‘Firstly, Kingsley, I need to apologise.’

Evadne didn’t look at him. In a small kitchen that wouldn’t have been out of place in Surbiton, she busied herself with the breakfast making, taking an inordinate amount of care measuring out the tea while he sat on a stylish wooden chair.

‘Apologise? For saving me and bringing me here?’ He stuck out his feet. ‘For providing me with a pair of distinctly smart Oxfords in my size?’

‘For my display earlier.’

‘Ah. Where you ran out as if you were possessed and single-handedly tried to wipe out a troop of those creatures.’

‘Yes, that’s the one. It was quite unlike me.’ She paused, kettle in hand. ‘Well, that may not be entirely accurate. I do have an outrageous temper but it’s rarely provoked.’

While making a note to himself never to provoke her, Kingsley asked: ‘And these Spawn set you off, so to speak?’

‘They’re soulless creatures, underlings, but I’ll strike at them until I can get at their masters.’

‘The ones on your list.’ Understanding that he might need his caution some time in the future, instead of throwing it to the winds, he tucked it into a pocket for later use before he asked: ‘What list?’

Evadne paused, then studied the kettle for some time, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. She cleared her throat, put the kettle down and faced him, leaning against the sink and absently twisting the silver ring on her finger. ‘I have a list of those who hurt children.’

‘Oh.’ Inadequacy, thy name is Kingsley.

She didn’t look at him. ‘The Demimonde can be a dreadful place.’

‘So I’ve gathered. Then again, so can the ordinary world.’

A small, sweet smile made its way to him, quite unlike the boldness he’d thought her way. ‘That’s true. I can’t abide those who hurt children in the ordinary world, either.’

‘You sound as if you have a cause.’

‘Like those who go about saving fallen women? Or helping old sailors? Perhaps. I like to think that I’m more . . . vigorous than that.’

‘A crusade rather than a cause?’

‘That makes it sound rather spiritual.’ Kingsley was pleased to hear a more acerbic tone in her voice. ‘I’m rather more down to earth than a crusader. I see myself as a scourge.’

‘A scourge.’

‘I can’t abide those who exploit and hurt children. I’m down on them and I’ll do what I can to confound them.’ She shook her head and her white hair flew. ‘The Immortals are among the worst of them. They’ve hurt hundreds of children, thousands perhaps, if the stories are correct.’

‘And they’ve just come back from India.’

‘So it would seem. Wicked creatures.’ Evadne fussed about in a cupboard, looking for teacups. Kingsley deliberately didn’t notice her dashing a tear from her cheek with her forearm. ‘Immortal and wicked. It’s a terrible combination.’

‘How do you know so much about them?’

‘By and large, the denizens of the Demimonde all know about the Immortals, and are appalled by them. They dwell outside even the loose notions of morality that exist here. Over the centuries various groups have arisen to exterminate them, but they’ve had a singular lack of success.’

‘They’re powerful.’

‘Extremely.’

‘And you want to destroy them.’

‘They deserve it.’

This was a new Evadne, one that Kingsley hadn’t seen before. Her passion was clear, but Kingsley saw more than that. Was it sorrow behind the anger? It was clearly a tender area, and he didn’t feel he had the right to press. They’d only known each other a few days, after all. A harum-scarum few days, but propriety demanded that he respect her pain.

‘This refuge is part of the Demimonde?’

‘I hope you like it,’ she said with a gallant effort. ‘It’s comfortable and secure, what more could you ask?’

‘A view?’

‘If you want a view I’ll find a painting for you.’ She pushed her spectacles up on her nose. ‘Since I move between the ordinary world and the Demimonde, I make sure that I have safe places in both. This is my Demimonde refuge. Living quarters, facilities, viewing room, workshop over there.’

Kingsley took a closer look at the chaotic space he’d barely glanced at earlier. Between the power cables, he could now make out beaten, coppery figures that looked like giant insects hung from hooks near the ceiling and a rack displaying dozens of goggles where glass, leather, rubber, brass and silver were flung together in a variety of combinations. The workshop was an Aladdin’s Cave with strange and exotic treasures everywhere he looked.

