Soames watched as his underlings wheeled the cart through the doors of the warehouse and into the night. The men were reluctant and it was only Soames’s liberal payments that overcame their nervousness in taking the delivery to the crypt where the Neanderthals were waiting.

He was amused by the girl’s damp sentimentality as she watched it disappear, and he decided the time was right to do something about the awkward situation. He cleared his throat. ‘Now, my dear, I’ll have to report to the Immortals soon.’

She didn’t respond. She still had his pistol in her hand, but her attention was on the night beyond the doors.

‘I imagine I’ll have to concoct a story to account for the non-appearance of the boy,’ he continued, hiding his irritation. ‘Blaming the Neanderthals should work, but it will be difficult.’

At that moment, a rat scurried through the doors. Soames recoiled a step or two, but then became alert. The filthy thing might frighten her enough to drop the pistol.

She astonished him by reaching down to the rat. Soames couldn’t believe it. The vermin was actually pleased to see her, running in circles and rolling over to expose its belly.

He was about to express his incredulity when she swivelled. Her face was ghostly, but calm. She began tossing the Bulldog from hand to hand.

He backed away. ‘I say. That’s a dangerous thing to do, my dear.’

She advanced, the pistol still looping from one hand to the other without her even looking at it. He collided with a stack of crates. He licked his lips nervously. Had the girl gone mad? Cuddling rats and now juggling firearms?

‘Now, let me have it, there’s a good girl.’

With a twist of her wrist, she spun the pistol at him.

Soames gasped and fumbled for it. The next thing he knew the girl had taken two steps and driven her shoulder into his throat, then cracked him under the chin with a sharply rising elbow.

With his skull ringing and his lungs empty, Soames had no choice but to slide to the floor of the warehouse. He lay there, whimpering.

When he was capable of making sense of what he saw, he realised he was looking at his Bulldog again, back in her firm and unwavering hand.

‘Now my friend isn’t here to stop me,’ she said, ‘you’ll take me to the Immortals’ lair and do what I tell you, otherwise I’ll blow your head off.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Don’t mistake me, Soames. My seriousness is of the deadly sort.’

Soames swallowed. ‘Strangely enough, I’m quite convinced of that.’

‘Now, hand over your pocket watch.’

Had the girl gone mad? Soames had heard about albinos. Could her condition be affecting her mind? ‘You’re robbing me?’

‘Take it out and throw it to me.’

He ached. His watch was a Dent quarter repeater with offset seconds; one of a kind, since he’d commissioned its building himself. It had a mirrored inner case and he’d trained himself to tell the time backward so he could know as soon as he cracked the case what time it was. An affectation, but he enjoyed it.

He lobbed the watch to the girl. She took it easily, glanced at it and tossed it up so it flipped over and landed in her palm. ‘A Dent? Good.’

‘I’m glad, my dear. Shall we go now?’

‘We shall.’ She gestured with the pistol. ‘And one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m not your dear. Not unless you have a desire for a permanent limp.’

They eventually reached the grotto in Greenwich. Soames paused just before the girl told him to stop. ‘Here –’ she added.

He turned and cried out to see his watch looping through the air towards him. Never good at games, Soames lunged and managed to catch the watch in both hands. He immediately froze. ‘What have you done to my watch?’

‘I’ve wired a special vial to it,’ she said. ‘It will explode if you tamper with it.’

Fear opened a trapdoor for Soames to fall through. ‘What?’

‘It’ll explode in an hour anyway, but don’t fiddle with it. You can’t defuse it and you’ll only make it go off.’

Soames liked a good watch, but an exploding one wasn’t what he was after. He held it at arm’s length. ‘I’m afraid that I’m not in favour of anything that could result in my being blown to pieces.’

‘You can’t imagine how much that pains me, but a certain level of risk on your behalf is part of my plan.’

‘I’d rather you spoke plainly, my d–’ Soames winced at the Bulldog, which was looking far too eager for his liking. ‘– preference lies in that direction.’

‘That vial is going to explode in an hour,’ she said, with a touch more patience this time. ‘All you have to do is to make sure it’s near the Immortals’ phlogiston stockpile when it does.’

Soames’s jaw fell. ‘But all that phlogiston! Greenwich will be destroyed!’

The girl cocked an eyebrow. ‘They have that much?’

Soames saw he may have made an error. ‘They have a considerable amount,’ he allowed. ‘Enough for it to be a disaster.’

‘In deference to my absent friend, I’ve actually considered this eventuality. If this particular substance is released, it will seek to unite itself with any phlogiston nearby. It will dissolve vials and the harmless compound will then rejoin the atmosphere. With only a moderate explosion.’

