Bound

chapter 3

The War Rooms are the nerve centre of the Council, and the heart of Light power in Britain. They’re a vast tunnel network beneath London, rooms and hallways spiderwebbing outward for miles, bored through the clay and rock. There’s enough space for every Light mage of Britain to live down there, and from time to time I think they actually have, but nowadays it’s famous not as a fortress but as the Light Council’s seat of government. The Senior and Junior Councils are based there, and so is the great bureaucracy that administers all mage business in the country. Back when I was working with Caldera as a Keeper auxiliary I’d visit the place maybe once a month. Now I was a full Keeper, and Morden’s affiliate. I wondered what kind of reception I’d get.

Anne and I arrived a few minutes early and waited out in the street. Pigeons pecked on the pavement. Every now and then a black cab would drive down the road, turning off onto the one-way system at the end, but for some reason they never seemed to stop.

Morden arrived exactly on the stroke of nine o’clock. “Anne, Verus,” he said as he walked up. “I’m glad to see you’re on time.”

Morden is a Dark mage, one of Richard’s oldest allies, and—as of last year—the first Dark mage ever to sit upon the Light Council of Britain. He’s dark-haired and dark-eyed, with smooth features, and he looks a lot younger than he is. He smiles a lot, as though at some joke that only he can see.

Even without his political power, Morden is in the top ten of the most deadly mages I know. Part of what makes him so dangerous is that he usually doesn’t reveal what he’s capable of. The last time I’d met him had been two days ago, when he’d told me that we were working for him. I’d told him no and he’d beaten me to a pulp. I’d got the message.

“You’re here on your own,” I said. Morden passed us without slowing and I followed, falling into step beside him. Anne stayed a couple of paces behind.

“You seem surprised,” Morden said.

“I was expecting an entourage.”

Morden smiled. “That would be you.”

We passed through the surface building which held the shaft down to the War Rooms. There were two Council security men on the door; they said nothing as we walked into the lift.

“Why are we here?” Anne asked once the doors had closed and we’d begun descending.

“To take up your duties,” Morden said. “You, for instance, are meeting Hieronymus from the healer corps.”

“And what about me?” I said. I couldn’t help noticing that Anne was only two steps from Morden. If she went for him, he’d have very little time to react. I could sense spells layered within Morden’s body, and if there’s any other magic type that can withstand the touch of a life mage, it’s death magic, but Anne is very good at what she does . . .

Anne’s eyes met mine, and I knew she was thinking the same thing. I glanced up at the corner of the lift to see the half sphere of a security camera. Later.

“You’ll be working as my personal aide,” Morden said. “When you aren’t otherwise occupied with your new duties as a Keeper.”

The doors opened and we stepped out into a large rectangular chamber. There was no indication of how far down we were, but I knew it was a long way. The walls were made of grey stone, flecked with tiny white sparks which gleamed in the light, and on the far side were more lifts; one had just opened, and people were filing out. There was a set of security gates to the left, with a small queue and a team of Council security questioning them one at a time, but Morden walked straight past and a gate swung open at his approach. The security men gave us flat looks but didn’t get in our way. The gate swung shut behind Morden, and Anne had to hop forward to avoid being caught.

“So I’m your PA now?” I asked Morden.

“So to speak,” Morden said. Another mage in formal robes passed us in the hall, and Morden gave him a nod and a smile. The other mage nodded cautiously back, then swivelled to stare once he thought we weren’t watching.

I looked sideways at Morden. I don’t know much about Light Council politics, but I do know that the position of personal aide to a Council member is high status. One of my old acquaintances, Lyle, is the aide to a Senior Council member called Undaaris, and getting there had taken him fifteen years. “That seems like a very senior position.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As in, the kind of position that’d normally be given to someone with a little more experience.”

“I have every confidence that you will be up to the challenge.”

I decided to abandon subtlety. “You’ve already got a Chosen. Why me?”

“Despite Onyx’s many and varied strengths, I felt after due deliberation that this particular position might prove a poor match for someone of his particular qualifications.”

In other words, he’s a violent sociopath with poor impulse control. But something didn’t add up—Morden had been on the Council for nearly a year. “Have you really gone this long without an aide?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve had two,” Morden said. “Unfortunately, they’ve had rather poor luck. The first disappeared in the summer and the second committed suicide.”

“Suicide?” Anne asked.

“Yes, it seems the stress of the position proved too much for him. He broke all his fingers, cut his own throat, then set himself on fire.”

