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The biker powers through the largely deserted streets, navigating only by the glow of the streetlamps. He runs red lights and screams around corners. I hold on tight, nowhere near as terrified as when I was being chased, but still in fear for my life.
Finally, when my fingers are starting to feel like sticks of ice, he slows and turns on the light. We cruise from that point, joining some traffic on one of the few busy night roads, turning off to putter down some quieter roads, before pulling up outside a house halfway down a tree-lined street.
The driver cuts the engine and stares at the snowflakes that are drifting through the trees and either sticking to the branches or slowly spiralling to the ground. “Isn’t snow the coolest thing?” he says. He’s wearing a helmet, but the visor’s up, which is why his words come to me clearly.
“Who are you?” I ask through chattering teeth.
The man half-turns to squint at me. There aren’t many streetlamps here, so I still can’t see his face. “You’re shivering,” he says.
“It’s cold,” I note.
“Why aren’t you dressed more warmly?” he asks.
“I was in London a few minutes ago,” I tell him.
“Ah,” he says. “That would explain it.”
The man gets off the bike and takes off his leather jacket. He holds it out to me and I gratefully pull it on over my school blazer, feeling warmer almost immediately.
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” I mutter.
The man chuckles and removes his helmet.
“King Hugo!” I gasp.
“The one and only,” he smiles.
I met Hugo in Cornan. The last time we spoke, the young, fair-haired king seemed restless. He’d spent a lot of time in the Merge and was looking forward to returning to the Born, so that he could hit the road on his bike.
“How did you find me?” I ask. “And what was that purple light?”
“I can answer your questions out here,” Hugo replies, “or we can go inside, where it’s warm.”
“Inside?” I echo, looking at the buildings. “Where?”
“Here,” a girl says from across the street.
I turn and spot an open door. There’s a figure lurking in the shadows, and for a moment I think I’m in trouble, but then I place the voice and relax. I almost cry out with joy and run to her, but I don’t want to look too ruffled, so I stretch and yawn instead, then say, “I hope you’ve got earmuffs and a furry hat. My head’s freezing.”
“Same old Archie,” the girl says, stepping into the light to beam at me. “Always complaining.”
“That’s because there’s always lots to complain about,” I sniff, then return her grin and say, “Hello, Inez. How have you been?”
In answer, Inez Matryoshka sweeps forward, hugs me hard, then leads me indoors to warmth and safety, and out of the chill and terror of the night.
We climb three flights of stairs to a large, brightly lit apartment, where a woman is waiting for us. She has long, blonde, frizzy hair, is fashionably dressed in a pale white gown, and sports bright pink lipstick. She’s sitting in a chair, reading a book and watching a television show at the same time.
“I can’t understand a word of this,” she says as the three of us bustle in, “but it makes me laugh all the same.” She looks up and smiles. “This must be Archie.”
“Hello,” I mutter.
“Cindy,” she says, crossing the room to kiss my cheeks. “It’s so great to meet you. Inez told me how the pair of you saved Sapphire. That story was beyond.”
“Beyond what?” I ask.
Cindy laughs and tickles my chin, as if I’d cracked a joke.
“I didn’t say we saved Sapphire,” Inez says, sitting on a couch and patting it to let me know I should sit beside her. “We simply helped ferry Ghita to the palace. She saved it.”
“Sure,” Cindy grins. “I know how it is. The royals take all the credit.” She winks at Hugo, who lays his helmet on a table and settles into a big leather chair.
“I found him where you said I would,” he says to Inez, “though I still don’t know how you knew he’d be there.”
Inez shrugs. “He told me.”
“What?” I frown, then shake my head. “This is crazy. I must be dreaming. A few minutes ago I was running for my life from Orlan and Argate. Now I’m –”
“Orlan and Argate?” Inez barks, shooting an alarmed look at Hugo.
“Yeah,” Hugo says, rubbing his chin. “They were about to drag him off when I ambushed them.”
“I’d no idea,” Inez whispers. “I knew you were in trouble, but I wouldn’t have sent Hugo if I’d known those two were on the scene again.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” Hugo huffs.
“I wouldn’t have risked you,” Inez says. “Not for someone like Archie.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I snap. “Very nice indeed.”
“Hugo’s Family,” Inez says. “If he’d fallen into their hands...”
She growls softly to herself. She hasn’t changed much since I last saw her. The same short, dark hair, cream trousers, red top and muddy, navy boots. It might have been days rather than months since I last looked into her wide brown eyes. It’s only now that we’re back together that I realise how much I’ve missed her.
“So, are you in Moscow for the ballet?” I ask jokingly, but Inez isn’t in the mood for jokes.
“Could they have followed you?” she asks Hugo.
“Do you think I’d be sitting here calmly if they could?” he counters.
“How can you be sure?” she presses.
“I was on my bike and they were on foot,” he says. “Besides, I hit them with a glomb. They were thrashing around blindly when I left them.”
“What’s a glomb?” I ask.
“A bomb made out of gleam,” Hugo says. “It temporarily blinds anyone who’s looking at it when it bursts. I always carry a few.”
“None of this makes sense,” I mumble. “How did you know I was in trouble and where to find me? Why were Orlan and Argate chasing me? What’s going on?”
“I’d like to know the answer to that too,” someone says behind me, and when I turn, I spot another familiar face emerging from a bathroom. It’s Princess Ghita, in a bathrobe, her long, dark hair streaming around her damp cheeks.
Just when I think the night can’t get any stranger, a key turns in the front door and it opens. A behemoth of a man steps in, shaking snow from his thick, ginger moustache. “It’s getting colder out there,” he says. “I’ll have to find some thicker socks. My toes...” He stops when he sees me. “Archibald?” he gasps.
“Hi, Cal,” I smile.
Cal Riser, ex-employee of King Lloyd, now Ghita’s bodyguard, gawps at me, then glares at the others. “If this is what happens when I nip out for a quick burger, I’m glad I didn’t go for a three-course meal.” Then he sits beside me on the couch – the springs creak noisily beneath him – gives my knee a gentle pat and says, “So, what have I missed?”