away as well. That had been forward-thinking on her part. I hadn't even wrapped my mind around the fact that we were leaving. Possibly for good.

We were all disguised when the hour came to leave for the station. As we left we broke off into one pair — Wilkes and Marjorie — and one trio — me, Cornelius, and Naomi. I'd grudgingly agreed to play the part of Cornelius's valet, which meant I also carried his and Naomi's bags. Luckily they didn't saddle me with bat-Gifford too. That had been Wilkes's decision, carrying it with him and covering it with a brightly-coloured scarf that had apparently been his mother's.

It took two hackneys to get us to the station too. It seemed strange, for us to be leaving the city like this when we really should have been trying to stop the tyranny of the joint Selling-Wilkes reign. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe if we could plot it from afar and then come back from the dead, we'd have more of a chance.

"You know I hate this," I hissed at a mutton-chopped Cornelius, slightly ahead of me as we joined the crowd entering the station.

"Quiet," he hissed back, and I saw his arm tense under my sister's hand. She was made up in a matronly way, with spectacles and white powder dusting her hair, one of Mother's old hats perched precariously on her head. "Servants aren't meant to speak."

He was enjoying that part of it immensely, I could tell. It reflected our stations in life almost exactly.

It was at the ticket-window I began to get nervous. The man behind the glass seemed to be looking a little too closely at Wilkes's bushy eyebrows and beard, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Yer a little young to be growin' a beard, mate," he said. "How old are yer? Fifteen?"

"I'm not telling you my age, thank you," Wilkes said gruffly. "Now I'd prefer it if you'd give my wife and I the tickets we paid for."

"All right, all right, keep yer hair on." He slid the tickets through the slot under the window. "Next!"

Cornelius and Naomi got through him with no trouble — maybe because he looked old enough to grow a beard. Which left me to pay my own way, while the ticket man gave my fake-bald head a skeptical glance. But he didn't ask me any questions, which saved me the trouble of trying to invent an excuse.

"Now I suppose we have some time to kill," said Marjorie. I barely recognised her under the age lines, grey hair, and slightly hooked nose she'd pasted on to disguise what both of them had called the Selling nose. Made for a distinct profile, apparently.

"I hope you're not proposing we separate," Naomi said, looking around us. "I don't think we'd ever find each other again."

"No, nothing like that," said Wilkes, and his voice cracked in a way that betrayed his age. "We ought to keep everyone close."

We sat on a bench, all five of us together, at the platform for the Cheltenham train. So far, no one seemed to be out of place, or pretending to read an upside-down newspaper, or even remotely watching us. After a while, Cornelius sent me to buy some food from a cart nearby. After all, I was apparently their valet. I was reluctant to, because the more people that interacted with us could be more people who could send the Selling brothers and Trenton Wilkes after us.

"Ooh, bacon butties," Naomi said when I returned, clapping her gloved fingers in dainty applause. "My favourite."

We ate the sandwiches as tidily as we could, making sure not to jostle our prosthetics too much. It wasn't dinner in a restaurant, but it was food, at least. I knew, though, that everyone here was past caring. All that mattered was getting the hell out of London while we still could.

Finally, half-seven arrived, and so did the train to Cheltenham. We trundled onto it, fortunately all able to travel in first-class. Cornelius even scowled at a man who sniffed at us in disapproval, saying I was his best man and that I deserved the same luxury. I wasn't sure if he actually believed it, although it certainly sounded like it. It was hard to believe that Wilkes and I had been punching him a month ago.

"How on earth does Julius do this?" Marjorie said, as soon as we were in our own compartment. "I can hardly breathe through this thing."

"It suits you, though," Cornelius snickered, and she gave his foot a hard stamp.

We settled in, and Wilkes set the cage on the seat next to him like he was guarding a precious jewel. I heard bat-Gifford squeak softly, and I saw the scarf bump out as he stuck a little foot through the bars.

"Can we see him?" Marjorie leaned forward, elbows on knees. No one could mistake the brightness in her eyes for an old woman's.

Wilkes tugged the scarf off, and bat-Gifford peered out at us. His large red eyes blinked slowly, and he reached a clawed foot out towards Marjorie. She gave him a finger, and he shook it, just like he would a hand.

"That's Giff," said Wilkes, a bit wistfully. "Always had the best manners."

"Lovely to meet you, Gifford," said Marjorie.

The train jerked and began to move, and I glanced out the window at the platform. That was how I saw the man in black hunting gear, the only one dressed that way in the station. He wore a gold medallion around his neck, which marked him as an elite Guild member. One of their best, only sent out on very special, important, or otherwise top-secret assignments. I'd only seen one other in my lifetime. And he seemed to be scanning the windows of the train, probably looking for our faces.

