Irene woke up to a surge of self-condemnation.

Worse still, she was wearing a bikini. And high heels.

She tried to assess her surroundings with her eyes closed, something which seemed annoyingly familiar, pushing aside the urge to scream and throw things. The most worrying aspect – of many – was the weight she could feel against her throat. There was some sort of collar around her neck. It was difficult to think of any possible circumstances under which this could be a good thing.

Other than that . . . wherever she was, it was quiet, though in the background she thought she could hear the faint buzz of air conditioning. The air smelled of disinfectant and she was lying on something padded, but it didn’t feel soft enough to be a bed or mattress. The quality of the light, through her closed eyelids, suggested a fluorescent light overhead.

Deciding she had more to gain if she looked around, she opened her eyes and slowly sat up. She was in a padded cell. No bed. No furniture. A fluorescent strip stretched across the ceiling, out of her reach. The door too was padded, on the inside, and there was a spy-hole in it – which, given her luck, probably allowed a full view of the whole room. No convenient standing out of view and then jumping the guard when they entered. Damn.

A panel in the wall – also padded, of course – slid back to reveal a television screen. Well, that answered the question of where she was. As if she hadn’t suspected.

Mr Nemo appeared. He was sitting behind a heavy ebony desk with a pile of brochures stacked on it. Behind him, a window looked out onto the depths of the ocean. An octopus flexed its tentacles as it glided through the water with the slowness of a ballerina. It was far too symbolic for Irene’s tastes.

‘Miss Winters!’ Mr Nemo said cheerfully. ‘How pleasant to see you up and around. Please don’t try to say anything: that collar around your neck will give you an electric shock if you do. And that includes speech in your Language.’

Irene raised her fingers to explore the collar. Unfortunately the television screen didn’t allow her to see her reflection. She could feel the smooth links of metal round her neck, like an oversized watchstrap; a more complicated disc was lying at the hollow of her throat.

It could all be an intricate and hilarious bluff. Or then again . . . his claims might be true.

Mr Nemo seemed to take her silence as acceptance, although her options for responding were limited. ‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing there. Well, I assure you that it won’t be for long. I’m in the middle of organizing a highly exclusive auction. Fae nobility, dragon monarchs – I did think of sending a catalogue to the Library, but they might have felt obligated to interfere. And since I’m not signed up to your peace treaty, I can do precisely what I like. The next few days are going to be very interesting. Naturally I can’t have anyone coming here or meeting me personally, despite this auction being particularly important, but there are ways round that.’

Irene pulled herself to her feet. She sketched out a large rectangle, and mouthed, The painting?

‘Precisely! And a few other bits and pieces too. It seems a shame not to take advantage of the occasion.’ He tilted his head to one side, beads of sweat glistening in the wrinkles of his face. ‘Now, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re in a high-security prison . . .’

Irene made an exaggerated go on gesture with one hand.

‘My little auction may have some consequences.’ He shrugged, the picture of a man saddened by all the dreadful things which could happen. ‘I’m not a signatory to this treaty of yours, so I have no constraints on my behaviour. But you might feel that you should do something anyway, even without input from your superiors. So I’m temporarily removing you from the situation. Think of it as a summer holiday, Miss Winters! A little vacation from responsibility.’

Irene began to say something, but as the first word escaped her lips the collar round her neck tightened, and an electric shock jangled painfully through her body. She found herself on her knees, fingers trying to prise the collar off, gasping for breath. All right. Not a bluff. One part of her mind was taking cold mental notes, even as tears rolled down her cheeks. It’d stop me managing more than a word . . . but could that be enough?

‘I really hoped that wouldn’t be necessary,’ Mr Nemo said. ‘Please try to relax, Miss Winters. You shouldn’t have to stay here for more than a day or two. I’m sure you’re worried about Prince Kai too, but he’s in perfectly good health – although under similar conditions. You’ll both be under constant surveillance, of course. My camera network stretches island-wide. Even if you could leave your room, there is absolutely nowhere you could go where I couldn’t find you.’

Irene noted that Mr Nemo had slipped into full-on gloating. But every Fae archetype, including master criminals, had its weaknesses as well as strengths. Keeping enemies captive in the middle of a secret base wasn’t a good move, for a start. Resorting to American Sign Language, for want of any better ideas, she signed, What about your promise to us?