‘Impressive, but where exactly are we?’ he asked over his shoulder and, with embarrassment, he heard the plaintiveness in his voice.

‘That’s not always a meaningful question in the Demimonde,’ Evadne replied, ‘but in this case, it is. We’re right underneath the main stadium at the White City. The Olympic Games are going on right over our heads.’

‘Construction in London is a blessing for the Demimonde,’ Evadne explained while Kingsley grappled with bewilderment that had assumed the proportions of an airship. ‘When Wren and Hooke were rebuilding London after the Great Fire, many a lair or warren was worked into the developments, above and below ground. Forgotten parts of the city – parts that were supposed to be demolished – were just appropriated and now have thriving communities away from the overworlders. The Olympics has meant a further frenzy of furtive fabrication.’ She clapped her hands together and beamed. ‘Oh, I like that!’

‘It’s a gem,’ Kingsley said, even though he felt as if his world had previously been confined to a narrow stretch of beach – and now the tide had gone out, making it bigger, wider and more mysterious than he’d ever believed.

Evadne held up the teapot. ‘Another cup?’

‘Please.’

‘Oh. I forgot to ask if you take milk. You don’t, do you?’

‘What would you say if I did?’

‘I’d have to send one of my myrmidons to find some.’

‘Myrmidons? Some sort of softly spoken professor?’

Evadne pointed the strainer at him. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Myrmidons. Murmur. Don.’

‘Please,’ she said, ‘don’t do that again.’

‘I shan’t. Unless the appropriate occasion presents itself.’

‘Hmm.’ She sipped her tea before returning to her explanation. ‘Do you remember the rat that found your hiding place near the Fleet?’

‘Let me see. It didn’t have three eyes, perchance?’

‘That three-eyed rat wasn’t a rat at all. It was one of my myrmidons.’

‘Thank you. That makes it all so much clearer.’

‘Kingsley, you’re a nice chap but you’re going to have to be quicker than that.’ She lifted the teapot and poured him a fresh cup.

‘The Myrmidons were ancient Greeks,’ he said. He held his teacup in both hands and felt its warmth. ‘Immensely loyal to their king. Or so Homer said.’

‘That’s better.’ Evadne’s approval did something to Kingsley. Something awkward and unsettling but not altogether unwelcome. ‘Since Homer, the term “myrmidon” has been used to describe steadfast and devoted followers.’

‘And your rat is one of those.’

‘My rat is a machine I made. More or less. They’re my scouts, my messengers, my general runabouts. Bring your tea and I’ll show you.’

Evadne took him back to the viewing room. The banks of glasses were alive. She pointed at the last two. ‘These are my myrmidon sentinels. What their third eye sees is relayed here. I’ve sent them scouting and it looks as if the Spawn have all retreated.’ She tapped her chin with a finger. ‘I think I managed to intercept them far enough away for this refuge still to be secret.’

Kingsley didn’t think that any who’d come close enough to Evadne’s refuge survived to tell the tale either. She’d been very efficient in dealing with them. ‘I imagine you’ve blended cinematograph cameras with wireless Marconi technology?’

‘That, Kingsley, was a very educated guess.’

He bowed. ‘Thank you.’

‘Completely wrong, but very educated. I’ll let it rest at that.’

For a moment, Kingsley was prepared to gnaw at this bone, but he was happy to leave the matter lie. Once, he would have said his grasp of science and engineering was solid enough, but Evadne was at home in a realm far from his ken. Besides, he had a task he’d left undone. ‘I’ve been remiss. I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.’

‘I couldn’t simply let you disappear like that. Mr Kipling was most upset until I assured him that I’d find you. He went to consult some friends, he told me.’

‘I hope he’s safe.’

‘I think Mr Kipling has considerable resources. More than meets the eye.’

‘He’s not the only one.’