"Cover that," I said hoarsely. My throat seemed to have dried up. "Cover the cage. Now."

"Wells, what's..." Naomi sounded confused.

"Just cover the bloody cage," I rasped.

Wilkes tugged the scarf back down over it, hiding bat-Gifford from sight.

"What did you see?" he asked, leaning past me to look out the window. The train was picking up speed now, leaving the station behind quickly.

"Don't." I planted a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him back into his seat. "They're on to us. The Guild."

"What?" That was from Cornelius, and he sounded frustrated. "We were so careful!"

"There was a man," I said. "On the platform, in hunting gear. He was wearing one of those gold medallions."

Under the dim light I saw the Sellings' face drain of colour.

"Shikari," said Cornelius finally.

"Bless you," Naomi said, but without any humour.

"You don't get to be Shikari unless you're really good," said Wilkes. "Not many hunters attain that status."

"But you have to be part of the Guild," said Cornelius. "Our Guild. Father and Uncle Gus handpick them."

"Bloody hell," I cursed. "So they know we got away."

"They do," Marjorie said, then glanced at Cornelius. "And with Shikari after us..."

"They'll find us," he finished.

"So what will we do?" Wilkes asked, and I heard the rasp of fear in his voice.

"We have no choice," said Cornelius. "We have to keep going. Hopefully we can reach the safe-house before they pick up our scent."

That was it. We had to hang all of this on a hope. Otherwise we would probably never make it.

—

None of us left the compartment the whole way there. Even when the conductor came by to punch our tickets, we all handed them over without comment or a glance up. Luckily the girls had the sense to pretend they were asleep, dressed like old ladies as they were.

"Say, your wife's nose is peeling," said the conductor, motioning with his hole-puncher at Marjorie. "May want'a get that looked at."

"Yes, thank you," Cornelius said, loud enough to drown him out. "We don't need medical advice, sir."

I nudged Marjorie's leg with the toe of my shoe. "Ma'am, your nose is slipping."

Marjorie clapped a hand to her face. "Oh, blast it."

"Here. I'll fix it." Cornelius tugged on his sister's sleeve. "Turn this way."

What I saw next made me rethink everything I knew about them. Cornelius was being so gentle, smoothing the prosthetic down again with such care that I suddenly understood he had the same bond with her that I did with Naomi. The things they'd seen and experienced, despite their station in society, were probably not that different from ours. Whatever they projected to the world was a front. A cover, to protect themselves.

It didn't take long to reach the Cheltenham station after that. We gathered everything and disembarked carefully, scanning the platform for any more Shikari. I wasn't sure if they'd been tipped off by the cage we carried or that we may have been travelling under disguises and fake names. It didn't matter — they'd noted our escape and now it was only a matter of time before they caught up to us.

—

31 May.

We got in to Swansea shortly after midnight. There'd been a heart-stopping moment in Raglan, the train's first major calling station, where they'd walked down the entire length of the train and looked into every compartment. All of us except for Cornelius pretended to be asleep, so in the dark no one could see our faces. Then it galloped on to Merthyr Tydfil and finally Swansea, where we once again checked the platform before disembarking. It was near-deserted at this hour, but I saw no glint of a gold medallion anywhere on the few people that were still there.

"The safe house is at this address here," said Marjorie, taking out a tightly rolled slip of paper from her glove. "Memorise it. We can't have it floating around."

I glanced over it. The address was in Bryn-y-Mor Road, one I couldn't hope to pronounce. I tried to remember it, then passed it on to Wilkes next to me. And once we'd all looked at it, Marjorie took it back, crumpled it into the smallest ball she could, and popped it into her mouth. Seconds later, she'd swallowed it.

"Where'd you learn that trick, then?" I asked.

"The less you know, the better," she answered cryptically.

Once again, it took two hackneys to get us there, to a small attached row house that didn't look like much at all. But then again, no one wanted a safe-house to attract much attention, so they must have been doing it right.

Marjorie was first, up the front walk so quickly it left the rest of us scrambling to pay the drivers and gather all our baggage. The door was opening by the time we caught up.

"Name and business?" said a woman's voice through the crack. It was dim inside, and I couldn't even see who blocked our way.

"Are you Ceridwen?" Marjorie asked, and with an odd wet noise somewhere between a pop and a suction cup coming free, I realised she'd reached up and pulled off the fake nose. "I wrote to you a few days ago. Marjorie Selling."