‘Not before I souvenir an armful or two, I should hope.’

‘You’ll have to be at a distance. A few hundred feet at a minimum.’

Soames was working this through, and he wasn’t altogether unhappy with what he was concluding. ‘They depend on phlogiston to power their manipulators. They’ll be powerless if it works as you describe.’

‘That’s part of my plan.’

‘And the other part?’

‘Is something that I’ll keep to myself.’

‘I take it you won’t be coming with me.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘What’s to stop me discarding your little device and confessing all to the Immortals?’

‘I’m sensing that greed outweighs loyalty by a substantial amount in you.’

He bowed, slightly. ‘I don’t find it a weakness to admit to that.’

‘You have the chance of assembling more wealth in your pockets than you could in a year.’

‘A convincing argument.’ He studied the explosive device gingerly. He was sure he could find a way to dispose of it once he left the girl.

She sighed. ‘Greed and trustworthiness don’t sit well together. I can see that you need another incentive to adhere to my plan.’

Soames was immediately cautious. ‘I don’t think so. You’ve been very persuasive.’

‘Perhaps. But I have the feeling that once you’re out of range of this delightful little pistol, all my persuasiveness will be for naught.’ She reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out a glass disc the size of a sovereign. ‘You’ve had some practice, now. Catch.’

Soames was growing tired of the demand, but this time he managed to bring both hands together and clap the disc between them. He held it up and immediately his poor, abused stomach lurched again. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘Never mind.’

Soames couldn’t take his eyes away from the image. Small though it was, he could clearly see himself in earnest discussion with Damona, the chief of the Neanderthals.

‘Here’s another.’

Soames hardly looked at the disc winking its way to him, so horrified was he by the evidence of his double-dealing. Without thinking, he caught it single-handedly and brought it to his eyes.

Another image. Soames and the Neanderthal crew alighting at the Greenwich wharf.

His stomach rolled over, complained, and made a tentative push up his oesophagus. ‘I take it that you have copies of these? And they’ll make their way to the Immortals if I don’t cooperate with your scheme?’

‘Spoken like an experienced blackmailer. Of course, I won’t just stop at the Immortals. I shall make sure most of the London Demimonde sees them. You’ll never do business again.’

He blanched. ‘Never do business . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘And if I do cooperate, you’ll destroy the plates?’

‘My quarrel is with the Immortals, not you.’ She peered at him over the top of her spectacles. ‘I think.’

Instantly, Soames was very glad not to have this alarming young woman as an enemy, but he couldn’t help himself asking: ‘And what is your quarrel with them?’

‘Of no concern to you, is what it is.’ She gave him another thoughtful look that convinced him not to pursue this matter any further – nor to reveal anything about his more unpleasant business with the Immortals.

His shoulders slumped. ‘It appears as if I’m about to do something dangerous.’

‘It would seem to be the best option, but before you go, one last thing: why are the Immortals interested in the Olympic Games?’

‘Hm?’ Soames blinked. He’d been so careful. How had he ended up in such a position? His planning, his care, all outmanoeuvred by this upstart girl. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Time’s wasting.’

Impertinence. ‘It is as I said. I was instructed to emplace devices in the stadium, but for what purpose, I have no idea.’

‘You didn’t ask?’

‘I’d like to see you confront the Immortals, missy. It might bring you down a peg.’

‘Oh dear.’ She sighed. ‘“Missy?” You really haven’t come to terms with me yet, have you? I think it best that you go on your way.’

Soames took a step, then stopped, his fists clenched, teeth grinding. ‘Those photographs! How did you get them? We were alone!’

‘Let’s just say that someone ratted on you.’

Soames was a salesman at heart, his mother used to say. In fact, it was the last thing she said before he sold her at the slave market.

With the girl’s photographic discs heavy in his pocket, he was able to face the Immortals. He spoke with all the sincerity he’d learned to dissemble over his years of duping, cheating and betraying.

‘And of course you understand how stubborn the Neanderthals can be, don’t you?’ he finished.

Augustus narrowed his eyes. ‘Those animals. Once we finished our experiments on them, we should have eradicated the whole lot of them.’

‘We learned all we could from their wildness,’ Jia said absently. She was having difficulty jotting in a small notebook. ‘So we still need the boy. The way he unites the wild and civilisation is useful to us. Get him from them.’