Anne and I stared at Morden. Morden kept walking.

“He set himself on fire,” I said at last.

“Yes.”

“After cutting his own throat.”

“One has to admire his sheer dedication to avoid counselling,” Morden said. “As a point of interest, the Crusaders had recently approached him in the hope of gaining some insight into the names and details of my supporters. The Keepers assure me that this fact is entirely unrelated to the case.”

Anne didn’t answer, and neither did I. All of a sudden, those mages watching me made me feel a lot less comfortable.

We emerged from the hallway into the Belfry, the central crossroads of the War Rooms. Circular pillars ran up to buttresses and a high arched ceiling, and mages and clerks and functionaries walked across the coats of arms engraved on the grey-white floor. A mage was standing by an alcove nearby, and Morden led us towards him. “Ah, Hieronymus,” Morden said. “I’ve brought your newest recruit.”

“You’re really going through with this?” the mage said in a sour voice. He was grey-haired, with a narrow, pinched face, and he wore robes with the staff-and-serpent insignia of a healer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Morden said blandly.

“Waste of my bloody time,” Hieronymus muttered, then turned to Anne. “So this is her?”

“This is Mage Anne Walker, yes,” Morden said. “Anne, meet Mage Hieronymus, the operations manager of the healer corps. He’ll be providing your orientation.”

“‘Mage’?” Hieronymus said with a snort. “Get something clear, Morden. I’m only doing this because the Council ordered me to. I might have to take her in, but I’m not putting her to work.”

“Go with him please, Anne,” Morden said. “Once you’re done, you’re free for the rest of the day.”

Anne hesitated, and I didn’t blame her, but Hieronymus had turned and started marching away. Anne gave me a last glance, then hurried after him.

“Oh, stop looking after her as though she’s going into the dragon’s den, Verus,” Morden said. “She’ll be quite all right. Now come on, we’ll be late.”

| | | | | | | | |

The doors Morden led me to were ones I’d never gone through before. From what I’d been told, the route we were following led to the Star Chamber, the meeting room where the Council actually sits. I’d never seen it, and I was curious to lay eyes on the place, but Morden stopped me. “You’ll wait here.”

I looked around to see an old and battered-looking anteroom. Worn cushions sat on wooden benches, and booths were set into the wall. Maybe half a dozen other mages were scattered around, sitting down. None turned to look at us.

“I thought I was supposed to go with you,” I said. I didn’t especially want to spend the day in Morden’s company, but there was no point advertising that.

“Good heavens, Verus. You can’t think that non-Council members would be allowed into the Star Chamber?” Morden looked amused. “Merely being allowed to wait in the anteroom is an honour.”

“And what am I supposed to do while I’m experiencing this honour?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Morden said. “Good luck.” He exited through the far doors.

I was left alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that I was being watched, but as I looked back at the other mages, they turned away. I studied the room, and as I did, I noticed something odd. The booths were protected by eavesdropping wards; they were subtle but well made and I didn’t think anyone would be able to overhear what was said inside without drawing attention. I walked to one of the booths and sat down to wait.

| | | | | | | | |

I’d barely had a chance to get settled in when the first visitor arrived.

“So you’re the replacement,” the mage standing by the booth said. He was tall and thin, with curly black hair, and wore an expensive suit with a gold tie clip.

“Something like that,” I said, and waited for the mage to introduce himself or sit.

He did neither. “Who’s Morden’s pick for Shanghai?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ao Qin’s visit,” the mage said. When I didn’t react he looked impatient. “The appointment?”

“Um,” I said. “I didn’t catch your name, Mage . . . ?”

“Ictis,” the mage said. “What about Suminai?”

“What about him?”

“My superior’s willing to consider overlooking what happened in Scotland.”

“And Morden would care about this because . . . ?”

“Fine,” Ictis snapped. “The Downs stones, then.”

I thought about it for a second. I had no idea what Ictis was talking about, but from a glance through the futures, I didn’t think telling him that would be a good idea. “I’ll pass it on.”

“Good.” Ictis turned and left, and I watched him go. I had the disconcerting feeling that I’d just agreed to something.

No sooner had Ictis left than he was replaced by a woman. She had blonde hair woven into a braid that ran over the top of her head, and she would have been pretty but for the cool look in her eyes. Like Ictis, she didn’t ask my name. “I need an answer from Morden about the ID,” she told me without preamble.