He cupped his chin in his hands thoughtfully. ‘You’re probably asking me about payment for the picture. Very unfortunately, I can’t understand a word you’re signing. But don’t worry, Miss Winters, I always keep my bargains. As soon as you present yourself to me and ask for it – in some manner that I can understand – I’ll be glad to hand it over and let you go. But –’ he waved his fingers in her direction – ‘ta-ta for now, my dear.’

The television screen went dead, and the panel began to slide across it again. But Irene was already moving. Her first priority was getting something sharp. She lashed out at the television screen with one foot, heel braced. There had to be some point (no pun intended) to the ridiculous high heels she was wearing.

The heel punched squarely into the glass screen, sending a spider web of fractures racing across its surface. The panel was still trying to close, blocked by Irene’s foot, and fortunately safety systems stopped it from attempting amputation. Balancing on one leg, Irene tugged off her right shoe, then dragged it out of the ruined screen, detaching some fragments of glass in the process. A couple of small shards fell to the floor as the panel finally closed.

Irene set her teeth, so as not to make any noise that might trigger the collar, and used one razor-sharp shard to slice into her forearm. Using her finger as a stylus and her blood as ink, she managed to scrawl a single word in the Language on her collar: Deactivate. Of course there would be cameras watching, but she should still have a few seconds. Kicking off the remaining heel, she tensed and addressed the door: ‘Unlock and open.’

To her relief, she remained unshocked as the door swung open.

Now she had one last trick to play. The camera watching her would be linked to all the rest of them. Symbolic links, physical links, the Language was good with links. If even one camera was watching and listening to her right now . . .

She took a deep breath, braced herself, and spoke clearly. ‘Surveillance devices in my presence, and all surveillance devices linked to them, malfunction!’

The Language worked easily in high-chaos worlds – in a way, it worked too well, fulfilling its user’s wishes to an almost over-enthusiastic degree. Unfortunately, it then demanded a price. The shard of glass fell from Irene’s hand as she swayed, and she had to prop herself up against the wall to stay upright. Blood trickled from her nose, and she blotted it with the back of her hand. She’d managed exotic things in high-chaos environments before – exploding a boat, warping a staircase, freezing a canal – but she hadn’t tried to mess with anything as widespread as a whole hidden island’s surveillance network. She shut her eyes for a moment as afterglow-images tracked across her vision. But if her command had taken so much energy, then it must have done something. In the absence of any signs of success – the cameras were hidden, after all – she could only trust that her splitting headache meant she’d succeeded.

More blood trickled down her arm as she staggered down the corridor, her pace speeding up as her sense of urgency grew. Must find bandage, she thought. She wasn’t desperate enough to use her bikini yet. And watch out for pools of sharks or piranhas. This was a spartan, behind-the-scenes sort of place, unlike the more visited parts of Mr Nemo’s lair. Each new hallway looked just as interchangeably grey as the next. If it had been a film set, one corridor could have represented the entire complex. She could imagine James Bond protagonists being chased through here by the villain of the moment, heading for disaster. She just hoped she was on the winning side of that particular Fae archetype.

She ran.

Ten minutes later, she was hiding behind a corner, as the third pair of guards so far marched past her. Their flowery sarongs might be pretty and colourful, but their guns looked all too genuine. Fortunately they weren’t very good at conducting searches. The problem with successfully hiding your island from everyone else: your guards never accumulated any experience with genuine enemies.

Irene needed information. She stepped out once they’d passed, and coughed in an official way. As they spun round, trying to work out where to aim their guns, she said quickly, ‘You perceive I am your superior officer.’

They snapped to attention. ‘Report!’ she added. ‘What is the current situation?’

The man on the right looked embarrassed. ‘Subject L is still on the loose, sir. All other guests are still in their holding locations.’

‘I see.’ Irene needed more – but it would be hard to explain certain questions. Such as Where precisely are these holding locations? ‘Good. New orders, men. You’re to accompany me to visit the guest Tina. Mr Nemo has a new job for her, and with Subject L on the loose, we need to make sure she’s safe.’