Soames pricked up his ears at that, but decided it wasn’t the time to pursue this hint at the Immortals’ interest in the boy. ‘Twenty or thirty more vials should do the trick,’ he said. ‘I’ll have him for you later today.’

Forkbeard grunted, then swivelled so he was looking over his shoulder. He barked a few words in a language Soames didn’t recognise.

The cube of the Materials Manipulator glowed green. It began to rotate faster. A few seconds later a flash of green light burst from it and lanced at Soames, who automatically threw his hands up to ward it off, and the leather case he held in his hand struck him on the forehead.

The Immortals laughed. High, shrill giggles, child-like but with an edge of ancient mirth that was as far from innocence as could be.

Soames tried to adopt a dignified posture as he rose. He didn’t touch his brow, despite its throbbing. They would pay. Once the phlogiston was gone, once they were helpless in their haunted hall, he’d send in his underlings. The more vicious the better.

Soames smiled.

Soames dawdled over the selection of vials. He regretted the waste that was about to occur, every vial a fortune. For a moment, he considered revealing the girl’s plan to the Immortals. He was sure they could do something with the explosive.

He snorted and continued to fill the leather case, stacking in as many vials as he could. Such an action would be foolish. A perfect way to cripple the Immortals had fallen into his lap. If the girl’s device did as she claimed, the Immortals would be without phlogiston. They would be helpless.

Soames snapped the case shut. He liked serendipity, especially when he could wring it for his own ends.

Soames had no idea what made him linger just outside the Hall of Immortals and wait for the explosion, after telling them he was off to fetch the boy. It wasn’t a business decision. It had no real benefit for him in monetary terms. It wasn’t even really an opportunity. He could only attribute it to sheer curiosity, a quality he’d forgotten he possessed.

Of course, it would provide him with an opportunity to gloat, which Soames always found to be one of life’s great pleasures.

For the rest of the hour, ignored by the Immortals – who were engaged in quiet, intense discussions about harvesting the animus generated at the Olympic Games – he pretended to be busy in the small living room he’d found earlier.

Animus harvesting. That sounded like something he’d enjoy learning more about once the Immortals were gone.

Even secreted away as he was, and without his lovely watch, Soames knew when the girl’s device went off. The round globes that lit the small living room flickered, then went out.

The darkness in the underground chamber was absolute.

Soames sat still, not daring to move, and from above came the sound of a great wind. He blinked, for the blackness momentarily shifted. It entered a region of sensation that was both more and less than emptiness, then it righted itself and Soames was alone again.

Wild screeching came from the direction of the Hall of the Immortals.

With infinite care, Soames edged out of the living room. One hand ran along the shelves of ledgers and accounts, some of the archives going back centuries, while he hefted the leather case with the other. He found the door after a few moments of throat-tightening panic, and made his way up the stairs by touch, guided by the hysterical anger of the Immortals, which had been joined by vacant, seagull cries from the Spawn.

Soames blinked when he crept into the Hall of the Immortals. He could see, dimly. The pentagonal ceiling was like a window looking out on a snowy evening, a dull grey that was fading as Soames watched. He wondered if the girl had anticipated this effect of the liberation of all that phlogiston, or if it was the sheer amount of the magical fluid that was causing this phenomenon. Regardless, Soames thought that he’d lingered too long. It was time to leave.

Before he could, he gaped, astonished. Three tiny figures were waddling on uncertain legs across the gigantic hall, their plump arms flailing.

The Immortals had left their throne.

It was upended on the other side of the hall. Then Soames saw that one of the Immortals – Jia? – had a single glowing vial in her fist. Cursing, the three reached the alcove that held the Material Manipulator. The cube was still rotating, but wouldn’t be for long, Soames knew. As soon as its inner phlogiston ran out it, too, would die.

The Immortals flung themselves on the cube. Jia hammered at it with the vial she held. An eruption of green light and the Immortals were gone.

Soames was alone in the rapidly darkening Hall of the Immortals, apart from a few dozen Spawn who were blundering about mindlessly, crashing into walls and each other, mewling and croaking.

He’d overstayed his welcome.

Just as Soames was about to set off, he felt a rumbling underfoot. With a sense of dread, he remembered the girl saying she had a second part to her plan.

The doors opening into the hall crashed open. Roaring like a giant released, water cascaded through them, an irresistible flood sluicing through the openings, flinging streamers of spray high into the air and throwing the golden throne aside as if it were made of paper.

Spawn were tossed about like sticks.

Soames held the leather case to his chest as the water thundered towards him. He gaped, disbelieving.

Jabez! It can’t end like this!

He wished he’d listened to the girl.