“I’m sure you do,” I said, wondering what the hell the ID was. Identification? Of who?

“I assume you know it’s been moved to next week?”

“I do now.”

“We aren’t going to wait forever,” the woman said. “Which way is he going to go?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I really can’t help you.”

“It’s like that, is it?”

I looked back at the woman, waiting for her to explain. She gave me a flat look, turned on her heel, and left.

The next arrival was another woman, this one thirty or so, with a ponytail and a black business suit which showed off the lines of her figure. Unlike the previous two, she demanded to see Morden, and wouldn’t take no for an answer no matter how many times I explained that he was busy.

“Look, I don’t know what else to say,” I said at last. “You can wait if you like, but don’t get your hopes up.”

The woman stared at me, then seated herself in the booth, folded her arms, and looked away. I thought about trying to talk to her, but after seeing the reactions I was going to get I decided to save my breath.

Half an hour passed, then an hour. I spent the time studying the other people in the anteroom. The population stayed low—no more than eight or nine at any one time—but people kept moving in and out. They generally came to talk, always no more than two to a conversation, and they didn’t look like casual conversations. I tried to eavesdrop but was frustrated by the wards. Something was going on here, and I didn’t know what it was.

The woman sitting with me had been growing visibly agitated, and after an hour and a half she abruptly jumped to her feet. “Tell him—” she began, looking down at me, then checked herself with a look of frustration and walked out. I was left alone again, and as I looked into the future I saw that more people were coming.

| | | | | | | | |

The pattern stayed the same throughout the day. Someone would show up, and they’d want something I couldn’t give. Either they’d want to know Morden’s position on an issue, or they’d want some kind of appointment or promise. I picked my answers with a mixture of divination and guesswork, trying to turn them down without giving offence, but the more mages I spoke to, the more I got the strange but definite suspicion that none of them believed a single word I was saying. Some took my refusals with annoyance, some were noncommittal, but there was a message in those silent looks. We know you’re lying, they were saying. You’re not fooling anyone.

“I’ve been waiting for this appointment,” the mage was saying. “You understand that? Morden’s supposed to be here.”

I didn’t quite sigh. The mage talking to me was English, with a close-shaven head, a receding hairline, and a belligerent expression. “Yes, I understand.”

“So where is he?”

“In the Star Chamber.”

“You trying to be funny?”

I managed to hold back a smart answer, but only just. The mage talking to me—whose name, if I’d heard him right, was Jarnaff—had been here for five minutes, and he was already my least favourite of the visitors so far. While none of the mages that I’d met today had been exactly pleased to be turned down, this was the first one who simply wasn’t listening at all. According to him, he was supposed to have an appointment with Morden, and he was treating the fact that Morden wasn’t here as some sort of personal insult on my part.

“I’ve been waiting two days,” Jarnaff said when I didn’t answer. “And now you come in here and sit around fanning yourself in your cheap shoes and tell me you can’t help.”

The jibe about the shoes pissed me off. I was wearing black trainers, and okay, maybe they weren’t the smartest footwear in the world, but you could run in them and fight in them, unlike Jarnaff’s shiny raised-heel Oxfords. At a better time I wouldn’t have let it get to me, but if there’s one thing I hate it’s feeling ignorant, and I’d spent the best part of the day fumbling my way through conversations I didn’t understand.

“Are you listening?” Jarnaff demanded.

“Yes,” I said shortly.

“Don’t ‘yes’ me. How about you show a bit of manners?”

“Look, Jarnaff, Morden’s not here. I don’t know when he’s coming back, and frankly, I don’t much care. Now you can wait around, or you can leave.”

“What was that?” Jarnaff said, glaring at me. “What did you say?”

“You heard.”

Jarnaff stared at me for a second. “You think I don’t know who you are?”

I didn’t answer and Jarnaff smiled at me unpleasantly. “I know how you got your job, Verus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh yeah, I know all about you. That little deal you got with Morden? He gives you this job and all of a sudden you get to pretend to be a Light mage.” Jarnaff gave me a contemptuous look. “Except you’re not.”

I was silent.

“You’re still under sentence, aren’t you?” Jarnaff said. “All it takes to put you back is one vote by the Senior Council. And guess who I’m aide to?” Jarnaff looked at me with eyebrows raised and when I still didn’t answer, he went on. “Sal Sarque. He wanted you gone, he could have you packed off”—Jarnaff snapped his fingers—“like that. Now, I wasn’t going to bring it up, being as I’m a pretty reasonable guy. But when people like you act disrespectful, then I start getting unhappy.”