‘Sir!’ Both men saluted again and set off at a trot. Irene followed, feeling extremely conspicuous in her bikini. She hoped that the Language’s influence would hold for however long it took to reach Tina. Of course, she wanted to get to Kai, but Mr Nemo would expect Irene to head straight for him. Their friendship . . . attachment . . . was an open secret. It was probably on their files in a dozen secret locations, from Fae to dragon spy headquarters.

They eventually reached what Irene considered the ‘public’ face of the island – including the corridors she and Kai had wandered through previously, with their huge aquarium-type windows. The door into this section was obvious from this side, but formed an unobtrusive wall panel on the public side. And really they’d come much further than Irene had thought possible, by the time one of the guards paused, shook his head, and said, ‘Wait a moment . . .’

Irene kidney-punched him, hit him on the back of the neck as he folded up, and pulled his gun out of his holster. She was quite pleased with their progress so far; the Language perception trick could wear off inconveniently fast. ‘All right,’ she said, as the other guard boggled at her. ‘Where are the Fae guests being held?’

‘Sir? But . . .’ He blinked, trying to come to terms with reality, and went pale. ‘Oh my God, you’re her. You’re Subject L.’

Irene wondered exactly what they’d told the guards about her. His reaction seemed unnecessarily dramatic. ‘I asked you a question,’ she said, capitalizing on his fear in tones of quiet menace.

‘I won’t tell you anything,’ the guard muttered. ‘I am a loyal and faithful soldier.’

‘Look,’ Irene said patiently, ‘the camera system’s still down. Nobody can see or hear you, and there’s nobody here except you and me. And your friend. Who’s unconscious. Wouldn’t you prefer it if I went away and left you in peace? Rather than shooting holes in you? Or twisting your mind into knots?’

‘You’re sure the cameras are out?’ he asked tentatively.

‘If they weren’t, then we’d have a dozen more guards with us and I’d be back in my cell,’ Irene reassured him. ‘I give you my word. Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t kill you – or even torture you . . .’

‘Down that corridor, turn right, then take the third left, and the three Fae guests are in rooms next to each other,’ the guard said, so fast that he was practically babbling. ‘Madam Tina, then Mr Felix, then Mr Ernst.’

‘Good job,’ Irene said. ‘Now tell me what you see down the corridor there.’

‘I don’t see—’

Irene hit him on the back of the head mid-phrase with the butt of the gun. That wasn’t prohibited by any promises she’d given, after all. As he collapsed, she started running.

There were no guards outside the indicated doors. Mr Nemo must be assuming that she wouldn’t go to the Fae team members for help. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to ask Ernst, and Felix wasn’t of any immediate use, but . . .

Irene mentally crossed her fingers and knocked on the door that she hoped was Tina’s.

‘Go away!’ The snarl from inside was definitely Tina’s. ‘Unless you’re here with permission for me to get the hell off this island, in which case come the hell in.’

Irene tried the handle. It was locked – so much for them being ‘guests’. The Language took care of that.

Tina was crouched in an armchair facing the door. Cigarette butts, wads of chewing gum and paper planes littered the floor. There was a curious sense of poised expectancy in the way that she sat there, almost like a car with its engine idling, ready to crash into movement. Her eyes widened as she took in Irene.

‘Has Mr Nemo given you your reward yet?’ Irene asked.

Tina twirled a set of shiny new car keys round one finger. ‘All ready to be picked up. You wouldn’t appreciate it.’

‘And yet you’re still here.’

‘I am kind of grinding my gears here, waiting to hit the road,’ she admitted grudgingly.

Irene nodded. ‘In that case, I might be able to help . . . I’m here about something Kai discussed with you earlier. A paid job?’ This was something Kai and Irene had discussed as one of their backup plans, days ago, when they were sitting in Vienna eating sachertorte. She prayed to any gods of the open road that they’d be on her side, in this negotiation with their acolyte.

Tina slowly smiled. It was like watching a landscape light up as the sun rose. ‘You know, I was kind of hoping you would say that.’ She was practically vibrating now, clinging to the edge of her chair, fingers white-knuckled with the effort of holding herself in position. ‘So what am I taking and who am I taking it to?’

Irene breathed an inner sigh of relief. ‘I’ll give you a name and an address . . .’