"Yes, I remember you." The woman, Ceridwen, warmed just slightly as she answered. "And who are your...er...friends?"

"My brother and some of our friends. May we come in and then have introductions?"

"All right. Yes. Come in, cyw.* And your friends too."

The door opened wider and we entered single-file, into an entryway much like ours at home: small and crowded. But I could definitely see it was hunters who kept the place—there were rapiers in the umbrella stand, hunting gear on the coat rack, and every manner of dagger hanging from weapons belts on the newel posts.

"Others are in here," said Ceridwen in a near-indecipherable accent. I wasn't accustomed to the Welsh way of speaking and knew it would take longer to get used to than we had time for.

In here was the sitting-room, although it hardly looked like one. Instead it had been turned into a kind of weapons room, like the one we had in our cellar, with racks of blades all around the room. There were also magazines of silver bullets, braids of garlic, glass bottles of holy water, and tins full of iron filings. Those were on shelves along the wall.

In the center of the room there were two men, both built like bulls, hard at work polishing a few of the metal weapons. There was a long serrated blade made of gold that I'd never seen before, and another bronze one with a forked tip that the man closer to us was rubbing at with a rag.

"Cadoc, Tegwen, these are the young 'uns I told you about."

The men looked up, their pale blue eyes identical. Ceridwen had the same blue eyes, now that I thought of it, and it occurred to me that they may have all been siblings.

"Look older than I thought they would," said one of the men, the one with the gold serrated blade.

"These are disguises," said Naomi, pulling off the fake chin and throwing back the scarf covering her hair in a white puff of flour. "I don't know what Marjorie's told you, but we had to get out of London quickly..."

"And without being noticed," Cornelius finished.

"Say, that's theatre makeup?" said the second man, the one with the forked blade.

"Yes, Cadoc," Ceridwen answered before we could say a word. "And before you make any judgement, Miss Selling explained it all to me in a letter."

"Maybe I should have a look, then," said the man she'd called Cadoc.

"I'll show you to your rooms," said the other man, hanging up the blade he'd been cleaning. He looked younger than his brother, still with a youthful gleam in his eye. "This way."

He slipped through our group and led the way to the stairs. I glanced back at Marjorie, still standing with Ceridwen and Cadoc, and she gave me a wave and mouthed Go. I'll explain later.

"Don't suppose you know sleeping arrangements," said the younger man — Tegwen, wasn't it? — as he led us up the stairs. "Any of you lot related?"

"That's my sister downstairs," said Cornelius.

"And this is my sister right here," I said, poking Naomi in the shoulder as she went ahead of me. She gave me a hard swat without looking in return.

"Right, siblings room together," said Tegwen. We were at the top of the stairs now, and I glimpsed a hallway with thick carpet and fabric-covered walls in a pattern that spiralled and repeated in a dizzying manner. There were no portraits, no paintings, no nothing hung on the walls, except for one, of the Queen, on the wall opposite us.

"I don't have a sibling, sir," said Wilkes, making Tegwen turn to him. "Odd number, bit of an inconvenience..."

"Nonsense," Tegwen said, waving a hand. "You can have my room. Don't really sleep in 'em anyway."

"You mean...you're giving us your rooms?" Naomi sounded uncertain. "Where do all of you sleep, then?"

"Gonna be watching the house," said Tegwen. "Make sure nobody suspicious is lingering outside. You young 'uns look like you've had a day. So we'll talk about everything in the morning."

"Where are the rooms, exactly?" I asked, receiving a punch on the shoulder from Naomi for my rudeness.

"One this way," Tegwen said, pointing to his left, "and the other two that way."

He pointed further down the hallway.

We separated, for the first time since we'd left London. Cornelius took the solitary room at one end, while the three of us wandered off the other direction. Tegwen hustled back downstairs to fetch our bags, which we'd left in the entryway, and finally we were alone.

"They didn't even ask about him," said Wilkes, lifting the covered cage.

"Marjorie must have explained it better than we thought," said Naomi.

"Well then," Wilkes said. "Good night, I suppose."

"Good night, Langdon." Naomi stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and then she slipped inside the room we'd claimed for the night.

"I'm not kissing your cheek," I said, grasping his shoulder instead. "But maybe another part of your face later, if you'd prefer."

"How about you get out of the old man makeup first," said Wilkes, giving my bald cap a pat.

"Don't mind if I do," I said, and I meant it.

--

*cyw: Welsh for "nestling", "hen", "love". Maybe what you'd call your children/sig. other/someone who comes into your shop. Very all-purpose word.

P.S.: Two more chapters left, folks! It all comes to a climax in the next chapter...