“And what’ll it take to make you happy?”

Jarnaff frowned. “I’m not done.”

I looked at him.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Jarnaff said. “You’re going to be helpful. And polite. Because if you don’t, then I put a word in Sarque’s ear, and you’ll have the same thing happen to you as Morden’s last two servants.” Jarnaff leant towards me. “We understanding each other?”

I briefly considered how to answer. It didn’t take me very long. “Get lost.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is there something wrong with your ears?” I asked. “Because I’m noticing that whenever I say something you don’t like, you don’t seem to hear very well.”

“I think maybe you don’t understand—”

“I heard. You want to blackmail me.”

Jarnaff narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to piss me off.”

“Or you’ll do what?” I leant forward suddenly and had the satisfaction of seeing Jarnaff flinch. It was a small movement, but I’d been watching for it, and as I looked into Jarnaff’s eyes I knew he wasn’t as confident as he was acting. “Go running to Sal Sarque? Tell him that the big bad Verus is being mean to you? Here’s a little detail that he apparently didn’t think you needed to know, Jarnaff. Your boss and his friends tried to kill me less than a week ago. Little hint for you: if you’re trying to threaten someone, make sure it’s not with something you’ve already failed at. And just so you know, this last month? While you were strutting around the War Rooms in your expensive shoes, I was being chased by assassins. So unless you think you can be more intimidating than they were, I think it’s time you left.”

“You don’t—” Jarnaff began.

I cut him off. “You can go now.”

Jarnaff stared at me with an expression like thunder, but I simply took out my phone, crossed one leg over the other, and started checking my e-mail. I didn’t look up, and after a moment Jarnaff abruptly stood and left. I watched him through the futures just to make sure he wouldn’t try anything.

The Council meeting ended half an hour later. There was a growing swell of voices, then the doors opened and people began to filter through. I recognised one member of the Junior Council, and then Morden was there, creating a bubble of empty space with his passing as Light mages tried to edge away. He beckoned and reluctantly I fell in by his side. I could feel the eyes on us as we walked away.

“Well, then,” Morden said once we were out of earshot. He kept his pace slow and I had to shorten my stride not to pull ahead of him. “Did you have an educational day?”

“From a certain point of view.”

“Let’s hear the details.”

“Okay,” I said. “Your first would-be caller was some guy called Ictis. He wants to know who you’re picking for Shanghai.”

“He already knows,” Morden said. “The more important question is what he offered.”

“For what?”

“The undersecretary Ao Qin will be visiting Britain next month as an envoy from the Light Council of China,” Morden said. “They’ll be choosing the next ambassador. Who did Ictis want? Mala, or Suminai?”

“The only name he used was Suminai.”

“Did he try to promise amnesty for the raid in Scotland?”

“He said he’d consider it.”

“I hope you turned him down.”

“And then he said something about the Downs stones.”

“Ah.” Morden looked pleased. “Who was next?”

“A woman. Fortyish, braided blonde hair, brown eyes. She wanted to know which way you were going to go on the ID.”

“And when you didn’t give her an answer?”

“She marched out.”

Morden questioned me about each visitor in turn. Some he dismissed, while for others he probed for details. I told him what I could remember, trying to hold back my annoyance. “Look,” I said at last. “It’d be a lot easier for me to pick out the relevant information if I knew what was going on here.”

“What would you like to know?” Morden asked agreeably.

I was surprised but didn’t show it. “Well, what was the deal with Ictis?”

“One of the matters that will be decided during Ao Qin’s visit is the identity of the next mage the Light Council will send to China as their ambassadorial representative,” Morden said. “It’s a five-year term and offers enormous opportunities for corruption, so naturally all of the Light factions want their man for the job. Ictis works for the Isolationists, and apparently they’ve decided on Suminai for their candidate. The real question was what they were willing to give for my support. They’ve been trying to pressure me over that raid in Scotland for a while—you’re familiar with that? No? In any case, it seems that they’ve realised that I know it’s a bluff, and instead they’re willing to cede the rights of the Downs stones, which is a much more serious offer. When he comes back, you can tell him I’ll accept.”

“What about the ID thing?”

