Kingsley had never been as glad to see a band of Neanderthals as he was when two dozen of them thundered into the Immortals’ unfinished lair. A diversion was what Kingsley and Evadne needed and a band of well-armed, pugnacious brutes filled the vacancy to perfection.

Instantly, the enormous space became a battleground. Spawn everywhere abandoned their construction work and hurled themselves at the intruders. The Immortals themselves waved their pudgy hands and shrieked orders that lacked tactical subtlety, but left no question that they wanted the Neanderthals chopped up and removed immediately.

The Neanderthals produced a bizarre assortment of firearms and set about laying waste to the charging Spawn. The hail of metal shredded the creatures mid-advance.

‘The Neanderthals must want us badly,’ he said. He peered at the mayhem. He recognised the foremost Neanderthal as the leader of the band that had ambushed them in Deptford.

Evadne touched her satchel. ‘They must be desperate for this phlogiston.’

‘Or they have another reason.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.’

Evadne hurried off, bent nearly double, and Kingsley slapped himself on the forehead. A diversion is worthless if you don’t use it, Kingsley! What magician wouldn’t lift a dozen watches and purloin a handful of spectacles from an audience if a brawl broke out in the front row, only to dazzle the owners some time later with their return?

Evadne made the most of the building debris and tools that had been abandoned by the Spawn. She flitted from scaffold to wheelbarrow to workbench to coils of rope, waiting each time for Kingsley to join her before she advanced to the next milestone. The barrels of paint were the last before a dangerous open stretch and they paused a moment, judging the best time to go.

The Neanderthals had pressed close. Only a triple line of Spawn stood between them and the Immortals. The battle was awesome in its violence. The clubs of the Neanderthals swung with enough power to puncture metal, but the Spawn didn’t back away. From all sides, they charged at the Neanderthal advance, seeking a weak spot, a way in, a misstep, but the juggernaut pushed on, snarling in a way that Kingsley couldn’t help but respond to. His wild side was equally excited and appalled. It wanted to join the Neanderthals and to run away from them.

Kingsley’s wildness was diverted, however, when the throne of the Immortals began to shake. It dislodged Spawn from its bottom step like a dog ridding itself of fleas, then it rose. When it was forty feet above the floor, the rotating cube sprang into life, bathing its alcove in bright green light.

A bolt of green lightning flashed, joining the cube and the throne for a split-second and rending the air in the chamber with an ear-punishing crack. The Spawn and the Neanderthals were bowled over like dolls.

When Kingsley’s vision had cleared, the Immortals and their throne were gone.

‘That is a truly splendid escape act,’ he said, and he wondered if this were the moment the Immortals decided India was a more hospitable place for their particular needs.