Wharton frowned, sipping. “And that is? By the way, mega coffee, Piers.”
Piers smiled, modest.
“For God’s sake! Will you pay attention!” Venn’s frail patience snapped. “He told us that there is an artifact shaped like a golden coin, a Greek stater with the head of Zeus on it. This device contains enough energy to destroy the mirror. He said that the coin had been cut in half and the halves separated in time and space, so that they might never come together accidentally. God knows what happened to the left half. But the right half is here.”
Wharton was staring now. He put the cup down so sharply it clunked in the saucer. “Oh my God. The one Sarah had? On a golden chain?”
“Precisely.” Venn’s fingers tapped the table. “She brought it with her from the World’s End. It was the same half coin that Symmes was given, to lead him to the mirror.”
“But . . .” Wharton was so agitated he had to stand up. “But she gave it to Summer!”
The stark horror of that statement seemed to hang in the air like a wisp of smoke.
Piers sighed. “She doesn’t realize its power. Didn’t know.”
“And she never must.” Venn stood too, facing Wharton. “Sarah’s mission is to destroy the mirror. I can never let her do that. If she should find out about the power of the coin, she might . . .”
“But if the other half is lost . . .”
“That won’t stop her looking for it. I must have the mirror safe. Or I’ll never see Leah again.” Venn swung away. For a moment Wharton glimpsed the tension in the man, wound so tight a hasty word, a forbidden thought might snap it.
The cat on the windowsill stopped washing and gazed over.
Venn took a breath, dropped his voice. “Sarah must never know. And neither must Summer.”
Wharton sat down again slowly, trying to consider this calmly. “What if Summer knows already? She demanded the coin as her reward, after all.”
“Then we’re in worse trouble than even I feared.” Venn walked to the window. “Let’s assume, for the moment, the Queen of the Wood has no idea of the power she wears round her pretty white neck. In that case, my plan is—the only plan possible is—to get it from her. But with Summer nothing is simple. Nothing is easy. If she had any notion how much I want it, she’d take great delight in keeping it from me.” His face was set and hard. When he spoke again it was in a bitter whisper Wharton had to strain to hear. “Is this my punishment, Leah? . . . As soon as I command the mirror I will come for you. I swear.”
He turned, abrupt. “I need a plan, Piers.”
Piers looked worried. “Tricky.”
“And you”—Venn turned to Wharton—“must never breathe a word of this. I’m only telling you because I may need you. You might be useful. That’s the only reason.”
The man’s arrogance made Wharton ball a fist with annoyance. “Don’t talk to me like that. He may be your slave, but I’m not.”
Venn shrugged. “Fine. Then go. Get out of here.”
“I go nowhere until Jake is safe. As for Sarah, I don’t like deceit. I’ll decide what I say to her.”
“About what?” Sarah’s sharp question alarmed them all; turning quickly Wharton saw her standing there in the scruffy jeans she had worn in London, her hair washed and clean, her eyes curious.
There was a silence so pointed it hurt. Venn’s arctic glare was fixed on Wharton. They were all looking at him. What could he do? His bold words still echoed, but at once and to his own dismay, he knew his first priority had to be Jake’s safety. The mirror must be preserved. He pulled a face. “Well . . .”
Venn watched him sidelong with the attention of a hawk on a scurrying rat.
Piers seemed to be holding his breath.
Sarah said, “Well what?”
Wharton squirmed. Then he licked his lips and murmured grimly, “Only that there’s been no word. From Gideon. Or from Jake.”
The police station was deserted. Jake ran down the dusty corridor “We need to find his office. Allenby. The name’s on the door.”
Gideon shrugged. “Then you’ll have to read it.”
Jake glanced back, astonished. “You can’t read?”
“Learning wasn’t for the son of a hovel, great magician.”
The sarcasm was bitter. As Jake found the door and burst through it, he spared one thought on what Gideon’s life might have been in that long-lost far-off century; then he was ransacking the drawers and flinging open the filing cabinets. One was locked. He grabbed a metal ruler, slid it in, and forced the drawer hastily. It swung wide.
“Got it!”
The suitcase had been propped inside. He had it out and open at once. At the door Gideon watched the grimy corridor. “Listen!”
The whine was distant and alien, the metallic howl of a strange beast. Gideon had his flint knife out, alert, but Jake said, “It’s just the all-clear. It means the air raid is over.”
Gideon listened a moment. “I don’t understand what’s happening in this time. This war—is it fought with machines? Do the machines make war against each other, or against the men?”
“You don’t want to know.” Grim, Jake was rummaging through the contents of the case. He found the birth certificate and stuffed it into his pocket.
Gideon frowned. “I can hear voices. People coming back.”
Jake couldn’t hear a thing, but he knew the changeling’s senses were Shee-sharp.
He tossed aside the photo albums and the letters—fascinating, but no time—and just as a door slammed far down in the buildings his fingers touched the softness of the black velvet bag. He pulled it out.
“Ready?” Gideon turned.
Jake had the bag open. He tipped out the metal film-case. What was on this? Was this what she had wanted him to see?
“Jake. Jake, we have to go! Now!” Gideon locked the door and crossed to the window. Even Jake could hear the shouts now, the banging on cells, the sergeant’s furious yell.
The window was barred; Gideon shivered at the touch of the metal, but climbed up and had slithered lithely through before Jake realized what was happening. “Wait! I’ll never fit.”
“You have to.”
Voices in the corridor. The door handle turned, was rattled angrily. Allenby yelled.
“Wilde! Open this door.”
“Take this. Get them back to Venn.”
Jake thrust out the velvet bag and the papers into Gideon’s pale hands. Then he climbed up and gripped the bars and slid his arm, then his left shoulder through. Turning his head sideways he breathed in, sweating, willing himself between the rods of steel.
The door shuddered.
Gideon grabbed him.
“Don’t! Don’t pull me! I’m stuck!”
He was thin and agile, but the bars were too close. They squeezed his head. He was caught in a vise. He would never get free.
Panic gripped him. There was no way on, no way back. “I can’t do it! I can’t!”
“You can!” Gideon grabbed him, fierce. “Push.”
“No! It’s too late.”
Something crashed and gave. For a second he thought it was him, that he was out, then behind him the lock burst. Pinned halfway to freedom, he slipped off the bracelet and flung it at Gideon, who caught it with astonished speed.
“To Venn. Not Summer! Promise me!”
Hands grabbed him, hauled him out from the bars with careless, brutal force, knocked him down. He crashed into a black circle of boots.
The window was empty.
Gideon was gone, and if he answered, Jake didn’t hear it.
7
What doth my mirror show?
It showeth not what a man looks like but what he is.
Not what he sekes for but what he hath found.