“Identification Database. The Directors have been trying to put together a centralised registry of all the magic-users in Britain. Alma wants my cooperation in bringing the Dark mages around. When you didn’t give that woman an answer—her name is Julia, incidentally—she interpreted that as a refusal.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” Morden said. “It’s a ridiculous idea. The Directors have been trying to push it through for thirty years, and it’s failed every time. Now they’ll take it to the Guardians, and the Guardians will turn them down, and that’ll kill it once again, though I expect it’ll take another month or two for that to sink in.”

I was silent. We turned a corner and started down the hall that would take us back to the Belfry. “Is something bothering you?” Morden asked.

“Maybe I’m missing something here,” I said. “But these decisions they’re asking me for don’t feel like small ones.”

“What were you expecting to be doing?”

“Scheduling your appointments?”

“Honestly, Verus,” Morden said. “Did you think I went to all this trouble simply for a secretary?”

“Actually, yes.”

Morden looked amused. “Are you aware that somewhere between eighty and ninety percent of the agreements between Council members are concluded by their aides?”

I looked at Morden, and my scepticism must have shown on my face. “Let us say that Alma wishes to make an arrangement with me,” Morden said. “Clearly she can’t have it in an open Council meeting, and equally clearly she can’t be seen going to me. Instead she gives the message to her aide, Julia. Julia relays the message to you, you discuss it with me, and balance is maintained in the universe.”

“All of the important business gets funnelled through aides?”

“Essentially.”

“Then what the hell do you talk about in Council?”

Morden shrugged. “Mostly we listen to reports. It’s rather tedious, really.”

We’d come out onto the Belfry floor and I stopped, turning to face Morden. “Okay. Assuming I’m understanding all this right, one thing I’d like to know. I can’t talk to you while you’re in Council. So what happens if I make a decision for you, and then when you come out I find out that it wasn’t the one you wanted me to make?”

“Then I expect I’ll be looking for a new aide,” Morden said. “Though I’d be remiss not to remind you that should you lose your position, you’ll also lose your status as a Light mage, meaning that your previous death sentence will become immediately applicable.”

I stared at Morden, and he patted me on the shoulder with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.” He walked away into the crowd.

| | | | | | | | |

I hung around the War Rooms for a little longer, waiting for Anne, but after a while I got a message from her saying that she’d be staying late. She didn’t sound happy, but at least she wasn’t in danger. In the meantime, I’d received another message, a slip of paper hand-delivered by a young man who disappeared before I could ask for details. I found a quiet place to read the contents.

From where you first met the Silent, take the way that runs north of west, straight as an arrow. After five minutes, a turnoff will descend on the left. I’ll be waiting at six o’clock at the water’s edge.

—The one who gave you your communicator

I sighed. There was no signature, but I knew who’d sent it.

| | | | | | | | |

The work at Pudding Mill Lane had made some progress since the last time I was there, but the place was still fenced in by construction barriers. Up to the left, the station was a wide, low-slung box over the raised train tracks of the Docklands Light Railway, the lights of the platform visible in the darkness. I glanced up at it as I walked, remembering that encounter with Chamois the Silent. If the Dark mage’s air blade had been a few inches closer I never would have left that station, but I didn’t really hold a grudge towards the guy. I’d much rather deal with assassins than the Light Council. At least with assassins you know where you stand.

The road led me under the railway tracks and up to the Greenway, a long foot and cycle path that runs in a perfectly straight line across the Olympic Park. To the right, the stadium was a vast shadow in the darkness. A cyclist came up behind me, the whirr of the bike breaking the quiet as he buzzed past, a feeble red light blinking on-off-on-off as it faded into the gloom. I kept walking until I found a footpath descending to the left.

The footpath led down to the River Lea, a long stretch of dark water with concrete banks. Barges were moored on either side, silent and still, and to the right and left was a towpath, lined with grass. There were no lampposts, and the only light came from the buildings across the river, yellow-white reflections off rippling water. A man was standing in the shadow of the fence.

“Were you followed?” the man said as I approached.

“Were the cryptic clues really necessary?”

“Better not to take avoidable risks.”

I looked around at the empty riverbank. It was cold, lonely, and deserted. “I remember when you used to take me out to dinner in Holborn.”

“Times have changed.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I suppose they have.”

I couldn’t really see Talisid in the shadows, but then I didn’t need to. He always looks the same: middle-aged, receding hair, composed expression. “How are things?” he asked.

“They suck,” I said. “But I’m sure you know that already, and I’m also sure you didn’t call me out to a riverbank in the middle of nowhere for a social catch-up.”

“No, I didn’t,” Talisid said. “I imagine you have some idea of why I did call you.”

“I’ve a pretty good notion.”

Talisid works for the Guardians. The Guardians and the Crusaders are the two main anti-Dark political groups within the Council, and the Guardians are the more pleasant of the two by a fair bit. I’ve done quite a few jobs for Talisid over the years, and for the most part, they’ve gone well. Unfortunately, there was one big problem. Ever since Richard’s return, Talisid had been trying to get me to rejoin Richard and spy on him.

The “rejoin” part had just happened. I knew what was coming next.

I started walking south along the towpath, and Talisid matched my pace. “I understand that your current situation is less than ideal,” he offered when I didn’t speak.

“That’s something of an understatement.”

“We’d be willing to offer compensation.”

“Do you know what Richard would do if he found out that I was spying on him?”

“No.”

“Nothing,” I said. “Not personally. He’d give me to Morden instead. Or if he was feeling really sadistic, to Vihaela. Do you know what they would do?”

Talisid shook his head.

“Take a guess.”

“I imagine you believe they would kill you.”

“Killing me is the least of what they would do,” I said. “And by the time they were done, there’s a good chance I’d be wanting them to. What could you possibly offer that could be worth that?”

“If you do what they say, will the end result really be so much better?”

Barges passed by on our right, riding low in the water. On the other side of the river, a halogen lamp made a bright splash of light against a building. A man was silhouetted in it, chopping wood, his shape throwing a monstrous shadow on the brick wall. Each time the shadow swung down, the tchunk of the axe echoed across the water.

“I understand how large a request I’m making,” Talisid said. “I’m willing to do whatever I can.”

“Okay,” I said. “There is one thing you can help me out with.”

“Go ahead.”

“Get that death sentence lifted.”

Talisid was silent for a few seconds. “That will be difficult.”

“How difficult?”

“Unfortunately, Morden appointing you as his liaison has convinced many Light mages that you and he are working together.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Why is this relevant?”

“Tensions between Light and Dark mages are high,” Talisid said. “Many Light mages believe that we are in the lead-up to another war. Convincing them to expend political capital on someone they see as a Dark mage will be . . . problematic.”

We walked for a little way in silence. “Is that the only reason?” I said.

“How do you mean?”

“It seems to me that the main reason you’re approaching me again is that Richard and Morden have forced me to work for them,” I said. “If I’m not working for Richard—and as Morden’s aide—then I’m a lot less valuable as an agent. So I have to wonder: exactly how invested are your bosses in breaking me free?”

“I can see how it would appear that way.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s not true?”

“Look at it another way,” Talisid said. “You’ve told me in the past that your biggest reason for refusing to take the job was that you did not want to be in proximity to Richard. As things stand, you’re forced to do that whether you want to or not. Doesn’t it make sense to get some kind of benefit?”

We’d passed under another bridge and had come to an empty stretch of water. There were no more barges, and up ahead I could see the orange glow and rushing traffic of a big A-road. “The answer’s a maybe,” I said. “I’m not turning you down. But I’m not putting myself at risk and I’m not working for free. If you want any intel, it’ll be favour for favour.”

Talisid nodded as though it was what he’d expected. “Here.” He handed me a small item. It looked like a disc, grey-black in the darkness.

I took it and could feel the latent magic inside. Very little stored energy, but a strong resonance. A focus item, then. “New communicator?”

“You should find it an upgrade from the old model,” Talisid said. “Synchronous, as before, but much better range than the Keeper issue.”

I turned it over in one hand. “Doesn’t seem to have a visual display.”

“No,” Talisid said. “It also contains a signature lock. Once you activate it for the first time, it will be permanently keyed to your magical fingerprint.”

“Taking security seriously, aren’t you?”

“As you said,” Talisid said. “The consequences of being discovered are significant.” He nodded to me. “Have a safe trip.”

“You too, I suppose. And by the way, I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else on the Council about this meeting.”

“Yes,” Talisid said. “I believe that would be best. Good luck, Verus.” He walked away into the darkness.

I watched Talisid go, then then after he’d disappeared into the shadows, I turned and carried on along the towpath. I liked Talisid, up to a point. But I had no illusions about his ultimate priorities. He was serving the Guardians and the Council. He’d keep me alive if he could, but if it came down to a choice between me and the mission, I knew which he’d pick.

I headed south towards the Bow Road overpass, looking for a place to use my gate stone. Things weren’t getting any easier.